The Historical Development of Philosophy

Greek Philosophy

Aristotelian Philosophy

As Plato was a Socratic figure, Aristotle emerged as a Platonist—his most distinguished yet simultaneously independent disciple. Naturally, Aristotle's relationship with his teacher diverged significantly from that of Plato. He arrived at his own convictions largely through a critical refutation of his predecessor, yet the stark emphasis on the differences between them tends to overshadow the existing kinship of certain fundamental views. Foremost among their shared beliefs is the high value they both placed on thought as it operates within concepts. For Aristotle, as for Plato, concepts are not mere subjective forms; rather, by grasping them, we apprehend the immutable nature of things, aligning with the objective essence of the latter. In this regard, they are opposed to objective forms, which are world-forming forces analogous to Plato's ideas. Both thinkers acknowledge as an inevitable consequence of their understanding of knowledge the demand that the forms of concepts correspond to the forms of being. However, it is here that their paths diverge concerning the method they employ to derive universally significant concepts. Aristotle does not regard Platonic dialectic as an obligatory method; dialectic should emerge entirely from the nature of each specific problem, rather than applying strict and universally recognized standards of thought, leading instead to simple opinions and hypotheses. Thus, Aristotle separates logic from metaphysics, viewing its task as the development of a system of universal norms of thought that are independent of any particular framing of a problem. He considers the results of Platonic dialectic, particularly the arbitrary metaphysical assumptions positing that ideas, as archetypes of concepts, constitute an autonomous transcendent world opposing the sensory realm, to be problematic. Conversely, since concepts in our thinking and knowledge always arise in connection with sensory material, we must likewise assume this for the objective forms that correspond to subjective concepts. Ideas are as directly immanent to things as concepts are immanent to our sensory perceptions.

Consequently, Aristotle substitutes the term "idea" (ἰδέα) with the more general term "form" (εἶδος). Matter belongs to form just as form belongs to matter. If, for Plato, matter without its formative idea is "non-being," for Aristotle, neither can form exist without the matter to which it pertains. Together, they constitute the actual existence of a thing, its substance (οὐσία), which in the strictest sense is not universal but singular—a composite of matter and form. In this conjunction, matter is the potentiality (δύναμις) of all that is actual, while form is the realization of this potential, or energy (ενέργεια). Aristotle likens the relationship between the two to that of the marble from which a sculptor chisels a statue, thereby assigning to matter a significance akin to that of formal principles. Both matter and form are necessary complementary components of reality, which exists not in a transcendent world but in our immediate perception and cognition of the given sensory world. Of course, a distinction remains between them: matter is merely a universal and indeterminate substrate from which all possibilities may arise, and which, being devoid of any differentiation within itself, cannot serve as the object of our discerning knowledge, which operates within concepts; form, on the other hand, is actualized for us in diverse ways. Through these various modes of realization, the universal, indeterminate concept of form disaggregates into distinct primary categorical concepts to which the entire ensemble of concrete phenomena conforms. Thus, form, in its most immediate and outward manifestation, presents itself to us as the shape of a body; subsequently, at a closer level of understanding its essence, as movement—its general concept encompassing qualitative change; and finally, at the third, highest level—as the realization of purpose (εντελέχεια), which adds to the preceding two concepts the internal condition of the formation of form, an aspect that is to some extent external to them. Ultimately, the goals that govern the world produce movement and the alteration of matter, from which the shapes of things subsequently emerge. Thus, our knowledge of things and the activity occurring within them follow opposite paths: the cognition of things moves from the external figure to the movement that produces it, and from the latter to the immanent purpose; while activity commences with the goal, which is then realized through movement into the form of the thing.

For Aristotle, then, the immanent goal of nature stands as the highest concept—last in our cognition yet first in the things themselves—most perfectly expressing their objective essence. What lacks any goal, or whose goal remains unknown to us, is deemed "accidental" by Aristotle; however, this does not imply that it lacks any cause at all, but merely that it does not fit into the system of rational causes, which, according to the philosopher, only unfolds through the purposes of nature. Thus, in his philosophy, purpose holds the same significance as the idea in Platonic thought. However, while the idea is transcendent, the purpose is immanent to things. The idea, as the archetype of each specific concept, dissolves into an indeterminate multitude of individual ideas, which do not, in themselves, stand in any systematic relation but are integrated only through the arbitrary ethical preference afforded to the idea of the good. Purpose, on the other hand, represents a universal concept from which all individual types of purposes naturally flow. As it embodies an immanent principle, these types of purposes can be directly understood through experience and the relationships in which things present themselves. Accordingly, all phenomena form a sequential system of purposes, beginning with the most general and foundational and culminating in the most individual occurrences, wherein there is also a transition from the less perfect to the more perfect. Therefore, the concept of immanent purpose, in its dual gradation from the universal to the singular and from the imperfect to the perfect, inevitably leads to the idea of development—the central notion of Aristotelian philosophy.

From the first indicated gradation of purposes, from the universal to the individual, cosmic development ensues. It commences with the most fundamental movements from which all changes in the corporeal world arise—the eternal and uniform motion of the celestial sphere—concluding with particular terrestrial processes of movement. With this doctrine of the eternity of the world, Aristotle made his initial attempt to resolve the problem of the emergence of the cosmic order through simple elimination. However, in explaining specific earthly processes, he, like Plato, energetically contests the atomists, instead aligning himself with those later Ionian physicists who based their explanation of the world on a dualism of spiritual and corporeal principles. He introduces into physics four qualitatively distinct elements from Empedocles, which would dominate thought until modern times; when explaining phenomena of movement, he favors teleological explanations over mechanical explanations offered by the atomists: bodies fall downward because their natural place is at the center of the Earth. Aristotle juxtaposes these "natural" movements against the movements of projected bodies, which he regards as "forced," "accidental," and so forth.

The second consecutive series of goals, progressing from the imperfect to the perfect, manifests in organic development, which in its rudiments extends to the most particular processes of cosmic evolution. This organic development rests upon a system of psychic powers, which, as higher faculties acting towards objectives, are raised upon the forces of inanimate nature. The lowest of these psychic powers is the capacity for nourishment, which appears in the plant world as the exclusively dominant life principle and is directly connected with the reproductive power. In the animal kingdom, this capacity is joined by the abilities of sensation and movement, which are closely intertwined since all spatial movements of animals occur based on sensations, which, according to Aristotle, initially reside in individual sensory organs and then converge in the heart as the organ of general sensation. Finally, in humans, these two lower capacities are further enhanced by the thinking intellect, which, precisely due to its connection with them, divides into two cooperatively functioning parts: the passive intellect, which receives sensations and forms representations from them, and the active intellect, which extracts the essential and permanent from these representations, thereby elevating itself to the knowledge of things.

It should be noted that the principle of complete development, along with the principle of immanence of form in matter, applied by Aristotle both in interpreting nature and spiritual life, finds its limits at two points: at the beginning and end of development. Since cosmic evolution is governed by the law that each movement presupposes another movement from which it arises—each being, like its predecessor, a movement of substance—the question arises at the starting point of this evolution, at the movement of the celestial sphere, to which ultimately all other movements converge: how did this first movement occur? The answer states that it is eternal and therefore did not originate at all. However, while the original emergence of the movement of the celestial sphere does not require any cause external to itself, the continuous uniform preservation of this movement necessitates such a cause, which must be as unchanging as its effect. Since this cause is, by presupposition, the first cause that does not arise from any other, it also does not require matter, which is needed for the form of movement imparted from outside. Thus, this first cause, this unmoved mover, eternally sustaining the course of the universe, is the form without matter, the unmoving mover. This first cause represents a further transformation of the Eleatic concept of unchanging being; it differs from Platonic ideas through its absolute unity, yet aligns with them in being pure form and therefore free from the mutability of the sensory world, which arises from its connection with matter. Finally, it agrees with the Platonic idea of the good in that it is, as the highest of forms, divine in essence. It should be noted, however, that this Aristotelian conception of God is entirely abstract and thus devoid of the immediate ethical significance inherent in the Platonic idea of the good.

In the same manner, the principle of development is disrupted at the concluding link of the second series of development—the development of the soul, which arises from the preceding cosmic one. The human soul unites within itself all lower psychic powers. However, since it produces concepts from sensory representations, the psychic capacity that generates them, the active intellect, must itself possess essential properties of concepts. Concepts, however, are forms of things, conceived independently of their matter. Since concepts are pure forms, the active intellect must also be a pure, immaterial form. Were it not so, it would necessarily impart its own material character to the concepts; that is, in this case, the human spirit would only have access to thinking in sensory images and in no way to knowledge moving within concepts. Thus, the active intellect corresponds once again to the Platonic idea: it is pure form and therefore, in accordance with it, immortal. Just as the Platonic idea in the cosmic series of development in Aristotle transforms into the idea of God, so too is it condensed in the organic series of development into the highest activities of the human spirit; thus, the Platonic thought of immortality in him is limited in the corresponding sense. Aristotle rejects the presupposition of the pre-existence of the soul; for him, the active intellect is a product of development, something that has arisen; only the origin of every movement, God Himself, does not arise. In the afterlife, not every soul participates, united as it is in sensory form with matter, which constitutes its substantial form; only the active thinking spirit is immortal as form without matter. In this sense, Aristotle speaks of it as related to the other parts of the soul in the same way that the latter are related to the living body. It is the "form of forms" in that it again forms the forms produced by the lower psychic powers and elevates them to concepts free from matter. As such a "form of forms," this highest psychic capacity evades the transience always associated with matter.

Thus, Aristotle's recognition of immortality solely for the active spirit, particularly in the afterlife, is closely tied to the altered position that the concept of the soul occupies in his philosophy. For Aristotle, the soul is not an intermediary link between the sensory world and the world of ideas; it is not a creative force that, alongside specific life forms, as a world soul shapes things; it belongs instead to the universal order of development of forms. Of course, within this order, it occupies the highest ranks since no development toward pure material form is prepared in the lower psychic powers, which is ultimately realized in the active spirit of man. Thus, Aristotelian philosophy bears traces of Platonic doctrine on ideas throughout. However, in this context, the concept of the idea stands in closer connection with the actual world. Ideas here do not oppose the latter as a purely suprasensory world; rather, they live directly within the sensory world and necessarily require it for their realization. The suprasensory, even where it must be assumed as a necessary complement to the sensory world, forms, on one hand, the ultimate starting point of the entire natural process and, on the other, the ultimate result of natural development. Therefore, the characteristic passionate attraction to the ideal suprasensory world and the striving to make reality, as far as possible, a complete reflection of the ideal have disappeared from Aristotelian philosophy. Above all, Aristotle consciously directs himself toward the study of actual sensory things; he endeavors to understand their significance and, where it concerns the properties or actions of people, to provide them with relative justification.

The same spirit of realism and a certain relativism permeate, in particular, Aristotle's practical philosophy, where, however, as in his theoretical worldview, the Socratic thought he shares with Plato regarding the significance and value of knowledge resonates. Thus, in Aristotle's ethical domain, the virtues of knowledge, the dianoetic virtues, also hold sway: wisdom, prudence, and common sense. Only they possess absolute value because they do not depend on particular life circumstances and allow those who possess them to achieve the highest goal of human striving, happiness, in all circumstances—even when a person is left entirely to their own devices. Aristotle even considers the most blessed life to be the contemplative life, in which wisdom becomes the object of enjoyment instead of external life goods. However, the majority of people must forgo such a life since the natural state of humans is social life. Thus, in reality, practical or ethical virtues dominate. They are virtues of a kind where, alongside prudence, which tempers passions, natural qualities play a prominent role, developed through habit and exercise into a corresponding balance and direction of will. These virtues rest upon natural properties, only strengthened by education and habit, which is why Aristotle designates them as "ethical," derived from the word "ήΰος," meaning character. The high esteem for the latter within the Aristotelian school is further evidenced by the fact that the latter directly appropriated the name "ethics," a designation that has persisted in this area of philosophical inquiry to this day.

Natural impulses of the will, traversing between opposites, find their expression in human affects, which manifest in life as opposing twisted properties of the soul: stinginess and prodigality, cowardice and reckless bravery, self-deprecation and arrogance, and so forth. If these passions are deemed vices because they are extreme forms of the natural inclinations of human will, it is evident that vices can transform into virtues when, through the supremacy of reason over will, these natural inclinations are moderated to occupy a middle ground between extremes: thus, generosity represents a golden mean between stinginess and prodigality, courage stands between cowardice and reckless bravery, and self-respect is situated between self-deprecation and arrogance. The virtue most essential for harmonious coexistence among people, justice, embodies a true mean, albeit in a somewhat different sense: in relation to the individual’s stance toward themselves, it occupies a middle position between inflicting harm upon others and enduring such harm, while in relation to others, it lies between overly zealous and excessively negligent fulfillment of the claims made upon them. The realism and relativism of Aristotelian philosophy is perhaps most clearly reflected in his teachings on practical virtues. Here, the connection between Aristotle’s views and those of Socrates is still evident in that, for him, reason and the highest virtue of reason—wisdom—serve as the ultimate source of the temperance of natural impulses, through which human vices are transformed into virtues.

The same method directed at understanding the real conditions of existence, which dominates Aristotle’s ethics, ultimately finds its application in politics; simultaneously, the principle of development, serving as the guiding thought of his metaphysics, comes to the forefront here as well. Forms of government evolve in a sequential order based on the actual conditions and needs of human society. At the earliest stage of culture, it is required that the leader be the most capable individual among all, and thus the corresponding form of government is monarchy, the rule of one in the form of a monarchy. As development progresses, many noble and distinguished men, equal to one another, seek power: monarchy thus transitions into aristocracy, the rule of many nobles. Finally, as culture further develops, the desire for influence over governance begins to prevail among broad popular circles: aristocracy transitions into popular rule, into democracy. None of these forms is absolutely good or suitable for all times and conditions; each is relatively good, as it serves as an adequate expression of a specific stage of political development. Precisely because of its relative significance, each of these forms of governance degenerates into a distorted version, arising not through natural development but imposed forcefully upon a people that has already outgrown it. Thus, the distorted form of the rule of one—tyranny—emerges when the strongest individual, rather than the best, seizes power in a democratic state; the distorted form of the rule of many, oligarchy, arises when power in the state is seized not by the noblest individuals but by those who gain considerable influence through demagogic machinations; finally, the distorted form of popular rule, the rule of the mob (ochlocracy), occurs when not the true populace but an uneducated mass gains influence over state affairs. Given that democracy can easily degenerate into ochlocracy or revert to tyranny or oligarchy, Aristotle considers the best form of governance for a high stage of culture not democracy, but rather one that occupies a middle position between aristocracy and democracy: this is civil governance, or politia, wherein the reins of power are held by an enlightened, educated middle class. Thus, in this final discussion of the significance of forms of government, alongside the borrowed principle of development from theoretical philosophy, the ethical principle of the true mean is ultimately reinstated within Aristotle's system.

As Aristotle endeavors to meet the demands of experience and real-life relationships in both his theoretical and, even more so, his practical philosophy, his system, fundamentally characteristic of realism, stands in opposition to Platonic idealism, despite both originating from the same starting point—the Socratic notion of knowledge and the related assumptions about the ultimate principles of being and becoming. Similarly, the schools aligned with these two philosophers are generally distinguished: the Platonic Academy and the Peripatetic School, which, while also influenced by subsequent more independent philosophical currents, yield in significance to these latter movements.