CHAPTER THREE

INTERNAL ORGANIZATION OF THE SCHOOL OF ARISTOTLE

1. THE COLLECTIONS OF BOOKS

There is no available external documentation concerning the organization and activity of the school in the time of Aristotle. Comic poets, who happily made fun of Plato, who was a citizen of Athens and member of a prominent family, paid no attention to Aristotle, who was an outsider, nor did the orators (with the exception of Demochares, as we have seen). We have no caricatured descriptions of the philosopher and his circle, as we do for Socrates and Plato. For this reason the Aristotelian treatises constitute almost the only source of information to help us understand how teaching and philosophical discussion were organized in the Peripatetic school at the time of Aristotle.

The scientific and philosophical research contained in the Aristotelian treatises is not of a kind that could be improvised while strolling under the porticoes of some random gymnasium, as was possible for the purely conceptual analysis of Socrates. The results that Aristotle reached are clearly the fruit of extensive investigations based on research (historia), of a complex systematic arrangement of the evidence (phainomena), and of an appropriate use of written sources. Let us begin with this third point.

From the time of his first stay in Athens, Aristotle stood out among the students of Plato because he preferred reading to public discussion. We referred in chapter 1 (p. 20) to the reports about Aristotle that contrast his habit of reading alone with the customs of the Academy, where discussion was general (and see n. 38 to p. 20). And in note 136 of chapter 1, we noted the irony with which Aristotle referred to those who “have not read anything but the Banquet by Philoxenus, and not even all of it.” It is not certain whether this anecdote, recounted in the Neoplatonic Lives, is historically reliable; some accept it, such as Düring (1957, p. 108) and Vegetti (1979, pp. 58–59), but others reject it, such as Gigon (1962, pp. 40–43). But there certainly remains in the collection of Hellenistic anecdotes a tradition whereby Aristotle was a passionate collector of books. Diogenes Laertius (4.5) tells us that “Favorinus also says, in the second book of his Memorabilia, that Aristotle purchased the books of Speusippus for three talents” (testimonium 42c). A very similar report reappears in Aulus Gellius (3.17), that “it is also said of Aristotle that he bought a few books of the philosopher Speusippus, after the latter’s death, for three Attic talents; this sum would be in our money seventy-two thousand sesterces” (testimonium 42b).

And in Aristotle’s own Topics we do find references to the use of written works. He says in this work that the endoxa, the reputable opinions that are starting points in dialectical demonstrations, can be taken either from oral tradition or from the written records of the sayings of wise men and experts. At I.14 (105b12–18), he lays out his plan for this process. “It is also necessary to select from written sources, and to create lists for each kind under separate headings such as ‘Life’ or ‘Good,’ in other words everything good, beginning with what it is, and also to make a note of the opinions in each of them, for example, that Empedocles said there are four elements in bodies, for one might write down the comment of some reputable person.” We see here, for the first time (see Zadro 1974, p. 343), the principle upon which the doxographic collections would later be based, such as the Opinions (Placita) of Aëtius (see Diels 1879), which list the various opinions of the philosophers by topic, the formula of which is often traced back to the Opinions of the Natural Philosophers by Theophrastus. We often find the “philosophical” histories of Aristotle contrasted with these “doxographical” histories of Theophrastus; but the two approaches have the same origin, and simply represent two different levels of carrying out the same investigation. The practice of Aristotelian dialectic, which seeks to resolve aporiai by discussing and comparing famous opinions including those found in the books of previous philosophers, makes it useful and theoretically justified to organize collections of texts or summaries of the thought of different authors on this or that problem, in a way that permits dialectical analysis to be performed on this material. He says this in a well-known passage of his work On the Heavens (I.10, 279b4–12). “Having defined these terms, let’s next say whether it is ungenerated or generated, indestructible or destructible, in the first place by going through what others have supposed, for the demonstrations of opposite theories are difficulties for the opposing ones. At the same time, as well, what we are going to say will be more readily believed by those who have previously heard the justifications for the disputed arguments, for the appearance of winning the judgment by default would apply less to us, since those who are going to judge the truth in a satisfactory way need to be arbitrators, not parties to the dispute.”

In reference to the collections of proverbs that Aristotle assembled, we already touched on this point above (section 4 of chapter 1, pp. 25–26), noting that Aristotle believed that commonly held opinion is the repository of a kernel of truth, which gets recovered and clarified by philosophical investigation. In this context, the sayings of the learned and of the experts are especially worthy of attention, and should be collected. In the Nicomachean Ethics, in reference to the various opinions about what constitutes happiness (I.8, 1098b27–29), Aristotle writes that “some of these views have been stated by many men and in past ages, others by a few reputable men; and it is reasonable to think that neither of these views should be mistaken in all respects, but rather that they should get it right in some one respect, anyway, or even in most.” For these theoretical reasons, the establishment of a small “philosophical” library would suit the conceptual schemes and methods of Aristotelian dialectic, even more than the Platonic Academy, and Aristotle is recorded by ancient sources as being one of those who were famous for having noteworthy collections of books.

One of the opinions that is most important and worth discussing, about what is good and what is bad, is the opinion of his teacher Plato. A great deal of Aristotelian thought has a direct relationship with Platonic thought, and not only with the “unwritten doctrines,” of which Aristotle was one of the principal witnesses, but also with the dialogues that we possess. On the other hand, Aristotle almost never quotes Plato’s dialogues directly, whereas he likes to quote various Presocratic writers in his treatises, so much that he is one of the main sources in which to find more or less literal fragments from these very ancient thinkers. For example, in his work On Sense Perception (2, 437b11+), Aristotle gives us a discussion of the theory that sight is fire, maintained by Empedocles and also accepted by Plato in the Timaeus. Whereas Plato’s position is summarized in short phrases and rapidly refuted, Aristotle transcribes a long passage from Empedocles (fr. 84 Diels-Kranz). This way of proceeding is understandable only in a logos addressed to a public that has access to, or in any case has read, Plato’s Timaeus but does not know the text of Empedocles directly; thus the master, quite correctly, gives his audience access to the text that is less available. The same thing occurs in chapters 5 and 7 of Aristotle’s work on Respiration (472b6+ and 473b9+), and in other works.

There are also some curious passages, such as this one from On Generation and Corruption II.1 (329a13–16), in which Aristotle mentions the Platonic concept of the “Receptacle,” with explicit reference to the Timaeus: “what is written in the Timaeus is not at all defined, for he does not state clearly if the ‘Receptacle’ is separate from the elements, nor does he make any use of it by saying it is a substratum of what were said earlier to be elements.” The text continues with a summary of the principal positions of the Timaeus in order to show its inconsistency. What can we learn from this procedure? Cherniss was scandalized by this method of expression (1945, pp. 84–85); if Aristotle had been a student of Plato from the time of the writing of the Timaeus to the death of the master, how could he continue to have doubts of this sort? “Did he never happen to ask the master for an explanation? Or did he ask and receive no answer?” he wonders.

In my opinion, the solution is simpler; very probably in this case too Aristotle is addressing an audience with an enthusiasm for philosophy, an audience already directly familiar with the Platonic dialogue, so he did not slow down to cite the exact words, but he simply reported the gist of it and developed a number of criticisms of the text in question. If, as has been said, many Aristotelian theories were developed in critical response to positions taken by Plato and should be interpreted in light of Plato’s dialogues, then it is likely that familiarity with those dialogues was one of the prerequisites for participation in the gatherings at Aristotle’s school. Not an institutional prerequisite, of course, but a necessary condition for reaching the level of knowledge that is indispensable for taking part in the discussion. The different way that he refers to Plato’s “unwritten doctrines” is also worth noting; Aristotle generally makes rather rapid and cursory reference to the dialogues, as if to well-known works, but dwells on his explanation of the unwritten doctrines, with which his audience was probably less familiar.

Those who have studied the development of Aristotle’s school have noted that the theoretical influence of Plato’s dialogues continued after Aristotle’s death (see Wehrli 1959, 10:95–98) and that the Peripatetics such as Strato set forth their theories in the form of criticism of Plato’s dialogues, not of Aristotle. The habit of reading and commenting upon the dialogues continued throughout the entire history of ancient Aristotelianism. Clearchus of Soli, for example, a direct student of Aristotle, but a passionate expert on topics in magic and mysteries, was engaged in commenting on theRepublic and the Timaeus, which had been the Platonic works most often cited by Aristotle himself (Bonitz 1870, cols. 598a+). It is therefore reasonable to venture that part of the school’s activity involved reading, commenting on, and critically discussing the writings of Plato.

The collection of Problems transmitted in the corpus of Aristotle’s works has some interesting passages that are perhaps related to the school’s activities. In several passages dedicated to questions about scholarship (philologia), Aristotle takes up two questions that can arise in a circle of friends dedicated to the theoretical life, conceived as reading of texts and discussion in common. The first question asks why it is that, “for some people, when they begin to read, sleep overtakes them even if they don’t want to, whereas for other people, who want to sleep, taking up the book makes them stay awake” (XVIII.1, 916b1–3).¹ The answer is that it is due to the humors, melancholic or otherwise, of the individual in question. Another question asks “why are contentious disputations (hoi eristikoi logoi) good for training (gymnastikoi)?” (XVIII.2, 916b20). The answer is that, given that one either wins or loses, one is induced not to give up the dispute but to continue it or to start over and over, an excellent illustration of the so-called “agonistic mentality” of the Greeks, of their love for games in which it is clear who ends up superior to his adversaries. For the same reason, in these contentious disputations it is impossible to go on long goose chases (XVIII.8, 917b4–8).

We shall return briefly now to the stories of Aristotle’s library, described in an exemplary manner and with great critical equilibrium by Moraux (1973, pp. 3–33). We have said that Aristotle was one of the first to collect books and establish a library, and we have seen above the importance given to reading and to written works in the context of the Aristotelian conception of dialectic. As Athenaeus tells us (1, 3a), he was renowned for his book collection, along with the poet Euripides (see Aristophanes, Frogs 943), and certain others such as a certain Larensis who “owned so many ancient Greek books that he surpassed all who have been celebrated for their large libraries, including Polycrates of Samos, Pisistratus the tyrant of Athens [ … ] Euripides the poet,²Aristotle the philosopher <and Theophrastus> and Neleus who preserved the books of the two last named. From Neleus, he says, our King Ptolemy, surnamed Philadelphus, purchased them all and transferred those he had procured at Athens and at Rhodes to his beautiful capital, Alexandria” (testimonium 42d). The passage in Athenaeus tells us that Aristotle’s collection of books passed from him to Theophrastus, from Theophrastus to Neleus,³ and from Neleus to the Library of Alexandria; this collection presumably contained not only the books that the philosopher had owned but also the philosophical treatises of Aristotle that we now possess. The interest of the Ptolemies in acquiring books is generally explained as arising from the close ties between the Peripatetic philosophers and the kings of Egypt; the ancient sources tell us that Demetrius of Phalerum collaborated on the organization of the great library,⁴ and that Strato of Lampsacus took care of the education of Ptolemy Philadelphus (Diogenes Laertius 5.58).

We have some further information about which works comprised the collection of Aristotle’s books or, rather, a collection of the philosopher’s writings that is related to the book collection mentioned by Athenaeus (above). We find lists of works by Aristotle in Diogenes Laertius (5.22–28; see Düring 1957, pp. 29–56), in the Vita Menagiana attributed to Hesychius of Miletus (sixth century CE; see Düring 1957, pp. 82–89), and in the Arabic biography of Usaibia (Düring 1957, pp. 221–231). Of these catalogs, the last-named represents the state of the philosopher’s writings prior to the edition done by Andronicus of Rhodes in the first century BCE, which basically arranged the philosopher’s writings in the form in which they have come down to us. In contrast, the first two lists reflect an earlier state of affairs, and must have been edited at the end of the third century BCE, either in the Library of Alexandria (according to Düring and others), or else in the Peripatetic school itself.

This shows that in Athens, or in Alexandria, or possibly in both places, copies of the lessons and lectures that Aristotle had given in his school were preserved. Aside from this, we have other reports of the presence of the books of Aristotle in various places in the Greek world during the fourth century BCE. It seems that in Rhodes, Eudemus had a copy of the Metaphysics (fr. 3 Wehrli) and a copy of Physics (fr. 6 Wehrli). Most likely he also had a copy of the work that was later named after him, the Eudemian Ethics, and possibly the Analytics as well (see the discussion by Berti 1982, pp. 16+). In a work of unknown title (P. Herc. 1005, fr. 111), Philodemus quotes a letter by Epicurus in which he asks a friend to send to him Aristotle’s “Analytics and On Nature.”

But with the passage of time Aristotle’s works were read less and less; for example, there are solid reasons to doubt that the founders of the Stoic school had any direct knowledge of his words, though this issue has yet to be fully resolved.⁵ When authors in Roman times tried to explain the drift of the Aristotelian Peripatos away from their master’s interests, they thought it was due to the loss of the works of Aristotle. Thus was born a legend that attributed Aristotle’s diminishing philosophical influence to chance events, not to any change in the theoretical interests of the philosophers of the Hellenistic age. This legend is cited by Strabo (13.1.54) and by Plutarch. Strabo, speaking of the city of Scepsis, notes that it was the birthplace of Erastus, and of Coriscus and his son Neleus, who was a student of both Aristotle and Theophrastus, and who “inherited the library of Theophrastus, which included the library of Aristotle.” Strabo says that “Aristotle gave his library to Theophrastus, to whom he also left his school; and he[Theophrastus] is the first man, so far as is known, to have collected books, and to have taught the kings of Egypt how to arrange a library.” In these few lines, Strabo relies on numerous unreliable reports: from the last will and testament of Aristotle it can be concluded that he did not leave Theophrastus either the school or the library; moreover, Theophrastus was not the first to collect books but was preceded by at least Euripides, as we saw above; furthermore, Theophrastus did not oversee the organization of the Library of Alexandria, which was assembled after his death, with the consultation of Demetrius of Phalerum.

Strabo then writes that Neleus “took it [the library] to Scepsis and bequeathed it to his relations, ordinary people, who kept the books locked up without even being carefully stored. But when they heard how zealously the Attalid kings (to whom their city was subject) were collecting books to build up the library in Pergamum, they hid their books underground in a sort of trench. Much later, when they had been damaged by moisture and by insects, their descendants sold the books of Aristotle and Theophrastus to Apellicon of Teos for a large sum of money. And Apellicon was more of a bibliophile than a philosopher, and so, seeking to restore the parts that had been eaten away, he had new copies of the text made, supplementing the gaps not well, and published the books full of errors. The result of this was that the older Peripatetics after Theophrastus did not in fact have any books [of their founders], except for a few, mostly the exoteric [published] books, and were therefore not able to do philosophy in a systematic way, only to declaim [rhetorical] theses” (Strabo 13.1.54). In his Life of Sulla (26), Plutarch tells us that in 84 BCE Sulla anchored in the Piraeus and took possession, among other things, of the library of Apellicon, which contained all the books of Aristotle and Theophrastus; then he brought these texts to Rome, and had them reordered by Tyrannion the grammarian; then Andronicus of Rhodes published and made a catalog of them. And Plutarch also repeats that the ancient Peripatetics were not well acquainted with the works of their masters, and he blames the heirs of Neleus of Scepsis, who had hidden the books.

The judgment rendered by Strabo and Plutarch against the Peripatos after Strato for not being familiar with Aristotle’s ideas is historically accurate, and is shared by many modern historians. But the details of the whole story are quite perplexing, and there is no reason whatsoever to believe that Aristotle’s writings simply vanished from the face of the earth until Cicero’s time. However, for our purposes these questions are in the end secondary. What is important is the fact that the Peripatetic school appears always to have had a marked interest in the written word, both those of the master and those of others, and that a special attention to the fate of one’s own library and one’s own writings appears evident in the last wills and testaments of the Peripatetic scholarchs (see Gottschalk 1972, p. 319), as is shown by the lists of their works preserved in Diogenes Laertius as well as by a wide range of other indications.

2. METHODS OF GATHERING AND INTERPRETING INFORMATION

There has been intense critical discussion on the subject of Aristotle’s methods of gathering and interpreting information, but it has focused for the most part on chronological questions, bound up with the problem of the “evolution” of Aristotle’s thinking; scholars have wondered if Aristotle gathered the information that he used extensively in his works during his years of travel prior to returning to Athens, or whether the work of gathering the information took place entirely or largely during his later stay in Athens (see section 6 of chapter 1). To tell the truth, the question has always been posed with special reference to Aristotle’s gathering of biological data, since for other kinds of data it has never been ruled out that Aristotle might have begun collecting when he was a student of Plato, and then continued thereafter for the rest of his life, also with the help of his students. This second question was of special interest because it was thought that his attention to so-called “empirical data” was tantamount to a separation from Platonism and the beginning of an “empiricist” phase in Aristotelian thought. Nowadays, nobody puts the question in these terms, and all agree that the study of diverse aspects of reality is not to be contrasted, neither in the Aristotelian Peripatos nor in the Academy, with their interest in research on first principles.

It seems fairly certain that collecting the most widely diverse data of experience was an activity already practiced in the Academy of Plato; and, as we saw above (section 4 of chapter 1, pp. 25–26), when he was still a student of Plato, Aristotle had assembled a collection of proverbs and popular sayings. Theophrastus himself tells us that, though Plato “made the greater part of his study concern first philosophy, he also devoted himself to the evidence, and got involved in research on nature” (Simplicius,Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics 26.9–15). This account seems to be in contrast with Plato’s constant devaluation of the empirical observation of the stars, as compared with a study of the heavens of a purely mathematical and abstract sort, which Plato always preferred (Republic VII 529c, 530b, Timaeus 68b). But Plato also admitted the importance of investigating the presence of rationality in the world of becoming (Timaeus 29a–c), and from this point of view his position is not very far from the one expressed by Aristotle in Parts of Animals I.5 (see below, pp. 111–112).⁶

In the Academy, the idea of investigating rationality in the world of becoming was developed in a special manner. For example, we know that Speusippus wrote a treatise that goes under the title Homoia, or Peri ta homoia pragmateia, that is, Resemblances, orTreatise on the Resemblances, in which he collected material deriving from natural research and organized the specific data by the method of dichotomous division. It is thought that this treatise was meant to provide information that would be further examined in other, more theoretical, treatises (see Isnardi Parente 1980, pp. 214–215 and 377+, with Tarán 1981, pp. 65–68 and 256). This relationship between an “encyclopedic treatise” and a more “theoretical treatise” can also be found in the works of Aristotle—for instance, in the relationship between the Research on Animals and his other biological treatises. We shall take up this topic again shortly.

But what is meant by “data”? Is there really a concept of “empirical data” in Aristotle similar to our own? Or is it possible to distinguish various types of facts in his various works? In Aristotle’s vocabulary there is no term that corresponds exactly to our scientific term “data,” in the sense of factual information, especially information organized for the purposes of surveying, recording, classifying, and processing. The Aristotelian term that comes closest is phainomenon, which nonetheless has two meanings, according to Bonitz (1870): that of res sensu manifesta (a thing evident to the senses), and that of animi cogitatio (a thought in our mind), this latter meaning corresponding substantially to endoxon, reputable opinion. We see the first meaning in Aristotelian passages like the following: “the end (to telos) of productive knowledge is the work (to ergon), whereas the end of knowledge in natural science is always, strictly speaking, the evidence of perception (to phainomenon … kata tēn aisthēsin)” (On the HeavensIII.7, 306a16–17). The second meaning can be seen in such passages as the following: a proposition is dialectical as opposed to deductive, if it assumes “what is evident and reputable (tou phainomenou kai endoxou), as was said in the Topics” (Prior AnalyticsI.1, 24b10–12). Similarly, in a passage where both meanings are in play, Aristotle criticizes the Atomists and accuses them of abolishing “many reputable opinions and the evidence of perception (polla tōn endoxōn kai tōn phainomenōn kata tēn aisthēsin)” (On the Heavens III.4, 303a22–23).

The ambiguity of the term phainomenon derives from the fact that, for Aristotle, the two meanings were not as far apart as they might appear to a modern reader,⁷ influenced by Descartes, who established as the first rule of method in the Second Part of hisDiscourse on the Method for Conducting One’s Reason Well and for Seeking Truth in the Sciences “never to accept as true any thing which I did not understand evidently to be such” (p. 18 Adam/Tannery). Aristotle considered as “data” both those which were observed and confirmed personally by the researcher and those which were attested by trustworthy persons. In his On the Heavens he writes, “it seems not only that this argument testifies in favour of the evidence (ta phainomena) but also that what is evident(ta phainomena) testifies in favour of the argument. For every human has some notion concerning the gods, and everybody attributes the highest place to the divine” (I.3, 270b4–7). In this passage, the first occurrence of the term phainomena is very close to our cognate term “phenomena,” in the sense of “the evidence of experience,” while the second clearly indicates common and widely held opinions, opinions that are evident to all people.

The collection of facts undertaken by members of the Peripatetic school reflects this fairly broad conception of what constitutes “data.” In Meteorology (I.13, 350a14–18), Aristotle says that “the greatest rivers appear to flow from the greatest mountains. This is clear to those who study the maps of the earth (tas tēs gēs periodous); for these are recorded according to their respective discoverers, in those cases where the authors were not eye witnesses.” The expression that we find in this passage, gēs periodos, which can mean “description of the earth” as well as “map of the earth” (see Liddell-Scott, s.v. periodos III), reappears in Politics when Aristotle reports an observation about Upper Libya made “by some of those who have written descriptions of the earth (gēs periodoi)” (II.3, 1262a18–19). The study of works of geography, as well as of history, is recommended for orators in his Rhetoric (I.4, 1360a33–37), because “the descriptions of the earth (gēs periodoi) are useful aids to legislation (since from them we may learn the laws and customs of different ethnic groups), whereas what is useful for political deliberation are the researches of those who write about human conduct.” The expression can be used to indicate travelogues, geographical descriptions, or even maps, as we shall see below. Likewise Theophrastus, who is considered much more of an actual “scientist” than Aristotle, opened one of his meteorological works with a reference to collecting information from others (Weather Signs 1).⁸ “We have recorded signs of rains, winds, storms, and good weather in what follows, as many as possible, providing some of them ourselves, and taking some from others who are not untrustworthy.” Many critics have reproved Aristotle for using secondhand information, for instance Bourgey (1955, p. 11). But this denunciation is undeserved, if it is meant to suggest that Aristotle’s methods were by the standards of the day sloppy and scientifically unsound; Aristotle’s contemporaries simply had a different conception of what significant information ought to be gathered in order to give scientific explanations by means of causes and principles.

How were these data cataloged? In Aristotle’s day, there was no such thing as an alphabetical order, or at least, it was never used; rather, the elements of a set were organized according to similarity in content. For instance, the so-called “philosophical lexicon” contained in Metaphysics V (Δ), which describes the ways in which a series of philosophical terms are used by experts, is not organized alphabetically, but by homogeneous groupings: first come the terms linked to the idea of cause (chapters 1–5), then those that express key concepts of what Aristotle calls “first philosophy” (chapters 6–8), then the ones linked to identity (chapters 9–11), and so on (see Reale 1968, p. 83). In the same way, the ps.-Aristotelian work Definitions, which contains a series of definitions of the philosophical terms most commonly used in the Academy, is organized by groups of subjects: definitions of ethics, politics, dialectic, and rhetoric (see Rossitto 1984, pp. 30–31).

The works that contain collections of facts often set out at their beginning the criteria by which the facts are arranged, so as to assist those who might need to find a specific piece of information. In the Topics, Aristotle organizes the subjects of the various arguments according to the division of the four predicables (accident, in Books II–III; genus, in Book IV; property, in Book V; definition, in Books VI–VII). These are organized into a series of subclasses, as described in the first book (I.10; see Zadro 1974, pp. 40+). In the Research on Animals, the material is organized according to criteria set out by Aristotle at the beginning of the work; his presentation of the various animal species divides the world of animate beings according to the ways they live, their actions, their character, and their constituent parts (I.1, 487a11). The division that Aristotle uses here shows the persistence of evident links with the Academic use of conceptual division or diairesis;⁹ and the Research on Plants by Theophrastus is organized in a similar manner, according to a series of very similar differences: constituent parts, qualities, generation, and manner of living (1.1.1).¹⁰ The presence of conceptual schemes of Platonic origin in Theophrastus has been emphasized by modern scholars, such as Steinmetz (1964, pp. 7+) and Regenbogen (1970, cols. 1470–1471).

On the other hand, rather than organizing facts by conceptual divisions, the second book of the ps.-Aristotelian Economics (dating from the end of the fourth century BCE), organizes in a roughly chronological way its presentation of stratagems whereby cities, princes, and military commanders have raised money when they needed some (see van Groningen 1933, p. 35). Indeed, its author says that he is collecting the results of a research enterprise (historia) into the actions of our predecessors (II.1, 1346a25–29).¹¹ It would be odd if the lists of the winners of the Pythian games, as well as the other similar works by Aristotle (discussed above; see section 8 of chapter 1), did not have the same ordering.

With respect to the traditional image of the Academy as a philosophical school dedicated to pure conceptual and abstract reflection, and of the Peripatos as a school engaged in empirical and scientific research in the modern sense,¹² one could say that the actual situation must have been far more nuanced, and the distinctions less clear. The diairesis appears to have persisted in the Aristotelian Peripatos, at least as a schema for organizing facts, albeit with modifications made to the rigid dichotomist schema of Plato (Parts of Animals I.2–3); it is assessed as a method of explanation (Prior Analytics I.31 and Posterior Analytics II.5) and criticized as such by both Aristotle (Parts of Animals I.3, 643a27+) and Theophrastus (Research on Plants 1.3–4; and see Wörle 1985, pp. 98+). At first sight, the differences between the Academy and the Peripatos in this period do not consist in directing their research efforts to studying different objects because they have different interests, but rather in different types of interpretation of the data being studied.

Aristotle’s interpretation of the evidence to be accounted for, and his determination of their causes, was presented to his students in public lessons in which he read aloud his discourses, or logoi. The works of Aristotle that we possess, with some notable exceptions (such as Research on Animals,Constitution of Athens, the (mostly lost) published dialogues, and some other lost works of which we possess only a few fragments), are in fact a collection of logoi that he read aloud as a teacher. These lessons more or less resembled modern lectures, and the reading of these logoi constituted their publication, as Jaeger clearly showed (1912, pp. 131–148). Jaeger holds that in Aristotle’s school lessons much the same things must have happened as in the lesson of Zeno, as related by the narrator at the beginning of Plato’s Parmenides (127b–d). Zeno and Parmenides once came to the Great Panathenaic festival in Athens, and “they stayed with Pythodorus outside the wall in the Ceramicus, and Socrates and many others with him went there because they wanted to hear the writings of Zeno; this was the first time they had brought them to Athens, Socrates being then very young. So Zeno himself read it out to us, and Parmenides was out of the house, and when the reading of the books was nearly finished, at that point Pythodorus came in from outside, and with him were Parmenides and Aristotle (the one who became one of the Thirty), and they heard only a little that remained of the text, though Pythodorus didn’t, as he had heard Zeno before. Socrates listened, and then asked that the first thesis of the first book be read again. When this had been read, he said, ‘Zeno, what do you mean?’ ”

This lecture was held in a private home before an improvised audience. But similar lessons could also be held in public. Isocrates, for example (Panathenaicus 18–19), tells us of a public reading organized by a number of intellectuals in the Lyceum. “Three or four of the herd of sophists, the ones who claim to know everything and suddenly show up everywhere, were sitting together in the Lyceum having a conversation about the poets, especially the poetry of Hesiod and Homer, saying nothing about them except to recite their verses and recall the most brilliant things said by certain others who were prior to them; and after the course (diatribē) they took met with the approval of the bystanders, the boldest one of them attempted to slander me, saying that I despise all such things and that I abolish all the philosophies (philosophia) and curricula (paideia) of the others, and say that everyone talks nonsense apart from those who are take part in my course (diatribē).”

Schools must have operated in roughly the same way, as we see from another of Isocrates’ orations (Panathenaicus 200), in which the orator allows us to catch a glimpse of work in his school. “I corrected (epēnōrthoun) the written version of my speech up to what has been read so far, together with three or four young lads who are in the habit of taking courses with me (syndiatribein). When they went over it, it seemed good to us and to require only an ending, so it occurred to me to send for one of my associates who had served in politics under the oligarchy and had chosen to praise the Spartans, in order that, if we had overlooked something false in what was said, he might spot it and point it out to us.”

The “revision” that Isocrates mentions here was made aloud before an audience of students, and we may presume that the reading of Aristotle’s logoi took place more or less in the same manner. Indeed, a similar situation is presupposed in a letter to Phanias of Eresus partly cited by Diogenes Laertius (5.37); Theophrastus, apparently in reference to the proof stage (peri tou deiktēriou) of publishing his works, commented “in this letter: ‘not that it’s a festive party (panēguris), but it’s not even an easy committee(synedrion) such as one would wish to have, and the readings produce corrections (epanorthōseis), and postponing and being careless about everything is no longer allowed by the current generation.’ And in this letter he uses the term ‘scholastic’(scholastikos).” This incomplete sentence, a difficult text that has given rise to a variety of translations,¹³ suggests to me that Theophrastus followed the same procedure described by Isocrates: the head of the school would gather together the most important students and read to them a text that that he had written so as to elicit suggestions for correcting and improving its exposition, before delivering it to a larger audience. Similar examples also appear in the Neoplatonic schools; in the commentary to the Phaedrus attributed to Hermias, Prächter observes that there is a narration of various academic discussions between Syrianus and his student Proclus (1909, p. 39).

This is all that is said in the ancient texts. The information is fragmentary and does not always directly concern the environment of the philosophical school; in fact, they describe, respectively, a public reading in a private home, a reading held in a gymnasium, the activities of a school of rhetoric, and the activities of a full-fledged philosophical school. Probably, however, many of the customs were more or less similar from school to school, and we can get at least a rough idea of how things happened in the schools on the basis of these data.

A typical characteristic of Aristotle’s school, as we have said, is the idea that a good way of living the bios theōretikos is to devote oneself to collecting and explaining the most varied phenomena of the physical world. We cannot say that this is peculiar to the Peripatetics, because among the Platonists too there appears to have been something similar, as in the case of Speusippus, whom we mentioned above; but certainly in Aristotle we find an explicit, and rightly renowned, theorization of this position. In Parts of Animals I.5, 644b22+, Aristotle distinguishes, among all the perceptible substances, or “substances that exist by nature,” those that are eternal such as the stars (for which sense perception provides few premises from which to begin research), from those that are corruptible, which we can get to know more, because they live among us (dia to syntrophon). According to Aristotle, knowledge of the principles of the stars and of the eternal sensible realities is more honorable and more pleasurable (dia tēn timiotēra … hēdion), even if more limited; corruptible substances, by contrast, give rise to an exceedingly great amount of knowledge (epistēmēs hyperochē, 645a2). In both cases, it is a matter of finding, in the world of sensible substances, a purpose that corresponds to the eternal and the “divine” (see 645a24–31). We do not find in these pages praise of pure empirical research, as Jaeger believed (1923, pp. 337–340),¹⁴ but certainly Aristotle pays special attention to the pleasure that we can derive from the study of the physical world (644b34–35), and this characteristic distinguishes his thought from that of the other philosophers. Even creatures that are not pretty to look at, says Aristotle, are pleasurable to study, “for even in those creatures that are unattractive to perceptual observation, their craftsmanlike nature provides tremendous pleasure to those who are able to recognize causes and are naturally good at philosophy” (645a7–10). This point is important; scientific research into natural entities is not undertaken as an end in itself, or as an activity that is useful for the human community, but is proposed as the ultimate end, insofar as it is a way of actualizing the “life of philosophy,” one of the possible practical realizations of the Aristotelian recipe for happiness, the life dedicated to intellectual activity.

Again this makes us come up against the difference between Aristotle’s position and that of our own culture. Despite the fact that scientists today also take pleasure in engaging in the study of their own fields and dedicate all the time they can to research, they would hardly reply, if asked to justify their choice of this life, by reference solely to the joy and happiness that they derive from these activities, feeling that this is too subjective and trifling a reason, compared with the objective development of science and the progress of the human race. The reasons for which Aristotle praises the study of living creatures and sensible substances, therefore, demonstrate not a relative proximity to the modern conception of science, but how much historical distance there is between a Greek philosopher, even a “scientist” of the Aristotelian variety, and a modern researcher. The latter would judge the reasons of the former to be selfish and picayune, while the former would find the position of the latter to be a servile one, unworthy of free men. “It is likely that the first to discover any skill at all beyond the common perceptions was admired by other humans, not only because there is something useful in the discoveries, but also for being wise and outstanding compared to others. But as more skills were discovered, and some were directed to the necessities of life, others to pastimes (diagōgē),¹⁵ the discoverers of such things were always taken to be wiser, because their knowledge did not aim at usefulness” (Metaphysics I(A).1, 981b13–20).

3. TEACHING SUPPORTS AND INSTRUMENTS OF RESEARCH

There are some who think that Aristotle, unable to own houses or land in Athens for legal reasons, limited his activity to giving lessons in public gymnasia, along with all the other so-called “sophists” (see Düring 1957, pp. 459+). But others object that this is impossible (e.g. Gigon 1958, p. 164, and Chroust 1972a, pp. 310–318). From Aristotle’s works we conclude that his teaching activity required a few simple scientific instruments, and that they therefore must have been conducted in a different way from the free Socratic discussion described in the dialogues of Plato and Xenophon. The least dangerous way of reconstructing this “practical” aspect of Peripatetic research and teaching is to begin from the text of Aristotle’s works, to search in them for some indication about how the work proceeded, the work of describing the manifold intricacies of reality of which the philosopher intended next to give a rational account (see also Dirlmeier 1962a).

Aristotle made use of tables and diagrams during his lectures. He recommends the use of diagrams in general in Topics (I.14 105b12–15), a passage that has already been partly quoted above (n. 38 to p. 20). “It is also necessary to select from written sources, and to create lists for each kind under separate headings such as ‘Life’ or ‘Good,’ in other words everything good, beginning with what it is.” Tables with the principal opinions of the philosophers on the themes of debate, therefore, must have been available to the members of the philosophical communities both Academic and Peripatetic.

In Nicomachean Ethics (II.7, 1107a32–33), a diagram displaying opposing vices and virtues is mentioned. The diagram has not survived, but we do have the one mentioned in the parallel passage of the Eudemian Ethics (II.3, 1220b36–1221a15). “For the sake of example, let’s take each of them and study them from the diagram:

These passions and ones like them occur in the soul, and they are all so called either by being excessive or by being insufficient.” And later in the Eudemian Ethics this table is recalled by Aristotle, when he reminds his audience that “we distinguished also in the table rashness and cowardice as contraries” (III.1, 1228a28–29).

Another table found at De Interpretatione 13 (22a22–31). “Let’s observe in the following diagram what we are talking about:

Such tables would have needed to be visible to everyone, and therefore written on or affixed to a wall. The lecture therefore required an institutional space and a special room, not just the strolling up and down that had been a feature of the teaching of Protagoras.

The use of drawings and diagrams is implicit in all the passages from Aristotle in which letters are used to indicate items; we shall mention just two for the sake of example. The first comes from Aristotle’s analysis of justice in transactions in Nicomachean Ethics V.5, 1133a5–12. “What makes the exchange a proportionate one is the conjunction in the diagonals, for example, a builder at A, a shoemaker at B, a house at C, and a shoe at D:

The builder, then, must get from the shoemaker the latter’s work, and must himself give him in return his own. If, then, at first there is proportionate equality, and then reciprocation happens, there will be what we said.” The second comes from Aristotle’s explanation of the apparent circularity of the rainbow (Meteorology III.4, 375b9–12). “Let the outer rainbow be the [line] B, and the inner and primary one be the A; as for the colours, let the C be red, the D be green, and E be violet, and the yellow appears at the [point] F.”

The lessons in biology presuppose that there were anatomical diagrams, which are cited several times in Parts of Animals. “There must necessarily be something to receive it [sc. food] in turn from [the stomach … ] These [sc. blood vessels] are to be observed in the Anatomies as well as in the Natural Research [= Research on Animals III.3–4]” (Parts of Animals II.3, 650a28–32). “The details of the dispositions of the different blood vessels are be observed in the Anatomies as well as in the Animal Research” (Parts of Animals III.6, 668b28–30). “The way each of them is [sc. the digestive organs of different molluscs] must be observed in the Researches on Animals [= Research on Animals IV.4] and in the Anatomies, for some things are better clarified by argument, others by visually inspecting them” (Parts of Animals IV.5, 679b37–680a3; and see III.14, 674b16–17 and IV.13, 696b15–16). “The position the heart has relative to the gills is to be observed in the Anatomies in their visual aspect, and in detail in the Researches [on Animals]” (Respiration 16, 478a34–b1; see also 478a26–28). Similar passages are also found in theGeneration of Animals: “these are to be observed in the images that are written out in the Anatomies and the Researches [on Animals]” (GA II.7, 746a14–15; and see 719a10, 740a23, 753b18, 758a25). The last passage clearly shows that Aristotle made available to his students for ready consultation the work that we know as the Historia Animalium, or Research on Animals, and that this text was accompanied by anatomical diagrams, which were useful to consult (see Dirlmeier 1962a, pp. 20–22). In his Research on Animals, Aristotle mentions anatomical images, for example “the things just stated are also to be observed in this drawing here” (III.1, 510a29–30; and see also I.17, 497a32, III.1, 511a11–14, IV.1 525a7–9, IV.4, 529b18–19, IV.4, 530a30–31, VI.10, 565a2–13, VI.11, 566a13–15).

The treatise Meteorology, finally, makes frequent reference to geographical maps, models of the celestial globe, and star charts. “The [zodiacal] circle as well as the stars in it may be observed in the diagram. As for the so-called ‘scattered’ stars, it is not possible to place them in the same way on the sphere [= the model of the celestial globe] because none of them has their apparent position permanently; but to those who look up at the sky they are clearly there” (I.8, 346a31–35). “There are two sections of the earth where habitation is possible: one is near the upper pole, the one near us, and the other is near the other one, the southern pole. And their shape is like that of a drum, for such is the shape of the earth if you draw lines from its center and make two cones, one based on the tropic circle and the other based on the polar circle[literally: “the ever-visible circle”], with their vertex at the center of the earth; and in the same way, at the lower pole, two other cones produce segments of the earth” (II.5, 362a32–b5). “This is why it is ridiculous how maps of the earth (tas periodous tēs gēs) are nowadays drawn; the inhabited earth is drawn as circular, which is impossible, according to the evidence (phainomena) as well as the argument” (II.5, 362b12–15). “Let us now explain their position [sc. of the winds] … One needs to observe the reasons for their position from the diagram [= the wind rose]. Now then, for it to be more distinct, the circle of the horizon has been drawn (gegraptai); this is why it is also round” (II.6, 363a21–28). The phrase tas periodous tēs gēs, as we have seen above, has a twofold meaning: descriptions of voyages or travelogues, and the outlines or drawings that accompanied them. The passage at Meteorology II.5, 362b12 clearly refers to a celestial map. There were tablets with maps of the earth in the Lyceum at the time when Theophrastus wrote his will (see above, p. 86).

The use of all these visual aids (lists of noteworthy opinions, tables, diagrams, maps, wind roses, and anatomical illustrations) clearly indicates a teaching activity that was fairly institutionalized. Dicaearchus, one of Aristotle’s students who was noted for having supported the superiority of the political life in opposition to the bios theōretikos supported by his master (see above, p. 23), is quoted by Plutarch (Should Old Men Be Politicians? 26, 796c–d) as criticizing the development of the philosophical schools, which had abandoned free Socratic philosophizing in favor of a more “scientific” approach that was less directed toward philosophical “proselytizing.” “Those who walk up and down under a portico are said to be ‘doing a peripatos,’ as Dicaearchus said, but not those who walk to the country or to see a friend. Doing politics is like doing philosophy; at any rate, Socrates did philosophy without setting up benches or seating himself on a throne, nor did he observe a fixed hour for lessons or for doing a peripatos with his companions; but even while fooling around with them, when that happened, while drinking with them, while on military campaign with some of them, while passing time with them in the agora, and, at the end, even while he was in chains and drinking the poison, Socrates was doing philosophy” (testimonium 69a). It does not appear that this entire passage of Plutarch derives from Dicaearchus himself, and there are even some who believe that only the distinction of the meanings of the term peripatosderives from the student of Aristotle. But the polemic cited here corresponds very well to the image of his teaching that we can derive from the texts of Aristotle, and it is possible to see in this passage the protest of a rather traditionalist philosopher, steeped in conventional wisdom (see Wehrli 1944, 1:50–51), against the “scientific” development of the school, which had been made possible by Aristotle’s definition of the theoretical life as the highest form of happiness.

4. TEACHING WHILE STROLLING

The school of Aristotle was called in ancient sources “Lyceum” or else “Peripatos.” The first name suggests meetings held in the palaestra that the orator Lycurgus had caused to be built in the grove dedicated to the hero Lycos, the son of Pandion (Pausanias,Description of Greece, 1.19.3). Lycurgus “created the gymnasium in the Lyceum, and planted trees and built the palaestra … he created a list with all the acts of his administration and had it inscribed, for viewing by anyone who wished, on a pillar facing the gymnasium that had been established by him” ([Plutarch], The Ten Orators VII, 841c–d and 843f). In the Lyceum there was a dressing room and a covered gallery, according to Plato (Euthydemus 272e and 273a). Socrates often spent the entire day there (Symposium 223d). We have seen in the previous section (p. 110) that intellectuals liked to gather in the Lyceum. In fragment 1 (Müller) of the Description of Greece by Heraclides “Criticus” (third century BCE), mention is made of three gymnasia: the Academy, the Lyceum, and the Kunosarges, “all of them thickly planted with trees and grassy lawns. Festivals of every kind; recreation and pastimes for the soul from every kind of philosopher; many schools, frequent spectacles.”

Aristotle’s teaching, from what we have seen, was not such as to be capable of being conducted totally in an outdoor location, in an extemporaneous way. The site in which the teaching was carried out was very likely not the public gymnasium situated in the Lyceum; there are some (such as Gigon 1962, p. 64) who hypothesize that Aristotle and his students would meet in rooms located near the Lyceum, and that this was the origin of the name of the school.

The name peripatos means “promenade” or “place where one can stroll,” after dinner for example (Eudemian Ethics I.2, 1214b23–24; see Bonitz 1870, s.v. peripatos). We have already seen that in the will of Theophrastus, the bequest that established the school included a garden, a peripatos,and several houses. It is not clear exactly what this peripatos was; it might have been a colonnade, or else a leafy walkway. The term later came to indicate the lessons of the “philosophical school,” and it is used in this sense in the passage by Dicaearchus just quoted, in which the philosopher plays on the ambiguity of the term peripatos and contrasts the more usual meaning with the more technical one. Again, in the passage from Aristocles concerning the period that Aristotle spent in the Academy, cited above (pp. 20–21), the school of Plato was indicated with the term peripatos.Philodemus used the same term to describe the school run by Erastus, Coriscus, and Aristotle at Assos (see above, p. 41). In his will, Lyco uses peripatos to describe the buildings of the school, or the school itself (Diogenes Laertius 5.70).

It is unclear whether the students of Aristotle were called “Peripatetics” because the school had a peripatos, as stated in Plutarch’s Against Colotes (14, 1115a) and Cicero’s De Oratore (3.28 and 3.109), or else because the master loved to talk while walking, as attested by many ancient legends (Diogenes Laertius 5.2–3; see testimonia 68–71 in Düring 1957, pp. 404–411). The first hypothesis is preferred by modern scholars (such as Busse 1893 (pp. 835–842), Wilamowitz 1881 (p. 267), and Brink 1940, cols. 899–904, with an extensive history of the term). But the custom of teaching while strolling was an ancient one. In Plato’s Protagoras (315b), Socrates describes the crowd of students of Protagoras who trailed after him, like the colleagues and assistants of the head physician of a modern hospital, finding it delightful to see, because “it was beautiful how they took care never to get in the way in front of Protagoras; when he turned around they also turned with him, and those listening would split up in a rather nice formation on the two sides of him, and wheel around in a circle to get arranged behind him, very beautifully.” And Plato himself liked to stroll and talk, and the comedic writers of his time made fun of him for this, evidently not making any distinction between Plato and the Sophists. A character in the Meropis of Alexis associates strolling with Plato; “you’ve come in the nick of time! I’m at my wits’ end (aporoumenē),and walking up and down like Plato, and yet I’ve worked out no wise plan, I’ve only tired out my legs!” (Diogenes Laertius 3.26). The same thing is said by the same author of Menedemus, who at times walked and at times taught lessons while standing still (2.130), and of Polemon, who was never seated when debating a problem (4.19). The question is not very important; the only things worth noting are that nothing of the sort is attested of the school of Isocrates, and that this habit seems to have been characteristic of philosophers.