POLITICAL IDEALS

POLITICAL IDEALS
BY
BERTRAND RUSSELL

CONTENTS

I. Political Ideals
II. Capitalism and the Wage System
III. Pitfalls in Socialism
IV. Individual Liberty and Public Control
V. National Independence and Internationalism

CHAPTER I
POLITICAL IDEALS


IN dark days, men need a clear faith and a well-grounded hope; and as the outcome of these, the calm courage which takes no account of hardships by the way. The times through which we are passing have afforded to many of us a confirmation of our faith. We see that the things we had thought evil are really evil, and we know more definitely than we ever did before the directions in which men must move if a better world is to arise on the ruins of the one which is now hurling itself into destruction. We see that men’s political dealings with one another are based on wholly wrong ideals, and can only be saved by quite different ideals from continuing to be a source of suffering, devastation, and sin.

Political ideals must be based upon ideals for the individual life. The aim of politics should be to make the lives of individuals as good as possible. There is nothing for the politician to consider outside or above the various men, women, and children who compose the world. The problem of politics is to adjust the relations of human beings in such a way that each severally may have as much of good in his existence as possible. And this problem requires that we should first consider what it is that we think good in the individual life.

To begin with, we do not want all men to be alike. We do not want to lay down a pattern or type to which men of all sorts are to be made by some means or another to approximate. This is the ideal of the impatient administrator. A bad teacher will aim at imposing his opinion, and turning out a set of pupils all of whom will give the same definite answer on a doubtful point. Mr. Bernard Shaw is said to hold that Troilus and Cressida is the best of Shakespeare’s plays. Although I disagree with this opinion, I should welcome it in a pupil as a sign of individuality; but most teachers would not tolerate such a heterodox view. Not only teachers, but all commonplace persons in authority, desire in their subordinates that kind of uniformity which makes their actions easily predictable and never inconvenient. The result is that they crush initiative and individuality when they can, and when they cannot, they quarrel with it.

It is not one ideal for all men, but a separate ideal for each separate man, that has to be realized if possible. Every man has it in his being to develop into something good or bad: there is a best possible for him, and a worst possible. His circumstances will determine whether his capacities for good are developed or crushed, and whether his bad impulses are strengthened or gradually diverted into better channels.

But although we cannot set up in any detail an ideal of character which is to be universally applicable—although we cannot say, for instance, that all men ought to be industrious, or self-sacrificing, or fond of music—there are some broad principles which can be used to guide our estimates as to what is possible or desirable.

We may distinguish two sorts of goods, and two corresponding sorts of impulses. There are goods in regard to which individual possession is possible, and there are goods in which all can share alike. The food and clothing of one man is not the food and clothing of another; if the supply is insufficient, what one man has is obtained at the expense of some other man. This applies to material goods generally, and therefore to the greater part of the present economic life of the world. On the other hand, mental and spiritual goods do not belong to one man to the exclusion of another. If one man knows a science, that does not prevent others from knowing it; on the contrary, it helps them to acquire the knowledge. If one man is a great artist or poet, that does not prevent others from painting pictures or writing poems, but helps to create the atmosphere in which such things are possible. If one man is full of good-will toward others, that does not mean that there is less good-will to be shared among the rest; the more good-will one man has, the more he is likely to create among others. In such matters there is no possession, because there is not a definite amount to be shared; any increase anywhere tends to produce an increase everywhere.

There are two kinds of impulses, corresponding to the two kinds of goods. There are possessive impulses, which aim at acquiring or retaining private goods that cannot be shared; these center in the impulse of property. And there are creative or constructive impulses, which aim at bringing into the world or making available for use the kind of goods in which there is no privacy and no possession.

The best life is the one in which the creative impulses play the largest part and the possessive impulses the smallest. This is no new discovery. The Gospel says: “Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?” The thought we give to these things is taken away from matters of more importance. And what is worse, the habit of mind engendered by thinking of these things is a bad one; it leads to competition, envy, domination, cruelty, and almost all the moral evils that infest the world. In particular, it leads to the predatory use of force. Material possessions can be taken by force and enjoyed by the robber. Spiritual possessions cannot be taken in this way. You may kill an artist or a thinker, but you cannot acquire his art or his thought. You may put a man to death because he loves his fellow-men, but you will not by so doing acquire the love which made his happiness. Force is impotent in such matters; it is only as regards material goods that it is effective. For this reason the men who believe in force are the men whose thoughts and desires are preoccupied with material goods.

The possessive impulses, when they are strong, infect activities which ought to be purely creative. A man who has made some valuable discovery may be filled with jealousy of a rival discoverer. If one man has found a cure for cancer and another has found a cure for consumption, one of them may be delighted if the other man’s discovery turns out a mistake, instead of regretting the suffering of patients which would otherwise have been avoided. In such cases, instead of desiring knowledge for its own sake, or for the sake of its usefulness, a man is desiring it as a means to reputation. Every creative impulse is shadowed by a possessive impulse; even the aspirant to saintliness may be jealous of the more successful saint. Most affection is accompanied by some tinge of jealousy, which is a possessive impulse intruding into the creative region. Worst of all, in this direction, is the sheer envy of those who have missed everything worth having in life, and who are instinctively bent on preventing others from enjoying what they have not had. There is often much of this in the attitude of the old toward the young.

There is in human beings, as in plants and animals, a certain natural impulse of growth, and this is just as true of mental as of physical development. Physical development is helped by air and nourishment and exercise, and may be hindered by the sort of treatment which made Chinese women’s feet small. In just the same way mental development may be helped or hindered by outside influences. The outside influences that help are those that merely provide encouragement or mental food or opportunities for exercising mental faculties. The influences that hinder are those that interfere with growth by applying any kind of force, whether discipline or authority or fear or the tyranny of public opinion or the necessity of engaging in some totally incongenial occupation. Worst of all influences are those that thwart or twist a man’s fundamental impulse, which is what shows itself as conscience in the moral sphere; such influences are likely to do a man an inward danger from which he will never recover.

Those who realize the harm that can be done to others by any use of force against them, and the worthlessness of the goods that can be acquired by force, will be very full of respect for the liberty of others; they will not try to bind them or fetter them; they will be slow to judge and swift to sympathize; they will treat every human being with a kind of tenderness, because the principle of good in him is at once fragile and infinitely precious. They will not condemn those who are unlike themselves; they will know and feel that individuality brings differences and uniformity means death. They will wish each human being to be as much a living thing and as little a mechanical product as it is possible to be; they will cherish in each one just those things which the harsh usage of a ruthless world would destroy. In one word, all their dealings with others will be inspired by a deep impulse of reverence.

What we shall desire for individuals is now clear: strong creative impulses, overpowering and absorbing the instinct of possession; reverence for others; respect for the fundamental creative impulse in ourselves. A certain kind of self-respect or native pride is necessary to a good life; a man must not have a sense of utter inward defeat if he is to remain whole, but must feel the courage and the hope and the will to live by the best that is in him, whatever outward or inward obstacles it may encounter. So far as it lies in a man’s own power, his life will realize its best possibilities if it has three things: creative rather than possessive impulses, reverence for others, and respect for the fundamental impulse in himself.

Political and social institutions are to be judged by the good or harm that they do to individuals. Do they encourage creativeness rather than possessiveness? Do they embody or promote a spirit of reverence between human beings? Do they preserve self-respect?

In all these ways the institutions under which we live are very far indeed from what they ought to be.

Institutions, and especially economic systems, have a profound influence in molding the characters of men and women. They may encourage adventure and hope, or timidity and the pursuit of safety. They may open men’s minds to great possibilities, or close them against everything but the risk of obscure misfortune. They may make a man’s happiness depend upon what he adds to the general possessions of the world, or upon what he can secure for himself of the private goods in which others cannot share. Modern capitalism forces the wrong decision of these alternatives upon all who are not heroic or exceptionally fortunate.

Men’s impulses are molded, partly by their native disposition, partly by opportunity and environment, especially early environment. Direct preaching can do very little to change impulses, though it can lead people to restrain the direct expression of them, often with the result that the impulses go underground and come to the surface again in some contorted form. When we have discovered what kinds of impulse we desire, we must not rest content with preaching, or with trying to produce the outward manifestation without the inner spring; we must try rather to alter institutions in the way that will, of itself, modify the life of impulse in the desired direction.

At present our institutions rest upon two things: property and power. Both of these are very unjustly distributed; both, in the actual world, are of great importance to the happiness of the individual. Both are possessive goods; yet without them many of the goods in which all might share are hard to acquire as things are now.

Without property, as things are, a man has no freedom, and no security for the necessities of a tolerable life; without power, he has no opportunity for initiative. If men are to have free play for their creative impulses, they must be liberated from sordid cares by a certain measure of security, and they must have a sufficient share of power to be able to exercise initiative as regards the course and conditions of their lives.

Few men can succeed in being creative rather than possessive in a world which is wholly built on competition, where the great majority would fall into utter destitution if they became careless as to the acquisition of material goods, where honor and power and respect are given to wealth rather than to wisdom, where the law embodies and consecrates the injustice of those who have toward those who have not. In such an environment even those whom nature has endowed with great creative gifts become infected with the poison of competition. Men combine in groups to attain more strength in the scramble for material goods, and loyalty to the group spreads a halo of quasi-idealism round the central impulse of greed. Trade-unions and the Labor party are no more exempt from this vice than other parties and other sections of society; though they are largely inspired by the hope of a radically better world. They are too often led astray by the immediate object of securing for themselves a large share of material goods. That this desire is in accordance with justice, it is impossible to deny; but something larger and more constructive is needed as a political ideal, if the victors of to-morrow are not to become the oppressors of the day after. The inspiration and outcome of a reforming movement ought to be freedom and a generous spirit, not niggling restrictions and regulations.

The present economic system concentrates initiative in the hands of a small number of very rich men. Those who are not capitalists have, almost always, very little choice as to their activities when once they have selected a trade or profession; they are not part of the power that moves the mechanism, but only a passive portion of the machinery. Despite political democracy, there is still an extraordinary degree of difference in the power of self-direction belonging to a capitalist and to a man who has to earn his living. Economic affairs touch men’s lives, at most times, much more intimately than political questions. At present the man who has no capital usually has to sell himself to some large organization, such as a railway company, for example. He has no voice in its management, and no liberty in politics except what his trade-union can secure for him. If he happens to desire a form of liberty which is not thought important by his trade-union, he is powerless; he must submit or starve.

Exactly the same thing happens to professional men. Probably a majority of journalists are engaged in writing for newspapers whose politics they disagree with; only a man of wealth can own a large newspaper, and only an accident can enable the point of view or the interests of those who are not wealthy to find expression in a newspaper. A large part of the best brains of the country are in the civil service, where the condition of their employment is silence about the evils which cannot be concealed from them. A Nonconformist minister loses his livelihood if his views displease his congregation; a member of Parliament loses his seat if he is not sufficiently supple or sufficiently stupid to follow or share all the turns and twists of public opinion. In every walk of life, independence of mind is punished by failure, more and more as economic organizations grow larger and more rigid. Is it surprising that men become increasingly docile, increasingly ready to submit to dictation and to forego the right of thinking for themselves? Yet along such lines civilization can only sink into a Byzantine immobility.

Fear of destitution is not a motive out of which a free creative life can grow, yet it is the chief motive which inspires the daily work of most wage-earners. The hope of possessing more wealth and power than any man ought to have, which is the corresponding motive of the rich, is quite as bad in its effects; it compels men to close their minds against justice, and to prevent themselves from thinking honestly on social questions while in the depths of their hearts they uneasily feel that their pleasures are bought by the miseries of others. The injustices of destitution and wealth alike ought to be rendered impossible. Then a great fear would be removed from the lives of the many, and hope would have to take on a better form in the lives of the few.

But security and liberty are only the negative conditions for good political institutions. When they have been won, we need also the positive condition: encouragement of creative energy. Security alone might produce a smug and stationary society; it demands creativeness as its counterpart, in order to keep alive the adventure and interest of life, and the movement toward perpetually new and better things. There can be no final goal for human institutions; the best are those that most encourage progress toward others still better. Without effort and change, human life cannot remain good. It is not a finished Utopia that we ought to desire, but a world where imagination and hope are alive and active.

It is a sad evidence of the weariness mankind has suffered from excessive toil that his heavens have usually been places where nothing ever happened or changed. Fatigue produces the illusion that only rest is needed for happiness; but when men have rested for a time, boredom drives them to renewed activity. For this reason, a happy life must be one in which there is activity. If it is also to be a useful life, the activity ought to be as far as possible creative, not merely predatory or defensive. But creative activity requires imagination and originality, which are apt to be subversive of the status quo. At present, those who have power dread a disturbance of the status quo, lest their unjust privileges should be taken away. In combination with the instinct for conventionality, 1 which man shares with the other gregarious animals, those who profit by the existing order have established a system which punishes originality and starves imagination from the moment of first going to school down to the time of death and burial. The whole spirit in which education is conducted needs to be changed, in order that children may be encouraged to think and feel for themselves, not to acquiesce passively in the thoughts and feelings of others. It is not rewards after the event that will produce initiative, but a certain mental atmosphere. There have been times when such an atmosphere existed: the great days of Greece, and Elizabethan England, may serve as examples. But in our own day the tyranny of vast machine-like organizations, governed from above by men who know and care little for the lives of those whom they control, is killing individuality and freedom of mind, and forcing men more and more to conform to a uniform pattern.

Vast organizations are an inevitable element in modern life, and it is useless to aim at their abolition, as has been done by some reformers, for instance, William Morris. It is true that they make the preservation of individuality more difficult, but what is needed is a way of combining them with the greatest possible scope for individual initiative.

One very important step toward this end would be to render democratic the government of every organization. At present, our legislative institutions are more or less democratic, except for the important fact that women are excluded. But our administration is still purely bureaucratic, and our economic organizations are monarchical or oligarchic. Every limited liability company is run by a small number of self-appointed or co-opted directors. There can be no real freedom or democracy until the men who do the work in a business also control its management.

Another measure which would do much to increase liberty would be an increase of self-government for subordinate groups, whether geographical or economic or defined by some common belief, like religious sects. A modern state is so vast and its machinery is so little understood that even when a man has a vote he does not feel himself any effective part of the force which determines its policy. Except in matters where he can act in conjunction with an exceptionally powerful group, he feels himself almost impotent, and the government remains a remote impersonal circumstance, which must be simply endured, like the weather. By a share in the control of smaller bodies, a man might regain some of that sense of personal opportunity and responsibility which belonged to the citizen of a city-state in ancient Greece or medieval Italy.

When any group of men has a strong corporate consciousness—such as belongs, for example, to a nation or a trade or a religious body—liberty demands that it should be free to decide for itself all matters which are of great importance to the outside world. This is the basis of the universal claim for national independence. But nations are by no means the only groups which ought to have self-government for their internal concerns. And nations, like other groups, ought not to have complete liberty of action in matters which are of equal concern to foreign nations. Liberty demands self-government, but not the right to interfere with others. The greatest degree of liberty is not secured by anarchy. The reconciliation of liberty with government is a difficult problem, but it is one which any political theory must face.

The essence of government is the use of force in accordance with law to secure certain ends which the holders of power consider desirable. The coercion of an individual or a group by force is always in itself more or less harmful. But if there were no government, the result would not be an absence of force in men’s relations to each other; it would merely be the exercise of force by those who had strong predatory instincts, necessitating either slavery or a perpetual readiness to repel force with force on the part of those whose instincts were less violent. This is the state of affairs at present in international relations, owing to the fact that no international government exists. The results of anarchy between states should suffice to persuade us that anarchism has no solution to offer for the evils of the world.

There is probably one purpose, and only one, for which the use of force by a government is beneficent, and that is to diminish the total amount of force used in the world. It is clear, for example, that the legal prohibition of murder diminishes the total amount of violence in the world. And no one would maintain that parents should have unlimited freedom to ill-treat their children. So long as some men wish to do violence to others, there cannot be complete liberty, for either the wish to do violence must be restrained, or the victims must be left to suffer. For this reason, although individuals and societies should have the utmost freedom as regards their own affairs, they ought not to have complete freedom as regards their dealings with others. To give freedom to the strong to oppress the weak is not the way to secure the greatest possible amount of freedom in the world. This is the basis of the socialist revolt against the kind of freedom which used to be advocated by laissez-faire economists.

Democracy is a device—the best so far invented—for diminishing as much as possible the interference of governments with liberty. If a nation is divided into two sections which cannot both have their way, democracy theoretically insures that the majority shall have their way. But democracy is not at all an adequate device unless it is accompanied by a very great amount of devolution. Love of uniformity, or the mere pleasure of interfering, or dislike of differing tastes and temperaments, may often lead a majority to control a minority in matters which do not really concern the majority. We should none of us like to have the internal affairs of Great Britain settled by a parliament of the world, if ever such a body came into existence. Nevertheless, there are matters which such a body could settle much better than any existing instrument of government.

The theory of the legitimate use of force in human affairs, where a government exists, seems clear. Force should only be used against those who attempt to use force against others, or against those who will not respect the law in cases where a common decision is necessary and a minority are opposed to the action of the majority. These seem legitimate occasions for the use of force; and they should be legitimate occasions in international affairs, if an international government existed. The problem of the legitimate occasions for the use of force in the absence of a government is a different one, with which we are not at present concerned.

Although a government must have the power to use force, and may on occasion use it legitimately, the aim of the reformers to have such institutions as will diminish the need for actual coercion will be found to have this effect. Most of us abstain, for instance, from theft, not because it is illegal, but because we feel no desire to steal. The more men learn to live creatively rather than possessively, the less their wishes will lead them to thwart others or to attempt violent interference with their liberty. Most of the conflicts of interests, which lead individuals or organizations into disputes, are purely imaginary, and would be seen to be so if men aimed more at the goods in which all can share, and less at those private possessions that are the source of strife. In proportion as men live creatively, they cease to wish to interfere with others by force. Very many matters in which, at present, common action is thought indispensable, might well be left to individual decision. It used to be thought absolutely necessary that all the inhabitants of a country should have the same religion, but we now know that there is no such necessity. In like manner it will be found, as men grow more tolerant in their instincts, that many uniformities now insisted upon are useless and even harmful.

Good political institutions would weaken the impulse toward force and domination in two ways: first, by increasing the opportunities for the creative impulses, and by shaping education so as to strengthen these impulses; secondly, by diminishing the outlets for the possessive instincts. The diffusion of power, both in the political and the economic sphere, instead of its concentration in the hands of officials and captains of industry, would greatly diminish the opportunities for acquiring the habit of command, out of which the desire for exercising tyranny is apt to spring. Autonomy, both for districts and for organizations, would leave fewer occasions when governments were called upon to make decisions as to other people’s concerns. And the abolition of capitalism and the wage system would remove the chief incentive to fear and greed, those correlative passions by which all free life is choked and gagged.

Few men seem to realize how many of the evils from which we suffer are wholly unnecessary, and that they could be abolished by a united effort within a few years. If a majority in every civilized country so desired, we could, within twenty years, abolish all abject poverty, quite half the illness in the world, the whole economic slavery which binds down nine tenths of our population; we could fill the world with beauty and joy, and secure the reign of universal peace. It is only because men are apathetic that this is not achieved, only because imagination is sluggish, and what always has been is regarded as what always must be. With good-will, generosity, intelligence, these things could be brought about.


CHAPTER II
CAPITALISM AND THE WAGE SYSTEM

I


THE world is full of preventible evils which most men would be glad to see prevented.

Nevertheless, these evils persist, and nothing effective is done toward abolishing them.

This paradox produces astonishment in inexperienced reformers, and too often produces disillusionment in those who have come to know the difficulty of changing human institutions.

War is recognized as an evil by an immense majority in every civilized country; but this recognition does not prevent war.

The unjust distribution of wealth must be obviously an evil to those who are not prosperous, and they are nine tenths of the population. Nevertheless it continues unabated.

The tyranny of the holders of power is a source of needless suffering and misfortune to very large sections of mankind; but power remains in few hands, and tends, if anything, to grow more concentrated.

I wish first to study the evils of our present institutions, and the causes of the very limited success of reformers in the past, and then to suggest reasons for the hope of a more lasting and permanent success in the near future.

The war has come as a challenge to all who desire a better world. The system which cannot save mankind from such an appalling disaster is at fault somewhere, and cannot be amended in any lasting way unless the danger of great wars in the future can be made very small.

But war is only the final flower of an evil tree. Even in times of peace, most men live lives of monotonous labor, most women are condemned to a drudgery which almost kills the possibility of happiness before youth is past, most children are allowed to grow up in ignorance of all that would enlarge their thoughts or stimulate their imagination. The few who are more fortunate are rendered illiberal by their unjust privileges, and oppressive through fear of the awakening indignation of the masses. From the highest to the lowest, almost all men are absorbed in the economic struggle: the struggle to acquire what is their due or to retain what is not their due. Material possessions, in fact or in desire, dominate our outlook, usually to the exclusion of all generous and creative impulses. Possessiveness—the passion to have and to hold—is the ultimate source of war, and the foundation of all the ills from which the political world is suffering. Only by diminishing the strength of this passion and its hold upon our daily lives can new institutions bring permanent benefit to mankind.

Institutions which will diminish the sway of greed are possible, but only through a complete reconstruction of our whole economic system. Capitalism and the wage system must be abolished; they are twin monsters which are eating up the life of the world. In place of them we need a system which will hold in cheek men’s predatory impulses, and will diminish the economic injustice that allows some to be rich in idleness while others are poor in spite of unremitting labor; but above all we need a system which will destroy the tyranny of the employer, by making men at the same time secure against destitution and able to find scope for individual initiative in the control of the industry by which they live. A better system can do all these things, and can be established by the democracy whenever it grows weary of enduring evils which there is no reason to endure.

We may distinguish four purposes at which an economic system may aim: first, it may aim at the greatest possible production of goods and at facilitating technical progress; second, it may aim at securing distributive justice; third, it may aim at giving security against destitution; and, fourth, it may aim at liberating creative impulses and diminishing possessive impulses.

Of these four purposes the last is the most important. Security is chiefly important as a means to it. State socialism, though it might give material security and more justice than we have at present, would probably fail to liberate creative impulses or produce a progressive society.

Our present system fails in all four purposes. It is chiefly defended on the ground that it achieves the first of the four purposes, namely, the greatest possible production of material goods, but it only does this in a very short-sighted way, by methods which are wasteful in the long run both of human material and of natural resources.

Capitalistic enterprise involves a ruthless belief in the importance of increasing material production to the utmost possible extent now and in the immediate future. In obedience to this belief, new portions of the earth’s surface are continually brought under the sway of industrialism. Vast tracts of Africa become recruiting grounds for the labor required in the gold and diamond mines of the Rand, Rhodesia, and Kimberley; for this purpose, the population is demoralized, taxed, driven into revolt, and exposed to the contamination of European vice and disease. Healthy and vigorous races from Southern Europe are tempted to America, where sweating and slum life reduce their vitality if they do not actually cause their death. What damage is done to our own urban populations by the conditions under which they live, we all know. And what is true of the human riches of the world is no less true of the physical resources. The mines, forests, and wheat-fields of the world are all being exploited at a rate which must practically exhaust them at no distant date. On the side of material production, the world is living too fast; in a kind of delirium, almost all the energy of the world has rushed into the immediate production of something, no matter what, and no matter at what cost. And yet our present system is defended on the ground that it safeguards progress!

It cannot be said that our present economic system is any more successful in regard to the other three objects which ought to be aimed at. Among the many obvious evils of capitalism and the wage system, none are more glaring than that they encourage predatory instincts, that they allow economic injustice, and that they give great scope to the tyranny of the employer.

As to predatory instincts, we may say, broadly speaking, that in a state of nature there would be two ways of acquiring riches—one by production, the other by robbery. Under our existing system, although what is recognized as robbery is forbidden, there are nevertheless many ways of becoming rich without contributing anything to the wealth of the community. Ownership of land or capital, whether acquired or inherited, gives a legal right to a permanent income. Although most people have to produce in order to live, a privileged minority are able to live in luxury without producing anything at all. As these are the men who are not only the most fortunate but also the most respected, there is a general desire to enter their ranks, and a widespread unwillingness to face the fact that there is no justification whatever for incomes derived in this way. And apart from the passive enjoyment of rent or interest, the methods of acquiring wealth are very largely predatory. It is not, as a rule, by means of useful inventions, or of any other action which increases the general wealth of the community, that men amass fortunes; it is much more often by skill in exploiting or circumventing others. Nor is it only among the rich that our present regime promotes a narrowly acquisitive spirit. The constant risk of destitution compels most men to fill a great part of their time and thought with the economic struggle. There is a theory that this increases the total output of wealth by the community. But for reasons to which I shall return later, I believe this theory to be wholly mistaken.

Economic injustice is perhaps the most obvious evil of our present system. It would be utterly absurd to maintain that the men who inherit great wealth deserve better of the community than those who have to work for their living. I am not prepared to maintain that economic justice requires an exactly equal income for everybody. Some kinds of work require a larger income for efficiency than others do; but there is economic injustice as soon as a man has more than his share, unless it is because his efficiency in his work requires it, or as a reward for some definite service. But this point is so obvious that it needs no elaboration.

The modern growth of monopolies in the shape of trusts, cartels, federations of employers and so on has greatly increased the power of the capitalist to levy toll on the community. This tendency will not cease of itself, but only through definite action on the part of those who do not profit by the capitalist regime. Unfortunately the distinction between the proletariat and the capitalist is not so sharp as it was in the minds of socialist theorizers. Trade-unions have funds in various securities; friendly societies are large capitalists; and many individuals eke out their wages by invested savings. All this increases the difficulty of any clear-cut radical change in our economic system. But it does not diminish the desirability of such a change.

Such a system as that suggested by the French syndicalists, in which each trade would be self-governing and completely independent, without the control of any central authority, would not secure economic justice. Some trades are in a much stronger bargaining position than others. Coal and transport, for example, could paralyze the national life, and could levy blackmail by threatening to do so. On the other hand, such people as school teachers, for example, could rouse very little terror by the threat of a strike and would be in a very weak bargaining position. Justice can never be secured by any system of unrestrained force exercised by interested parties in their own interests. For this reason the abolition of the state, which the syndicalists seem to desire, would be a measure not compatible with economic justice.

The tyranny of the employer, which at present robs the greater part of most men’s lives of all liberty and all initiative, is unavoidable so long as the employer retains the right of dismissal with consequent loss of pay. This right is supposed to be essential in order that men may have an incentive to work thoroughly. But as men grow more civilized, incentives based on hope become increasingly preferable to those that are based on fear. It would be far better that men should be rewarded for working well than that they should be punished for working badly. This system is already in operation in the civil service, where a man is only dismissed for some exceptional degree of vice or virtue, such as murder or illegal abstention from it. Sufficient pay to ensure a livelihood ought to be given to every person who is willing to work, independently of the question whether the particular work at which he is skilled is wanted at the moment or not. If it is not wanted, some new trade which is wanted ought to be taught at the public expense. Why, for example, should a hansom-cab driver be allowed to suffer on account of the introduction of taxies? He has not committed any crime, and the fact that his work is no longer wanted is due to causes entirely outside his control. Instead of being allowed to starve, he ought to be given instruction in motor driving or in whatever other trade may seem most suitable. At present, owing to the fact that all industrial changes tend to cause hardships to some section of wage-earners, there is a tendency to technical conservatism on the part of labor, a dislike of innovations, new processes, and new methods. But such changes, if they are in the permanent interest of the community, ought to be carried out without allowing them to bring unmerited loss to those sections of the community whose labor is no longer wanted in the old form. The instinctive conservatism of mankind is sure to make all processes of production change more slowly than they should. It is a pity to add to this by the avoidable conservatism which is forced upon organized labor at present through the unjust workings of a change.

It will be said that men will not work well if the fear of dismissal does not spur them on. I think it is only a small percentage of whom this would be true at present. And those of whom it would be true might easily become industrious if they were given more congenial work or a wiser training. The residue who cannot be coaxed into industry by any such methods are probably to be regarded as pathological cases, requiring medical rather than penal treatment. And against this residue must be set the very much larger number who are now ruined in health or in morale by the terrible uncertainty of their livelihood and the great irregularity of their employment. To very many, security would bring a quite new possibility of physical and moral health.

The most dangerous aspect of the tyranny of the employer is the power which it gives him of interfering with men’s activities outside their working hours. A man may be dismissed because the employer dislikes his religion or his politics, or chooses to think his private life immoral. He may be dismissed because he tries to produce a spirit of independence among his fellow employees. He may fail completely to find employment merely on the ground that he is better educated than most and therefore more dangerous. Such cases actually occur at present. This evil would not be remedied, but rather intensified, under state socialism, because, where the State is the only employer, there is no refuge from its prejudices such as may now accidentally arise through the differing opinions of different men. The State would be able to enforce any system of beliefs it happened to like, and it is almost certain that it would do so. Freedom of thought would be penalized, and all independence of spirit would die out.

Any rigid system would involve this evil. It is very necessary that there should be diversity and lack of complete systematization. Minorities must be able to live and develop their opinions freely. If this is not secured, the instinct of persecution and conformity will force all men into one mold and make all vital progress impossible.

For these reasons, no one ought to be allowed to suffer destitution so long as he or she is willing to work. And no kind of inquiry ought to be made into opinion or private life. It is only on this basis that it is possible to build up an economic system not founded upon tyranny and terror.


II


The power of the economic reformer is limited by the technical productivity of labor. So long as it was necessary to the bare subsistence of the human race that most men should work very long hours for a pittance, so long no civilization was possible except an aristocratic one; if there were to be men with sufficient leisure for any mental life, there had to be others who were sacrificed for the good of the few. But the time when such a system was necessary has passed away with the progress of machinery. It would be possible now, if we had a wise economic system, for all who have mental needs to find satisfaction for them. By a few hours a day of manual work, a man can produce as much as is necessary for his own subsistence; and if he is willing to forgo luxuries, that is all that the community has a right to demand of him. It ought to be open to all who so desire to do short hours of work for little pay, and devote their leisure to whatever pursuit happens to attract them. No doubt the great majority of those who chose this course would spend their time in mere amusement, as most of the rich do at present. But it could not be said, in such a society, that they were parasites upon the labor of others. And there would be a minority who would give their hours of nominal idleness to science or art or literature, or some other pursuit out of which fundamental progress may come. In all such matters, organization and system can only do harm. The one thing that can be done is to provide opportunity, without repining at the waste that results from most men failing to make good use of the opportunity.

But except in cases of unusual laziness or eccentric ambition, most men would elect to do a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. For these, who would form the immense majority, the important thing is that ordinary work should, as far as possible, afford interest and independence and scope for initiative. These things are more important than income, as soon as a certain minimum has been reached. They can be secured by gild socialism, by industrial self-government subject to state control as regards the relations of a trade to the rest of the community. So far as I know, they cannot be secured in any other way.

Guild socialism, as advocated by Mr. Orage and the “New Age,” is associated with a polemic against “political” action, and in favor of direct economic action by trade-unions. It shares this with syndicalism, from which most of what is new in it is derived. But I see no reason for this attitude; political and economic action seem to me equally necessary, each in its own time and place. I think there is danger in the attempt to use the machinery of the present capitalist state for socialistic purposes. But there is need of political action to transform the machinery of the state, side by side with the transformation which we hope to see in economic institutions. In this country, neither transformation is likely to be brought about by a sudden revolution; we must expect each to come step by step, if at all, and I doubt if either could or should advance very far without the other.

The economic system we should ultimately wish to see would be one in which the state would be the sole recipient of economic rent, while private capitalistic enterprises should be replaced by self-governing combinations of those who actually do the work. It ought to be optional whether a man does a whole day’s work for a whole day’s pay, or half a day’s work for half a day’s pay, except in cases where such an arrangement would cause practical inconvenience. A man’s pay should not cease through the accident of his work being no longer needed, but should continue so long as he is willing to work, a new trade being taught him at the public expense, if necessary. Unwillingness to work should be treated medically or educationally, when it could not be overcome by a change to some more congenial occupation.

The workers in a given industry should all be combined in one autonomous unit, and their work should not be subject to any outside control. The state should fix the price at which they produce, but should leave the industry self-governing in all other respects. In fixing prices, the state should, as far as possible, allow each industry to profit by any improvements which it might introduce into its own processes, but should endeavor to prevent undeserved loss or gain through changes in external economic conditions. In this way there would be every incentive to progress, with the least possible danger of unmerited destitution. And although large economic organizations will continue, as they are bound to do, there will be a diffusion of power which will take away the sense of individual impotence from which men and women suffer at present.


III


Some men, though they may admit that such a system would be desirable, will argue that it is impossible to bring it about, and that therefore we must concentrate on more immediate objects.

I think it must be conceded that a political party ought to have proximate aims, measures which it hopes to carry in the next session or the next parliament, as well as a more distant goal. Marxian socialism, as it existed in Germany, seemed to me to suffer in this way: although the party was numerically powerful, it was politically weak, because it had no minor measures to demand while waiting for the revolution. And when, at last, German socialism was captured by those who desired a less impracticable policy, the modification which occurred was of exactly the wrong kind: acquiescence in bad policies, such as militarism and imperialism, rather than advocacy of partial reforms which, however inadequate, would still have been steps in the right direction.

A similar defect was inherent in the policy of French syndicalism as it existed before the war. Everything was to wait for the general strike; after adequate preparation, one day the whole proletariat would unanimously refuse to work, the property owners would acknowledge their defeat, and agree to abandon all their privileges rather than starve. This is a dramatic conception; but love of drama is a great enemy of true vision. Men cannot be trained, except under very rare circumstances, to do something suddenly which is very different from what they have been doing before. If the general strike were to succeed, the victors, despite their anarchism, would be compelled at once to form an administration, to create a new police force to prevent looting and wanton destruction, to establish a provisional government issuing dictatorial orders to the various sections of revolutionaries. Now the syndicalists are opposed in principle to all political action; they would feel that they were departing from their theory in taking the necessary practical steps, and they would be without the required training because of their previous abstention from politics. For these reasons it is likely that, even after a syndicalist revolution, actual power would fall into the hands of men who were not really syndicalists.

Another objection to a program which is to be realized suddenly at some remote date by a revolution or a general strike is that enthusiasm flags when there is nothing to do meanwhile, and no partial success to lessen the weariness of waiting. The only sort of movement which can succeed by such methods is one where the sentiment and the program are both very simple, as is the case in rebellions of oppressed nations. But the line of demarcation between capitalist and wage-earner is not sharp, like the line between Turk and Armenian, or between an Englishman and a native of India. Those who have advocated the social revolution have been mistaken in their political methods, chiefly because they have not realized how many people there are in the community whose sympathies and interests lie half on the side of capital, half on the side of labor. These people make a clear-cut revolutionary policy very difficult.

For these reasons, those who aim at an economic reconstruction which is not likely to be completed to-morrow must, if they are to have any hope of success, be able to approach their goal by degrees, through measures which are of some use in themselves, even if they should not ultimately lead to the desired end. There must be activities which train men for those that they are ultimately to carry out, and there must be possible achievements in the near future, not only a vague hope of a distant paradise.

But although I believe that all this is true, I believe no less firmly that really vital and radical reform requires some vision beyond the immediate future, some realization of what human beings might make of human life if they chose. Without some such hope, men will not have the energy and enthusiasm necessary to overcome opposition, or the steadfastness to persist when their aims are for the moment unpopular. Every man who has really sincere desire for any great amelioration in the conditions of life has first to face ridicule, then persecution, then cajolery and attempts at subtle corruption. We know from painful experience how few pass unscathed through these three ordeals. The last especially, when the reformer is shown all the kingdoms of the earth, is difficult, indeed almost impossible, except for those who have made their ultimate goal vivid to themselves by clear and definite thought.

Economic systems are concerned essentially with the production and distribution of material goods. Our present system is wasteful on the production side, and unjust on the side of distribution. It involves a life of slavery to economic forces for the great majority of the community, and for the minority a degree of power over the lives of others which no man ought to have. In a good community the production of the necessaries of existence would be a mere preliminary to the important and interesting part of life, except for those who find a pleasure in some part of the work of producing necessaries. It is not in the least necessary that economic needs should dominate man as they do at present. This is rendered necessary at present, partly by the inequalities of wealth, partly by the fact that things of real value, such as a good education, are difficult to acquire, except for the well-to-do.

Private ownership of land and capital is not defensible on grounds of justice, or on the ground that it is an economical way of producing what the community needs. But the chief objections to it are that it stunts the lives of men and women, that it enshrines a ruthless possessiveness in all the respect which is given to success, that it leads men to fill the greater part of their time and thought with the acquisition of purely material goods, and that it affords a terrible obstacle to the advancement of civilization and creative energy.

The approach to a system free from these evils need not be sudden; it is perfectly possible to proceed step by step towards economic freedom and industrial self-government. It is not true that there is any outward difficulty in creating the kind of institutions that we have been considering. If organized labor wishes to create them, nothing could stand in its way. The difficulty involved is merely the difficulty of inspiring men with hope, of giving them enough imagination to see that the evils from which they suffer are unnecessary, and enough thought to understand how the evils are to be cured. This is a difficulty which can be overcome by time and energy. But it will not be overcome if the leaders of organized labor have no breadth of outlook, no vision, no hopes beyond some slight superficial improvement within the framework of the existing system. Revolutionary action may be unnecessary, but revolutionary thought is indispensable, and, as the outcome of thought, a rational and constructive hope.


CHAPTER III
PITFALLS IN SOCIALISM

I


IN its early days, socialism was a revolutionary movement of which the object was the liberation of the wage-earning classes and the establishment of freedom and justice. The passage from capitalism to the new regime was to be sudden and violent: capitalists were to be expropriated without compensation, and their power was not to be replaced by any new authority.

Gradually a change came over the spirit of socialism. In France, socialists became members of the government, and made and unmade parliamentary majorities. In Germany, social democracy grew so strong that it became impossible for it to resist the temptation to barter away some of its intransigeance in return for government recognition of its claims. In England, the Fabians taught the advantage of reform as against revolution, and of conciliatory bargaining as against irreconcilable antagonism.

The method of gradual reform has many merits as compared to the method of revolution, and I have no wish to preach revolution. But gradual reform has certain dangers, to wit, the ownership or control of businesses hitherto in private hands, and by encouraging legislative interference for the benefit of various sections of the wage-earning classes. I think it is at least doubtful whether such measures do anything at all to contribute toward the ideals which inspired the early socialists and still inspire the great majority of those who advocate some form of socialism.

Let us take as an illustration such a measure as state purchase of railways. This is a typical object of state socialism, thoroughly practicable, already achieved in many countries, and clearly the sort of step that must be taken in any piecemeal approach to complete collectivism. Yet I see no reason to believe that any real advance toward democracy, freedom, or economic justice is achieved when a state takes over the railways after full compensation to the shareholders.

Economic justice demands a diminution, if not a total abolition, of the proportion of the national income which goes to the recipients of rent and interest. But when the holders of railway shares are given government stock to replace their shares, they are given the prospect of an income in perpetuity equal to what they might reasonably expect to have derived from their shares. Unless there is reason to expect a great increase in the earnings of railways, the whole operation does nothing to alter the distribution of wealth. This could only be effected if the present owners were expropriated, or paid less than the market value, or given a mere life-interest as compensation. When full value is given, economic justice is not advanced in any degree.

There is equally little advance toward freedom. The men employed on the railway have no more voice than they had before in the management of the railway, or in the wages and conditions of work. Instead of having to fight the directors, with the possibility of an appeal to the government, they now have to fight the government directly; and experience does not lead to the view that a government department has any special tenderness toward the claims of labor. If they strike, they have to contend against the whole organized power of the state, which they can only do successfully if they happen to have a strong public opinion on their side. In view of the influence which the state can always exercise on the press, public opinion is likely to be biased against them, particularly when a nominally progressive government is in power. There will no longer be the possibility of divergences between the policies of different railways. Railway men in England derived advantages for many years from the comparatively liberal policy of the North Eastern Railway, which they were able to use as an argument for a similar policy elsewhere. Such possibilities are excluded by the dead uniformity of state administration.

And there is no real advance toward democracy. The administration of the railways will be in the hands of officials whose bias and associations separate them from labor, and who will develop an autocratic temper through the habit of power. The democratic machinery by which these officials are nominally controlled is cumbrous and remote, and can only be brought into operation on first-class issues which rouse the interest of the whole nation. Even then it is very likely that the superior education of the officials and the government, combined with the advantages of their position, will enable them to mislead the public as to the issues, and alienate the general sympathy even from the most excellent cause.

I do not deny that these evils exist at present; I say only that they will not be remedied by such measures as the nationalization of railways in the present economic and political environment. A greater upheaval, and a greater change in men’s habits of mind, is necessary for any really vital progress.


II


State socialism, even in a nation which possesses the form of political democracy, is not a truly democratic system. The way in which it fails to be democratic may be made plain by an analogy from the political sphere. Every democrat recognizes that the Irish ought to have self-government for Irish affairs, and ought not to be told that they have no grievance because they share in the Parliament of the United Kingdom. It is essential to democracy that any group of citizens whose interests or desires separate them at all widely from the rest of the community should be free to decide their internal affairs for themselves. And what is true of national or local groups is equally true of economic groups, such as miners or railway men. The national machinery of general elections is by no means sufficient to secure for groups of this kind the freedom which they ought to have.

The power of officials, which is a great and growing danger in the modern state, arises from the fact that the majority of the voters, who constitute the only ultimate popular control over officials, are as a rule not interested in any one particular question, and are therefore not likely to interfere effectively against an official who is thwarting the wishes of the minority who are interested. The official is nominally subject to indirect popular control, but not to the control of those who are directly affected by his action. The bulk of the public will either never hear about the matter in dispute, or, if they do hear, will form a hasty opinion based upon inadequate information, which is far more likely to come from the side of the officials than from the section of the community which is affected by the question at issue. In an important political issue, some degree of knowledge is likely to be diffused in time; but in other matters there is little hope that this will happen.

It may be said that the power of officials is much less dangerous than the power of capitalists, because officials have no economic interests that are opposed to those of wage-earners. But this argument involves far too simple a theory of political human nature—a theory which orthodox socialism adopted from the classical political economy, and has tended to retain in spite of growing evidence of its falsity. Economic self-interest, and even economic class-interest, is by no means the only important political motive. Officials, whose salary is generally quite unaffected by their decisions on particular questions, are likely, if they are of average honesty, to decide according to their view of the public interest; but their view will none the less have a bias which will often lead them wrong. It is important to understand this bias before entrusting our destinies too unreservedly to government departments.

The first thing to observe is that, in any very large organization, and above all in a great state, officials and legislators are usually very remote from those whom they govern, and not imaginatively acquainted with the conditions of life to which their decisions will be applied. This makes them ignorant of much that they ought to know, even when they are industrious and willing to learn whatever can be taught by statistics and blue-books. The one thing they understand intimately is the office routine and the administrative rules. The result is an undue anxiety to secure a uniform system. I have heard of a French minister of education taking out his watch, and remarking, “At this moment all the children of such and such an age in France are learning so and so.” This is the ideal of the administrator, an ideal utterly fatal to free growth, initiative, experiment, or any far reaching innovation. Laziness is not one of the motives recognized in textbooks on political theory, because all ordinary knowledge of human nature is considered unworthy of the dignity of these works; yet we all know that laziness is an immensely powerful motive with all but a small minority of mankind.

Unfortunately, in this case laziness is reinforced by love of power, which leads energetic officials to create the systems which lazy officials like to administer. The energetic official inevitably dislikes anything that he does not control. His official sanction must be obtained before anything can be done. Whatever he finds in existence he wishes to alter in some way, so as to have the satisfaction of feeling his power and making it felt. If he is conscientious, he will think out some perfectly uniform and rigid scheme which he believes to be the best possible, and he will then impose this scheme ruthlessly, whatever promising growths he may have to lop down for the sake of symmetry. The result inevitably has something of the deadly dullness of a new rectangular town, as compared with the beauty and richness of an ancient city which has lived and grown with the separate lives and individualities of many generations. What has grown is always more living than what has been decreed; but the energetic official will always prefer the tidiness of what he has decreed to the apparent disorder of spontaneous growth.

The mere possession of power tends to produce a love of power, which is a very dangerous motive, because the only sure proof of power consists in preventing others from doing what they wish to do. The essential theory of democracy is the diffusion of power among the whole people, so that the evils produced by one man’s possession of great power shall be obviated. But the diffusion of power through democracy is only effective when the voters take an interest in the question involved. When the question does not interest them, they do not attempt to control the administration, and all actual power passes into the hands of officials.

For this reason, the true ends of democracy are not achieved by state socialism or by any system which places great power in the hands of men subject to no popular control except that which is more or less indirectly exercised through parliament.

Any fresh survey of men’s political actions shows that, in those who have enough energy to be politically effective, love of power is a stronger motive than economic self-interest. Love of power actuates the great millionaires, who have far more money than they can spend, but continue to amass wealth merely in order to control more and more of the world’s finance. 2 Love of power is obviously the ruling motive of many politicians. It is also the chief cause of wars, which are admittedly almost always a bad speculation from the mere point of view of wealth. For this reason, a new economic system which merely attacks economic motives and does not interfere with the concentration of power is not likely to effect any very great improvement in the world. This is one of the chief reasons for regarding state socialism with suspicion.


III


The problem of the distribution of power is a more difficult one than the problem of the distribution of wealth. The machinery of representative government has concentrated on ultimate power as the only important matter, and has ignored immediate executive power. Almost nothing has been done to democratize administration. Government officials, in virtue of their income, security, and social position, are likely to be on the side of the rich, who have been their daily associates ever since the time of school and college. And whether or not they are on the side of the rich, they are not likely, for the reasons we have been considering, to be genuinely in favor of progress. What applies to government officials applies also to members of Parliament, with the sole difference that they have had to recommend themselves to a constituency. This, however, only adds hypocrisy to the other qualities of a ruling caste. Whoever has stood in the lobby of the House of Commons watching members emerge with wandering eye and hypothetical smile, until the constituent is espied, his arm taken, “my dear fellow” whispered in his ear, and his steps guided toward the inner precincts—whoever, observing this, has realized that these are the arts by which men become and remain legislators, can hardly fail to feel that democracy as it exists is not an absolutely perfect instrument of government. It is a painful fact that the ordinary voter, at any rate in England, is quite blind to insincerity. The man who does not care about any definite political measures can generally be won by corruption or flattery, open or concealed; the man who is set on securing reforms will generally prefer an ambitious windbag to a man who desires the public good without possessing a ready tongue. And the ambitious windbag, as soon as he has become a power by the enthusiasm he has aroused, will sell his influence to the governing clique, sometimes openly, sometimes by the more subtle method of intentionally failing at a crisis. This is part of the normal working of democracy as embodied in representative institutions. Yet a cure must be found if democracy is not to remain a farce.

One of the sources of evil in modern large democracies is the fact that most of the electorate have no direct or vital interest in most of the questions that arise. Should Welsh children be allowed the use of the Welsh language in schools? Should gipsies be compelled to abandon their nomadic life at the bidding of the education authorities? Should miners have an eight-hour day? Should Christian Scientists be compelled to call in doctors in case of serious illness? These are matters of passionate interest to certain sections of the community, but of very little interest to the great majority. If they are decided according to the wishes of the numerical majority, the intense desires of a minority will be overborne by the very slight and uninformed whims of the indifferent remainder. If the minority are geographically concentrated, so that they can decide elections in a certain number of constituencies, like the Welsh and the miners, they have a good chance of getting their way, by the wholly beneficent process which its enemies describe as log-rolling. But if they are scattered and politically feeble, like the gipsies and the Christian Scientists, they stand a very poor chance against the prejudices of the majority. Even when they are geographically concentrated, like the Irish, they may fail to obtain their wishes, because they arouse some hostility or some instinct of domination in the majority. Such a state of affairs is the negation of all democratic principles.

The tyranny of the majority is a very real danger. It is a mistake to suppose that the majority is necessarily right. On every new question the majority is always wrong at first. In matters where the state must act as a whole, such as tariffs, for example, decision by majorities is probably the best method that can be devised. But there are a great many questions in which there is no need of a uniform decision. Religion is recognized as one of these. Education ought to be one, provided a certain minimum standard is attained. Military service clearly ought to be one. Wherever divergent action by different groups is possible without anarchy, it ought to be permitted. In such cases it will be found by those who consider past history that, whenever any new fundamental issue arises, the majority are in the wrong, because they are guided by prejudice and habit. Progress comes through the gradual effect of a minority in converting opinion and altering custom. At one time—not so very long ago—it was considered monstrous wickedness to maintain that old women ought not to be burnt as witches. If those who held this opinion had been forcibly suppressed, we should still be steeped in medieval superstition. For such reasons, it is of the utmost importance that the majority should refrain from imposing its will as regards matters in which uniformity is not absolutely necessary.


IV


The cure for the evils and dangers which we have been considering is a very great extension of devolution and federal government. Wherever there is a national consciousness, as in Wales and Ireland, the area in which it exists ought to be allowed to decide all purely local affairs without external interference. But there are many matters which ought to be left to the management, not of local groups, but of trade groups, or of organizations embodying some set of opinions. In the East, men are subject to different laws according to the religion they profess. Something of this kind is necessary if any semblance of liberty is to exist where there is great divergence in beliefs.

Some matters are essentially geographical; for instance, gas and water, roads, tariffs, armies and navies. These must be decided by an authority representing an area. How large the area ought to be, depends upon accidents of topography and sentiment, and also upon the nature of the matter involved. Gas and water require a small area, roads a somewhat larger one, while the only satisfactory area for an army or a navy is the whole planet, since no smaller area will prevent war.

But the proper unit in most economic questions, and also in most questions that are intimately concerned with personal opinions, is not geographical at all. The internal management of railways ought not to be in the hands of the geographical state, for reasons which we have already considered. Still less ought it to be in the hands of a set of irresponsible capitalists. The only truly democratic system would be one which left the internal management of railways in the hands of the men who work on them. These men should elect the general manager, and a parliament of directors if necessary. All questions of wages, conditions of labor, running of trains, and acquisition of material, should be in the hands of a body responsible only to those actually engaged in the work of the railway.

The same arguments apply to other large trades: mining, iron and steel, cotton, and so on. British trade-unionism, it seems to me, has erred in conceiving labor and capital as both permanent forces, which were to be brought to some equality of strength by the organization of labor. This seems to me too modest an ideal. The ideal which I should wish to substitute involves the conquest of democracy and self-government in the economic sphere as in the political sphere, and the total abolition of the power now wielded by the capitalist. The man who works on a railway ought to have a voice in the government of the railway, just as much as the man who works in a state has a right to a voice in the management of his state. The concentration of business initiative in the hands of the employers is a great evil, and robs the employees of their legitimate share of interest in the larger problems of their trade.

French syndicalists were the first to advocate the system of trade autonomy as a better solution than state socialism. But in their view the trades were to be independent, almost like sovereign states at present. Such a system would not promote peace, any more than it does at present in international relations. In the affairs of any body of men, we may broadly distinguish what may be called questions of home politics from questions of foreign politics. Every group sufficiently well-marked to constitute a political entity ought to be autonomous in regard to internal matters, but not in regard to those that directly affect the outside world. If two groups are both entirely free as regards their relations to each other, there is no way of averting the danger of an open or covert appeal to force. The relations of a group of men to the outside world ought, whenever possible, to be controlled by a neutral authority. It is here that the state is necessary for adjusting the relations between different trades. The men who make some commodity should be entirely free as regards hours of labor, distribution of the total earnings of the trade, and all questions of business management. But they should not be free as regards the price of what they produce, since price is a matter concerning their relations to the rest of the community. If there were nominal freedom in regard to price, there would be a danger of a constant tug-of-war, in which those trades which were most immediately necessary to the existence of the community could always obtain an unfair advantage. Force is no more admirable in the economic sphere than in dealings between states. In order to secure the maximum of freedom with the minimum of force, the universal principle is: Autonomy within each politically important group, and a neutral authority for deciding questions involving relations between groups. The neutral authority should, of course, rest on a democratic basis, but should, if possible, represent a constituency wider than that of the groups concerned. In international affairs the only adequate authority would be one representing all civilized nations.

In order to prevent undue extension of the power of such authorities, it is desirable and necessary that the various autonomous groups should be very jealous of their liberties, and very ready to resist by political means any encroachments upon their independence. State socialism does not tolerate such groups, each with their own officials responsible to the group. Consequently it abandons the internal affairs of a group to the control of men not responsible to that group or specially aware of its needs. This opens the door to tyranny and to the destruction of initiative. These dangers are avoided by a system which allows any group of men to combine for any given purpose, provided it is not predatory, and to claim from the central authority such self-government as is necessary to the carrying out of the purpose. Churches of various denominations afford an instance. Their autonomy was won by centuries of warfare and persecution. It is to be hoped that a less terrible struggle will be required to achieve the same result in the economic sphere. But whatever the obstacles, I believe the importance of liberty is as great in the one case as it has been admitted to be in the other.


CHAPTER IV
INDIVIDUAL LIBERTY AND PUBLIC CONTROL

I


SOCIETY cannot exist without law and order, and cannot advance except through the initiative of vigorous innovators. Yet law and order are always hostile to innovations, and innovators are almost always, to some extent, anarchists. Those whose minds are dominated by fear of a relapse towards barbarism will emphasize the importance of law and order, while those who are inspired by the hope of an advance towards civilization will usually be more conscious of the need of individual initiative. Both temperaments are necessary, and wisdom lies in allowing each to operate freely where it is beneficent. But those who are on the side of law and order, since they are reinforced by custom and the instinct for upholding the status quo, have no need of a reasoned defense. It is the innovators who have difficulty in being allowed to exist and work. Each generation believes that this difficulty is a thing of the past, but each generation is only tolerant of past innovations. Those of its own day are met with the same persecution as though the principle of toleration had never been heard of.

“In early society,” says Westermarck, “customs are not only moral rules, but the only moral rules ever thought of. The savage strictly complies with the Hegelian command that no man must have a private conscience. The following statement, which refers to the Tinnevelly Shanars, may be quoted as a typical example: ‘Solitary individuals amongst them rarely adopt any new opinions, or any new course of procedure. They follow the multitude to do evil, and they follow the multitude to do good. They think in herds.’ ” 3

Those among ourselves who have never thought a thought or done a deed in the slightest degree different from the thoughts and deeds of our neighbors will congratulate themselves on the difference between us and the savage. But those who have ever attempted any real innovation cannot help feeling that the people they know are not so very unlike the Tinnevelly Shanars.

Under the influence of socialism, even progressive opinion, in recent years, has been hostile to individual liberty. Liberty is associated, in the minds of reformers, with laissez-faire, the Manchester School, and the exploitation of women and children which resulted from what was euphemistically called “free competition.” All these things were evil, and required state interference; in fact, there is need of an immense increase of state action in regard to cognate evils which still exist. In everything that concerns the economic life of the community, as regards both distribution and conditions of production, what is required is more public control, not less—how much more, I do not profess to know.

Another direction in which there is urgent need of the substitution of law and order for anarchy is international relations. At present, each sovereign state has complete individual freedom, subject only to the sanction of war. This individual freedom will have to be curtailed in regard to external relations if wars are ever to cease.

But when we pass outside the sphere of material possessions, we find that the arguments in favor of public control almost entirely disappear.

Religion, to begin with, is recognized as a matter in which the state ought not to interfere. Whether a man is Christian, Mahometan, or Jew is a question of no public concern, so long as he obeys the laws; and the laws ought to be such as men of all religions can obey. Yet even here there are limits. No civilized state would tolerate a religion demanding human sacrifice. The English in India put an end to suttee, in spite of a fixed principle of non-interference with native religious customs. Perhaps they were wrong to prevent suttee, yet almost every European would have done the same. We cannot effectively doubt that such practices ought to be stopped, however we may theorize in favor of religious liberty.

In such cases, the interference with liberty is imposed from without by a higher civilization. But the more common case, and the more interesting, is when an independent state interferes on behalf of custom against individuals who are feeling their way toward more civilized beliefs and institutions.

“In New South Wales,” says Westermarck, “the first-born of every lubra used to be eaten by the tribe ‘as part of a religious ceremony.’ In the realm of Khai-muh, in China, according to a native account, it was customary to kill and devour the eldest son alive. Among certain tribes in British Columbia the first child is often sacrificed to the sun. The Indians of Florida, according to Le Moyne de Morgues, ‘sacrificed the first-born son to the chief. . . .’ ” 4

There are pages and pages of such instances.

There is nothing analogous to these practices among ourselves. When the first-born in Florida was told that his king and country needed him, this was a mere mistake, and with us mistakes of this kind do not occur. But it is interesting to inquire how these superstitions died out, in such cases, for example, as that of Khai-muh, where foreign compulsion is improbable. We may surmise that some parents, under the selfish influence of parental affection, were led to doubt whether the sun would really be angry if the eldest child were allowed to live. Such rationalism would be regarded as very dangerous, since it was calculated to damage the harvest. For generations the opinion would be cherished in secret by a handful of cranks, who would not be able to act upon it. At last, by concealment or flight, a few parents would save their children from the sacrifice. Such parents would be regarded as lacking all public spirit, and as willing to endanger the community for their private pleasure. But gradually it would appear that the state remained intact, and the crops were no worse than in former years. Then, by a fiction, a child would be deemed to have been sacrificed if it was solemnly dedicated to agriculture or some other work of national importance chosen by the chief. It would be many generations before the child would be allowed to choose its own occupation after it had grown old enough to know its own tastes and capacities. And during all those generations, children would be reminded that only an act of grace had allowed them to live at all, and would exist under the shadow of a purely imaginary duty to the state.

The position of those parents who first disbelieved in the utility of infant sacrifice illustrates all the difficulties which arise in connection with the adjustment of individual freedom to public control. The authorities, believing the sacrifice necessary for the good of the community, were bound to insist upon it; the parents, believing it useless, were equally bound to do everything in their power toward saving the child. How ought both parties to act in such a case?

The duty of the skeptical parent is plain: to save the child by any possible means, to preach the uselessness of the sacrifice in season and out of season, and to endure patiently whatever penalty the law may indict for evasion. But the duty of the authorities is far less clear. So long as they remain firmly persuaded that the universal sacrifice of the first-born is indispensable, they are bound to persecute those who seek to undermine this belief. But they will, if they are conscientious, very carefully examine the arguments of opponents, and be willing in advance to admit that these arguments may be sound. They will carefully search their own hearts to see whether hatred of children or pleasure in cruelty has anything to do with their belief. They will remember that in the past history of Khai-muh there are innumerable instances of beliefs, now known to be false, on account of which those who disagreed with the prevalent view were put to death. Finally they will reflect that, though errors which are traditional are often wide-spread, new beliefs seldom win acceptance unless they are nearer to the truth than what they replace; and they will conclude that a new belief is probably either an advance, or so unlikely to become common as to be innocuous. All these considerations will make them hesitate before they resort to punishment.


II


The study of past times and uncivilized races makes it clear beyond question that the customary beliefs of tribes or nations are almost invariably false. It is difficult to divest ourselves completely of the customary beliefs of our own age and nation, but it is not very difficult to achieve a certain degree of doubt in regard to them. The Inquisitor who burnt men at the stake was acting with true humanity if all his beliefs were correct; but if they were in error at any point, he was inflicting a wholly unnecessary cruelty. A good working maxim in such matters is this: Do not trust customary beliefs so far as to perform actions which must be disastrous unless the beliefs in question are wholly true. The world would be utterly bad, in the opinion of the average Englishman, unless he could say “Britannia rules the waves”; in the opinion of the average German, unless he could say “Deutschland über alles.” For the sake of these beliefs, they are willing to destroy European civilization. If the beliefs should happen to be false, their action is regrettable.

One fact which emerges from these considerations is that no obstacle should be placed in the way of thought and its expression, nor yet in the way of statements of fact. This was formerly common ground among liberal thinkers, though it was never quite realized in the practice of civilized countries. But it has recently become, throughout Europe, a dangerous paradox, on account of which men suffer imprisonment or starvation. For this reason it has again become worth stating. The grounds for it are so evident that I should be ashamed to repeat them if they were not universally ignored. But in the actual world it is very necessary to repeat them.

To attain complete truth is not given to mortals, but to advance toward it by successive steps is not impossible. On any matter of general interest, there is usually, in any given community at any given time, a received opinion, which is accepted as a matter of course by all who give no special thought to the matter. Any questioning of the received opinion rouses hostility, for a number of reasons.

The most important of these is the instinct of conventionality, which exists in all gregarious animals and often leads them to put to death any markedly peculiar member of the herd.

The next most important is the feeling of insecurity aroused by doubt as to the beliefs by which we are in the habit of regulating our lives. Whoever has tried to explain the philosophy of Berkeley to a plain man will have seen in its unadulterated form the anger aroused by this feeling. What the plain man derives from Berkeley’s philosophy at a first hearing is an uncomfortable suspicion that nothing is solid, so that it is rash to sit on a chair or to expect the floor to sustain us. Because this suspicion is uncomfortable, it is irritating, except to those who regard the whole argument as merely nonsense. And in a more or less analogous way any questioning of what has been taken for granted destroys the feeling of standing on solid ground, and produces a condition of bewildered fear.

A third reason which makes men dislike novel opinions is that vested interests are bound up with old beliefs. The long fight of the church against science, from Giordano Bruno to Darwin, is attributable to this motive among others. The horror of socialism which existed in the remote past was entirely attributable to this cause. But it would be a mistake to assume, as is done by those who seek economic motives everywhere, that vested interests are the principal source of anger against novelties in thought. If this were the case, intellectual progress would be much more rapid than it is.

The instinct of conventionality, horror of uncertainty, and vested interests, all militate against the acceptance of a new idea. And it is even harder to think of a new idea than to get it accepted; most people might spend a lifetime in reflection without ever making a genuinely original discovery.

In view of all these obstacles, it is not likely that any society at any time will suffer from a plethora of heretical opinions. Least of all is this likely in a modern civilized society, where the conditions of life are in constant rapid change, and demand, for successful adaptation, an equally rapid change in intellectual outlook. There should be an attempt, therefore, to encourage, rather than discourage, the expression of new beliefs and the dissemination of knowledge tending to support them. But the very opposite is, in fact, the case. From childhood upward, everything is done to make the minds of men and women conventional and sterile. And if, by misadventure, some spark of imagination remains, its unfortunate possessor is considered unsound and dangerous, worthy only of contempt in time of peace and of prison or a traitor’s death in time of war. Yet such men are known to have been in the past the chief benefactors of mankind, and are the very men who receive most honor as soon as they are safely dead.

The whole realm of thought and opinion is utterly unsuited to public control; it ought to be as free, and as spontaneous as is possible to those who know what others have believed. The state is justified in insisting that children shall be educated, but it is not justified in forcing their education to proceed on a uniform plan and to be directed to the production of a dead level of glib uniformity. Education, and the life of the mind generally, is a matter in which individual initiative is the chief thing needed; the function of the state should begin and end with insistence on some kind of education, and, if possible, a kind which promotes mental individualism, not a kind which happens to conform to the prejudices of government officials.


III


Questions of practical morals raise more difficult problems than questions of mere opinion. The thugs honestly believe it their duty to commit murders, but the government does not acquiesce. The conscientious objectors honestly hold the opposite opinion, and again the government does not acquiesce. Killing is a state prerogative; it is equally criminal to do it unbidden and not to do it when bidden. The same applies to theft, unless it is on a large scale or by one who is already rich. Thugs and thieves are men who use force in their dealings with their neighbors, and we may lay it down broadly that the private use of force should be prohibited except in rare cases, however conscientious may be its motive. But this principle will not justify compelling men to use force at the bidding of the state, when they do not believe it justified by the occasion. The punishment of conscientious objectors seems clearly a violation of individual liberty within its legitimate sphere.

It is generally assumed without question that the state has a right to punish certain kinds of sexual irregularity. No one doubts that the Mormons sincerely believed polygamy to be a desirable practice, yet the United States required them to abandon its legal recognition, and probably any other Christian country would have done likewise. Nevertheless, I do not think this prohibition was wise. Polygamy is legally permitted in many parts of the world, but is not much practised except by chiefs and potentates. If, as Europeans generally believe, it is an undesirable custom, it is probable that the Mormons would have soon abandoned it, except perhaps for a few men of exceptional position. If, on the other hand, it had proved a successful experiment, the world would have acquired a piece of knowledge which it is now unable to possess. I think in all such cases the law should only intervene when there is some injury inflicted without the consent of the injured person.

It is obvious that men and women would not tolerate having their wives or husbands selected by the state, whatever eugenists might have to say in favor of such a plan. In this it seems clear that ordinary public opinion is in the right, not because people choose wisely, but because any choice of their own is better than a forced marriage. What applies to marriage ought also to apply to the choice of a trade or profession; although some men have no marked preferences, most men greatly prefer some occupations to others, and are far more likely to be useful citizens if they follow their preferences than if they are thwarted by a public authority.

The case of the man who has an intense conviction that he ought to do a certain kind of work is peculiar, and perhaps not very common; but it is important because it includes some very important individuals. Joan of Arc and Florence Nightingale defied convention in obedience to a feeling of this sort; reformers and agitators in unpopular causes, such as Mazzini, have belonged to this class; so have many men of science. In cases of this kind the individual conviction deserves the greatest respect, even if there seems no obvious justification for it. Obedience to the impulse is very unlikely to do much harm, and may well do great good. The practical difficulty is to distinguish such impulses from desires which produce similar manifestations. Many young people wish to be authors without having an impulse to write any particular book, or wish to be painters without having an impulse to create any particular picture. But a little experience will usually show the difference between a genuine and a spurious impulse; and there is less harm in indulging the spurious impulse for a time than in thwarting the impulse which is genuine. Nevertheless, the plain man almost always has a tendency to thwart the genuine impulse, because it seems anarchic and unreasonable, and is seldom able to give a good account of itself in advance.

What is markedly true of some notable personalities is true, in a lesser degree, of almost every individual who has much vigor or force of life; there is an impulse towards activity of some kind, as a rule not very definite in youth, but growing gradually more sharply outlined under the influence of education and opportunity. The direct impulse toward a kind of activity for its own sake must be distinguished from the desire for the expected effects of the activity. A young man may desire the rewards of great achievement without having any spontaneous impulse toward the activities which lead to achievement. But those who actually achieve much, although they may desire the rewards, have also something in their nature which inclines them to choose a certain kind of work as the road which they must travel if their ambition is to be satisfied. This artist’s impulse, as it may be called, is a thing of infinite value to the individual, and often to the world; to respect it in oneself and in others makes up nine tenths of the good life. In most human beings it is rather frail, rather easily destroyed or disturbed; parents and teachers are too often hostile to it, and our economic system crushes out its last remnants in young men and young women. The result is that human beings cease to be individual, or to retain the native pride that is their birthright; they become machine-made, tame, convenient for the bureaucrat and the drill-sergeant, capable of being tabulated in statistics without anything being omitted. This is the fundamental evil resulting from lack of liberty; and it is an evil which is being continually intensified as population grows more dense and the machinery of organization grows more efficient.

The things that men desire are many and various: admiration, affection, power, security, ease, outlets for energy, are among the commonest of motives. But such abstractions do not touch what makes the difference between one man and another. Whenever I go to the zoological gardens, I am struck by the fact that all the movements of a stork have some common quality, differing from the movements of a parrot or an ostrich. It is impossible to put in words what the common quality is, and yet we feel that each thing an animal does is the sort of thing we might expect that animal to do. This indefinable quality constitutes the individuality of the animal, and gives rise to the pleasure we feel in watching the animal’s actions. In a human being, provided he has not been crushed by an economic or governmental machine, there is the same kind of individuality, a something distinctive without which no man or woman can achieve much of importance, or retain the full dignity which is native to human beings. It is this distinctive individuality that is loved by the artist, whether painter or writer. The artist himself, and the man who is creative in no matter what direction, has more of it than the average man. Any society which crushes this quality, whether intentionally or by accident, must soon become utterly lifeless and traditional, without hope of progress and without any purpose in its being. To preserve and strengthen the impulse that makes individuality should be the foremost object of all political institutions.


IV


We now arrive at certain general principles in regard to individual liberty and public control.

The greater part of human impulses may be divided into two classes, those which are possessive and those which are constructive or creative. Social institutions are the garments or embodiments of impulses, and may be classified roughly according to the impulses which they embody. Property is the direct expression of possessiveness; science and art are among the most direct expressions of creativeness. Possessiveness is either defensive or aggressive; it seeks either to retain against a robber, or to acquire from a present holder. In either case an attitude of hostility toward others is of its essence. It would be a mistake to suppose that defensive possessiveness is always justifiable, while the aggressive kind is always blameworthy; where there is great injustice in the status quo, the exact opposite may be the case, and ordinarily neither is justifiable.

State interference with the actions of individuals is necessitated by possessiveness. Some goods can be acquired or retained by force, while others cannot. A wife can be acquired by force, as the Romans acquired the Sabine women; but a wife’s affection cannot be acquired in this way. There is no record that the Romans desired the affection of the Sabine women; and those in whom possessive impulses are strong tend to care chiefly for the goods that force can secure. All material goods belong to this class. Liberty in regard to such goods, if it were unrestricted, would make the strong rich and the weak poor. In a capitalistic society, owing to the partial restraints imposed by law, it makes cunning men rich and honest men poor, because the force of the state is put at men’s disposal, not according to any just or rational principle, but according to a set of traditional maxims of which the explanation is purely historical.

In all that concerns possession and the use of force, unrestrained liberty involves anarchy and injustice. Freedom to kill, freedom to rob, freedom to defraud, no longer belong to individuals, though they still belong to great states, and are exercised by them in the name of patriotism. Neither individuals nor states ought to be free to exert force on their own initiative, except in such sudden emergencies as will subsequently be admitted in justification by a court of law. The reason for this is that the exertion of force by one individual against another is always an evil on both sides, and can only be tolerated when it is compensated by some overwhelming resultant good. In order to minimize the amount of force actually exerted in the world, it is necessary that there should be a public authority, a repository of practically irresistible force, whose function should be primarily to repress the private use of force. A use of force is private when it is exerted by one of the interested parties, or by his friends or accomplices, not by a public neutral authority according to some rule which is intended to be in the public interest.

The regime of private property under which we live does much too little to restrain the private use of force. When a man owns a piece of land, for example, he may use force against trespassers, though they must not use force against him. It is clear that some restriction of the liberty of trespass is necessary for the cultivation of the land. But if such powers are to be given to an individual, the state ought to satisfy itself that he occupies no more land than he is warranted in occupying in the public interest, and that the share of the produce of the land that comes to him is no more than a just reward for his labors. Probably the only way in which such ends can be achieved is by state ownership of land. The possessors of land and capital are able at present, by economic pressure, to use force against those who have no possessions. This force is sanctioned by law, while force exercised by the poor against the rich is illegal. Such a state of things is unjust, and does not diminish the use of private force as much as it might be diminished.

The whole realm of the possessive impulses, and of the use of force to which they give rise, stands in need of control by a public neutral authority, in the interests of liberty no less than of justice. Within a nation, this public authority will naturally be the state; in relations between nations, if the present anarchy is to cease, it will have to be some international parliament.

But the motive underlying the public control of men’s possessive impulses should always be the increase of liberty, both by the prevention of private tyranny and by the liberation of creative impulses. If public control is not to do more harm than good, it must be so exercised as to leave the utmost freedom of private initiative in all those ways that do not involve the private use of force. In this respect all governments have always failed egregiously, and there is no evidence that they are improving.

The creative impulses, unlike those that are possessive, are directed to ends in which one man’s gain is not another man’s loss. The man who makes a scientific discovery or writes a poem is enriching others at the same time as himself. Any increase in knowledge or good-will is a gain to all who are affected by it, not only to the actual possessor. Those who feel the joy of life are a happiness to others as well as to themselves. Force cannot create such things, though it can destroy them; no principle of distributive justice applies to them, since the gain of each is the gain of all. For these reasons, the creative part of a man’s activity ought to be as free as possible from all public control, in order that it may remain spontaneous and full of vigor. The only function of the state in regard to this part of the individual life should be to do everything possible toward providing outlets and opportunities.

In every life a part is governed by the community, and a part by private initiative. The part governed by private initiative is greatest in the most important individuals, such as men of genius and creative thinkers. This part ought only to be restricted when it is predatory; otherwise, everything ought to be done to make it as great and as vigorous as possible. The object of education ought not to be to make all men think alike, but to make each think in the way which is the fullest expression of his own personality. In the choice of a means of livelihood all young men and young women ought, as far as possible, to be able to choose what is attractive to them; if no money-making occupation is attractive, they ought to be free to do little work for little pay, and spend their leisure as they choose. Any kind of censure on freedom of thought or on the dissemination of knowledge is, of course, to be condemned utterly.

Huge organizations, both political and economic, are one of the distinguishing characteristics of the modern world. These organizations have immense power, and often use their power to discourage originality in thought and action. They ought, on the contrary, to give the freest scope that is possible without producing anarchy or violent conflict. They ought not to take cognizance of any part of a man’s life except what is concerned with the legitimate objects of public control, namely, possessions and the use of force. And they ought, by devolution, to leave as large a share of control as possible in the hands of individuals and small groups. If this is not done, the men at the head of these vast organizations will infallibly become tyrannous through the habit of excessive power, and will in time interfere in ways that crush out individual initiative.

The problem which faces the modern world is the combination of individual initiative with the increase in the scope and size of organizations. Unless it is solved, individuals will grow less and less full of life and vigor, and more and more passively submissive to conditions imposed upon them. A society composed of such individuals cannot be progressive or add much to the world’s stock of mental and spiritual possessions. Only personal liberty and the encouragement of initiative can secure these things. Those who resist authority when it encroaches upon the legitimate sphere of the individual are performing a service to society, however little society may value it. In regard to the past, this is universally acknowledged; but it is no less true in regard to the present and the future.


CHAPTER V
NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE AND INTERNATIONALISM


IN the relations between states, as in the relations of groups within a single state, what is to be desired is independence for each as regards internal affairs, and law rather than private force as regards external affairs. But as regards groups within a state, it is internal independence that must be emphasized, since that is what is lacking; subjection to law has been secured, on the whole, since the end of the Middle Ages. In the relations between states, on the contrary, it is law and a central government that are lacking, since independence exists for external as for internal affairs. The stage we have reached in the affairs of Europe corresponds to the stage reached in our internal affairs during the Wars of the Roses, when turbulent barons frustrated the attempt to make them keep the king’s peace. Thus, although the goal is the same in the two cases, the steps to be taken in order to achieve it are quite different.

There can be no good international system until the boundaries of states coincide as nearly as possible with the boundaries of nations.

But it is not easy to say what we mean by a nation. Are the Irish a nation? Home Rulers say yes, Unionists say no. Are the Ulstermen a nation? Unionists say yes, Home Rulers say no. In all such cases it is a party question whether we are to call a group a nation or not. A German will tell you that the Russian Poles are a nation, but as for the Prussian Poles, they, of course, are part of Prussia. Professors can always be hired to prove, by arguments of race or language or history, that a group about which there is a dispute is, or is not, a nation, as may be desired by those whom the professors serve. If we are to avoid all these controversies, we must first of all endeavor to find some definition of a nation.

A nation is not to be defined by affinities of language or a common historical origin, though these things often help to produce a nation. Switzerland is a nation, despite diversities of race, religion, and language. England and Scotland now form one nation, though they did not do so at the time of the Civil War. This is shown by Cromwell’s saying, in the height of the conflict, that he would rather be subject to the domain of the royalists than to that of the Scotch. Great Britain was one state before it was one nation; on the other hand, Germany was one nation before it was one state.

What constitutes a nation is a sentiment and an instinct, a sentiment of similarity and an instinct of belonging to the same group or herd. The instinct is an extension of the instinct which constitutes a flock of sheep, or any other group of gregarious animals. The sentiment which goes with this is like a milder and more extended form of family feeling. When we return to England after being on the Continent, we feel something friendly in the familiar ways, and it is easy to believe that Englishmen on the whole are virtuous, while many foreigners are full of designing wickedness.

Such feelings make it easy to organize a nation into a state. It is not difficult, as a rule, to acquiesce in the orders of a national government. We feel that it is our government, and that its decrees are more or less the same as those which we should have given if we ourselves had been the governors. There is an instinctive and usually unconscious sense of a common purpose animating the members of a nation. This becomes especially vivid when there is war or a danger of war. Any one who, at such a time, stands out against the orders of his government feels an inner conflict quite different from any that he would feel in standing out against the orders of a foreign government in whose power he might happen to find himself. If he stands out, he does so with some more or less conscious hope that his government may in time come to think as he does; whereas, in standing out against a foreign government, no such hope is necessary. This group instinct, however it may have arisen, is what constitutes a nation, and what makes it important that the boundaries of nations should also be the boundaries of states.

National sentiment is a fact, and should be taken account of by institutions. When it is ignored, it is intensified and becomes a source of strife. It can only be rendered harmless by being given free play, so long as it is not predatory. But it is not, in itself, a good or admirable feeling. There is nothing rational and nothing desirable in a limitation of sympathy which confines it to a fragment of the human race. Diversities of manners and customs and traditions are, on the whole, a good thing, since they enable different nations to produce different types of excellence. But in national feeling there is always latent or explicit an element of hostility to foreigners. National feeling, as we know it, could not exist in a nation which was wholly free from external pressure of a hostile kind.

And group feeling produces a limited and often harmful kind of morality. Men come to identify the good with what serves the interests of their own group, and the bad with what works against those interests, even if it should happen to be in the interests of mankind as a whole. This group morality is very much in evidence during war, and is taken for granted in men’s ordinary thought. Although almost all Englishmen consider the defeat of Germany desirable for the good of the world, yet nevertheless most of them honor a German for fighting for his country, because it has not occurred to them that his actions ought to be guided by a morality higher than that of the group.

A man does right, as a rule, to have his thoughts more occupied with the interests of his own nation than with those of others, because his actions are more likely to affect his own nation. But in time of war, and in all matters which are of equal concern to other nations and to his own, a man ought to take account of the universal welfare, and not allow his survey to be limited by the interest, or supposed interest, of his own group or nation.

So long as national feeling exists, it is very important that each nation should be self-governing as regards its internal affairs. Government can only be carried on by force and tyranny if its subjects view it with hostile eyes, and they will so view it if they feel that it belongs to an alien nation. This principle meets with difficulties in cases where men of different nations live side by side in the same area, as happens in some parts of the Balkans. There are also difficulties in regard to places which, for some geographical reason, are of great international importance, such as the Suez Canal and the Panama Canal. In such cases the purely local desires of the inhabitants may have to give way before larger interests. But in general, at any rate as applied to civilized communities, the principle that the boundaries of nations ought to coincide with the boundaries of states has very few exceptions.

This principle, however, does not decide how the relations between states are to be regulated, or how a conflict of interests between rival states is to be decided. At present, every great state claims absolute sovereignty, not only in regard to its internal affairs but also in regard to its external actions. This claim to absolute sovereignty leads it into conflict with similar claims on the part of other great states. Such conflicts at present can only be decided by war or diplomacy, and diplomacy is in essence nothing but the threat of war. There is no more justification for the claim to absolute sovereignty on the part of a state than there would be for a similar claim on the part of an individual. The claim to absolute sovereignty is, in effect, a claim that all external affairs are to be regulated purely by force, and that when two nations or groups of nations are interested in a question, the decision shall depend solely upon which of them is, or is believed to be, the stronger. This is nothing but primitive anarchy, “the war of all against all,” which Hobbes asserted to be the original state of mankind.

There cannot be secure peace in the world, or any decision of international questions according to international law, until states are willing to part with their absolute sovereignty as regards their external relations, and to leave the decision in such matters to some international instrument of government. 5 An international government will have to be legislative as well as judicial. It is not enough that there should be a Hague tribunal, deciding matters according to some already existing system of international law; it is necessary also that there should be a body capable of enacting international law, and this body will have to have the power of transferring territory from one state to another, when it is persuaded that adequate grounds exist for such a transference. Friends of peace will make a mistake if they unduly glorify the status quo. Some nations grow, while others dwindle; the population of an area may change its character by emigration and immigration. There is no good reason why states should resent changes in their boundaries under such conditions, and if no international authority has power to make changes of this kind, the temptations to war will sometimes become irresistible.

The international authority ought to possess an army and navy, and these ought to be the only army and navy in existence. The only legitimate use of force is to diminish the total amount of force exercised in the world. So long as men are free to indulge their predatory instincts, some men or groups of men will take advantage of this freedom for oppression and robbery. Just as the police are necessary to prevent the use of force by private citizens, so an international police will be necessary to prevent the lawless use of force by separate states.

But I think it is reasonable to hope that if ever an international government, possessed of the only army and navy in the world, came into existence, the need of force to enact obedience to its decisions would be very temporary. In a short time the benefits resulting from the substitution of law for anarchy would become so obvious that the international government would acquire an unquestioned authority, and no state would dream of rebelling against its decisions. As soon as this stage had been reached, the international army and navy would become unnecessary.

We have still a very long road to travel before we arrive at the establishment of an international authority, but it is not very difficult to foresee the steps by which this result will be gradually reached. There is likely to be a continual increase in the practice of submitting disputes to arbitration, and in the realization that the supposed conflicts of interest between different states are mainly illusory. Even where there is a real conflict of interest, it must in time become obvious that neither of the states concerned would suffer as much by giving way as by fighting. With the progress of inventions, war, when it does occur, is bound to become increasingly destructive. The civilized races of the world are faced with the alternative of cooperation or mutual destruction. The present war is making this alternative daily more evident. And it is difficult to believe that, when the enmities which it has generated have had time to cool, civilized men will deliberately choose to destroy civilization, rather than acquiesce in the abolition of war.

The matters in which the interests of nations are supposed to clash are mainly three: tariffs, which are a delusion; the exploitation of inferior races, which is a crime; pride of power and dominion, which is a schoolboy folly.

The economic argument against tariffs is familiar, and I shall not repeat it. The only reason why it fails to carry conviction is the enmity between nations. Nobody proposes to set up a tariff between England and Scotland, or between Lancashire and Yorkshire. Yet the arguments by which tariffs between nations are supported might be used just as well to defend tariffs between counties. Universal free trade would indubitably be of economic benefit to mankind, and would be adopted to-morrow if it were not for the hatred and suspicion which nations feel one toward another. From the point of view of preserving the peace of the world, free trade between the different civilized states is not so important as the open door in their dependencies. The desire for exclusive markets is one of the most potent causes of war.

Exploiting what are called “inferior races” has become one of the main objects of European statecraft. It is not only, or primarily, trade that is desired, but opportunities for investment; finance is more concerned in the matter than industry. Rival diplomatists are very often the servants, conscious or unconscious, of rival groups of financiers. The financiers, though themselves of no particular nation, understand the art of appealing to national prejudice, and of inducing the taxpayer to incur expenditure of which they reap the benefit. The evils which they produce at home, and the devastation that they spread among the races whom they exploit, are part of the price which the world has to pay for its acquiescence in the capitalist regime.

But neither tariffs nor financiers would be able to cause serious trouble, if it were not for the sentiment of national pride. National pride might be on the whole beneficent, if it took the direction of emulation in the things that are important to civilization. If we prided ourselves upon our poets, our men of science, or the justice and humanity of our social system, we might find in national pride a stimulus to useful endeavors. But such matters play a very small part. National pride, as it exists now, is almost exclusively concerned with power and dominion, with the extent of territory that a nation owns, and with its capacity for enforcing its will against the opposition of other nations. In this it is reinforced by group morality. To nine citizens out of ten it seems self-evident, whenever the will of their own nation clashes with that of another, that their own nation must be in the right. Even if it were not in the right on the particular issue, yet it stands in general for so much nobler ideals than those represented by the other nation to the dispute, that any increase in its power is bound to be for the good of mankind. Since all nations equally believe this of themselves, all are equally ready to insist upon the victory of their own side in any dispute in which they believe that they have a good hope of victory. While this temper persists, the hope of international cooperation must remain dim.

If men could divest themselves of the sentiment of rivalry and hostility between different nations, they would perceive that the matters in which the interests of different nations coincide immeasurably outweigh those in which they clash; they would perceive, to begin with, that trade is not to be compared to warfare; that the man who sells you goods is not doing you an injury. No one considers that the butcher and the baker are his enemies because they drain him of money. Yet as soon as goods come from a foreign country, we are asked to believe that we suffer a terrible injury in purchasing them. No one remembers that it is by means of goods exported that we purchase them. But in the country to which we export, it is the goods we send which are thought dangerous, and the goods we buy are forgotten. The whole conception of trade, which has been forced upon us by manufacturers who dreaded foreign competition, by trusts which desired to secure monopolies, and by economists poisoned by the virus of nationalism, is totally and absolutely false. Trade results simply from division of labor. A man cannot himself make all the goods of which he has need, and therefore he must exchange his produce with that of other people. What applies to the individual, applies in exactly the same way to the nation. There is no reason to desire that a nation should itself produce all the goods of which it has need; it is better that it should specialize upon those goods which it can produce to most advantage, and should exchange its surplus with the surplus of other goods produced by other countries. There is no use in sending goods out of the country except in order to get other goods in return. A butcher who is always willing to part with his meat but not willing to take bread from the baker, or boots from the bootmaker, or clothes from the tailor, would soon find himself in a sorry plight. Yet he would be no more foolish than the protectionist who desires that we should send goods abroad without receiving payment in the shape of goods imported from abroad.

The wage system has made people believe that what a man needs is work. This, of course, is absurd. What he needs is the goods produced by work, and the less work involved in making a given amount of goods, the better. But owing to our economic system, every economy in methods of production enables employers to dismiss some of their employees, and to cause destitution, where a better system would produce only an increase of wages or a diminution in the hours of work without any corresponding diminution of wages.

Our economic system is topsyturvy. It makes the interest of the individual conflict with the interest of the community in a thousand ways in which no such conflict ought to exist. Under a better system the benefits of free trade and the evils of tariffs would be obvious to all.

Apart from trade, the interests of nations coincide in all that makes what we call civilization. Inventions and discoveries bring benefit to all. The progress of science is a matter of equal concern to the whole civilized world. Whether a man of science is an Englishman, a Frenchman, or a German is a matter of no real importance. His discoveries are open to all, and nothing but intelligence is required in order to profit by them. The whole world of art and literature and learning is international; what is done in one country is not done for that country, but for mankind. If we ask ourselves what are the things that raise mankind above the brutes, what are the things that make us think the human race more valuable than any species of animals, we shall find that none of them are things in which any one nation can have exclusive property, but all are things in which the whole world can share. Those who have any care for these things, those who wish to see mankind fruitful in the work which men alone can do, will take little account of national boundaries, and have little care to what state a man happens to owe allegiance.

The importance of international cooperation outside the sphere of politics has been brought home to me by my own experience. Until lately I was engaged in teaching a new science which few men in the world were able to teach. My own work in this science was based chiefly upon the work of a German and an Italian. My pupils came from all over the civilized world: France, Germany, Austria, Russia, Greece, Japan, China, India, and America. None of us was conscious of any sense of national divisions. We felt ourselves an outpost of civilization, building a new road into the virgin forest of the unknown. All cooperated in the common task, and in the interest of such a work the political enmities of nations seemed trivial, temporary, and futile.

But it is not only in the somewhat rarefied atmosphere of abstruse science that international cooperation is vital to the progress of civilization. All our economic problems, all the questions of securing the rights of labor, all the hopes of freedom at home and humanity abroad, rest upon the creation of international good-will.

So long as hatred, suspicion, and fear dominate the feelings of men toward each other, so long we cannot hope to escape from the tyranny of violence and brute force. Men must learn to be conscious of the common interests of mankind in which all are at one, rather than of those supposed interests in which the nations are divided. It is not necessary, or even desirable, to obliterate the differences of manners and custom and tradition between different nations. These differences enable each nation to make its own distinctive contribution to the sum total of the world’s civilization.

What is to be desired is not cosmopolitanism, not the absence of all national characteristics that one associates with couriers, wagon-lit attendants, and others, who have had everything distinctive obliterated by multiple and trivial contacts with men of every civilized country. Such cosmopolitanism is the result of loss, not gain. The international spirit which we should wish to see produced will be something added to love of country, not something taken away. Just as patriotism does not prevent a man from feeling family affection, so the international spirit ought not to prevent a man from feeling affection for his own country. But it will somewhat alter the character of that affection. The things which he will desire for his own country will no longer be things which can only be acquired at the expense of others, but rather those things in which the excellence of any one country is to the advantage of all the world. He will wish his own country to be great in the arts of peace, to be eminent in thought and science, to be magnanimous and just and generous. He will wish it to help mankind on the way toward that better world of liberty and international concord which must be realized if any happiness is to be left to man. He will not desire for his country the passing triumphs of a narrow possessiveness, but rather the enduring triumph of having helped to embody in human affairs something of that spirit of brotherhood which Christ taught and which the Christian churches have forgotten. He will see that this spirit embodies not only the highest morality, but also the truest wisdom, and the only road by which the nations, torn and bleeding with the wounds which scientific madness has inflicted, can emerge into a life where growth is possible and joy is not banished at the frenzied call of unreal and fictitious duties. Deeds inspired by hate are not duties, whatever pain and self-sacrifice they may involve. Life and hope for the world are to be found only in the deeds of love.


1. In England this is called “a sense of humor.”
2. Cf. J. A. Hobson, The Evolution of Modern Capitalism.
3. The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, 2d edition, Vol. I, p. 119.
4. Op cit., p. 459.
5. For detailed scheme of international government see International Government, by L. Woolf. Allen & Unwin.. Read More...

The Athenian Constitution

The Athenian Constitution
By Aristotle

Translated by Sir Frederic G. Kenyon

Part 1

...[They were tried] by a court empanelled from among the noble families, and sworn upon the sacrifices. The part of accuser was taken by Myron. They were found guilty of the sacrilege, and their bodies were cast out of their graves and their race banished for evermore. In view of this expiation, Epimenides the Cretan performed a purification of the city.

Part 2

After this event there was contention for a long time between the upper classes and the populace. Not only was the constitution at this time oligarchical in every respect, but the poorer classes, men, women, and children, were the serfs of the rich. They were known as Pelatae and also as Hectemori, because they cultivated the lands of the rich at the rent thus indicated. The whole country was in the hands of a few persons, and if the tenants failed to pay their rent they were liable to be haled into slavery, and their children with them. All loans secured upon the debtor's person, a custom which prevailed until the time of Solon, who was the first to appear as the champion of the people. But the hardest and bitterest part of the constitution in the eyes of the masses was their state of serfdom. Not but what they were also discontented with every other feature of their lot; for, to speak generally, they had no part nor share in anything.

Part 3

Now the ancient constitution, as it existed before the time of Draco, was organized as follows. The magistrates were elected according to qualifications of birth and wealth. At first they governed for life, but subsequently for terms of ten years. The first magistrates, both in date and in importance, were the King, the Polemarch, and the Archon. The earliest of these offices was that of the King, which existed from ancestral antiquity. To this was added, secondly, the office of Polemarch, on account of some of the kings proving feeble in war; for it was on this account that Ion was invited to accept the post on an occasion of pressing need. The last of the three offices was that of the Archon, which most authorities state to have come into existence in the time of Medon. Others assign it to the time of Acastus, and adduce as proof the fact that the nine Archons swear to execute their oaths 'as in the days of Acastus,' which seems to suggest that it was in his time that the descendants of Codrus retired from the kingship in return for the prerogatives conferred upon the Archon. Whichever way it may be, the difference in date is small; but that it was the last of these magistracies to be created is shown by the fact that the Archon has no part in the ancestral sacrifices, as the King and the Polemarch have, but exclusively in those of later origin. So it is only at a comparatively late date that the office of Archon has become of great importance, through the dignity conferred by these later additions. The Thesmothetae were many years afterwards, when these offices had already become annual, with the object that they might publicly record all legal decisions, and act as guardians of them with a view to determining the issues between litigants. Accordingly their office, alone of those which have been mentioned, was never of more than annual duration.

Such, then, is the relative chronological precedence of these offices. At that time the nine Archons did not all live together. The King occupied the building now known as the Boculium, near the Prytaneum, as may be seen from the fact that even to the present day the marriage of the King's wife to Dionysus takes place there. The Archon lived in the Prytaneum, the Polemarch in the Epilyceum. The latter building was formerly called the Polemarcheum, but after Epilycus, during his term of office as Polemarch, had rebuilt it and fitted it up, it was called the Epilyceum. The Thesmothetae occupied the Thesmotheteum. In the time of Solon, however, they all came together into the Thesmotheteum. They had power to decide cases finally on their own authority, not, as now, merely to hold a preliminary hearing. Such then was the arrangement of the magistracies. The Council of Areopagus had as its constitutionally assigned duty the protection of the laws; but in point of fact it administered the greater and most important part of the government of the state, and inflicted personal punishments and fines summarily upon all who misbehaved themselves. This was the natural consequence of the facts that the Archons were elected under qualifications of birth and wealth, and that the Areopagus was composed of those who had served as Archons; for which latter reason the membership of the Areopagus is the only office which has continued to be a life-magistracy to the present day.

Part 4

Such was, in outline, the first constitution, but not very long after the events above recorded, in the archonship of Aristaichmus, Draco enacted his ordinances. Now his constitution had the following form. The franchise was given to all who could furnish themselves with a military equipment. The nine Archons and the Treasurers were elected by this body from persons possessing an unencumbered property of not less than ten minas, the less important officials from those who could furnish themselves with a military equipment, and the generals [Strategi] and commanders of the cavalry [Hipparchi] from those who could show an unencumbered property of not less than a hundred minas, and had children born in lawful wedlock over ten years of age. These officers were required to hold to bail the Prytanes, the Strategi, and the Hipparchi of the preceding year until their accounts had been audited, taking four securities of the same class as that to which the Strategi and the Hipparchi belonged. There was also to be a Council, consisting of four hundred and one members, elected by lot from among those who possessed the franchise. Both for this and for the other magistracies the lot was cast among those who were over thirty years of age; and no one might hold office twice until every one else had had his turn, after which they were to cast the lot afresh. If any member of the Council failed to attend when there was a sitting of the Council or of the Assembly, he paid a fine, to the amount of three drachmas if he was a Pentacosiomedimnus, two if he was a Knight, and One if he was a Zeugites. The Council of Areopagus was guardian of the laws, and kept watch over the magistrates to see that they executed their offices in accordance with the laws. Any person who felt himself wronged might lay an information before the Council of Areopagus, on declaring what law was broken by the wrong done to him. But, as has been said before, loans were secured upon the persons of the debtors, and the land was in the hands of a few.

Part 5

Since such, then, was the organization of the constitution, and the many were in slavery to the few, the people rose against the upper class. The strife was keen, and for a long time the two parties were ranged in hostile camps against one another, till at last, by common consent, they appointed Solon to be mediator and Archon, and committed the whole constitution to his hands. The immediate occasion of his appointment was his poem, which begins with the words:

I behold, and within my heart deep sadness has claimed its place,
As I mark the oldest home of the ancient Ionian race
Slain by the sword.

In this poem he fights and disputes on behalf of each party in turn against the other, and finally he advises them to come to terms and put an end to the quarrel existing between them. By birth and reputation Solon was one of the foremost men of the day, but in wealth and position he was of the middle class, as is generally agreed, and is, indeed, established by his own evidence in these poems, where he exhorts the wealthy not to be grasping.

But ye who have store of good, who are sated and overflow,
Restrain your swelling soul, and still it and keep it low:
Let the heart that is great within you be trained a lowlier way;
Ye shall not have all at your will, and we will not for ever obey.

Indeed, he constantly fastens the blame of the conflict on the rich; and accordingly at the beginning of the poem he says that he fears 'the love of wealth and an overweening mind', evidently meaning that it was through these that the quarrel arose.

Part 6

As soon as he was at the head of affairs, Solon liberated the people once and for all, by prohibiting all loans on the security of the debtor's person: and in addition he made laws by which he cancelled all debts, public and private. This measure is commonly called the Seisachtheia [= removal of burdens], since thereby the people had their loads removed from them. In connexion with it some persons try to traduce the character of Solon. It so happened that, when he was about to enact the Seisachtheia, he communicated his intention to some members of the upper class, whereupon, as the partisans of the popular party say, his friends stole a march on him; while those who wish to attack his character maintain that he too had a share in the fraud himself. For these persons borrowed money and bought up a large amount of land, and so when, a short time afterwards, all debts were cancelled, they became wealthy; and this, they say, was the origin of the families which were afterwards looked on as having been wealthy from primeval times. However, the story of the popular party is by far the most probable. A man who was so moderate and public-spirited in all his other actions, that when it was within his power to put his fellow-citizens beneath his feet and establish himself as tyrant, he preferred instead to incur the hostility of both parties by placing his honour and the general welfare above his personal aggrandisement, is not likely to have consented to defile his hands by such a petty and palpable fraud. That he had this absolute power is, in the first place, indicated by the desperate condition the country; moreover, he mentions it himself repeatedly in his poems, and it is universally admitted. We are therefore bound to consider this accusation to be false.

Part 7

Next Solon drew up a constitution and enacted new laws; and the ordinances of Draco ceased to be used, with the exception of those relating to murder. The laws were inscribed on the wooden stands, and set up in the King's Porch, and all swore to obey them; and the nine Archons made oath upon the stone, declaring that they would dedicate a golden statue if they should transgress any of them. This is the origin of the oath to that effect which they take to the present day. Solon ratified his laws for a hundred years; and the following was the fashion in which he organized the constitution. He divided the population according to property into four classes, just as it had been divided before, namely, Pentacosiomedimni, Knights, Zeugitae, and Thetes. The various magistracies, namely, the nine Archons, the Treasurers, the Commissioners for Public Contracts (Poletae), the Eleven, and Clerks (Colacretae), he assigned to the Pentacosiomedimni, the Knights, and the Zeugitae, giving offices to each class in proportion to the value of their rateable property. To who ranked among the Thetes he gave nothing but a place in the Assembly and in the juries. A man had to rank as a Pentacosiomedimnus if he made, from his own land, five hundred measures, whether liquid or solid. Those ranked as Knights who made three hundred measures, or, as some say, those who were able to maintain a horse. In support of the latter definition they adduce the name of the class, which may be supposed to be derived from this fact, and also some votive offerings of early times; for in the Acropolis there is a votive offering, a statue of Diphilus, bearing this inscription:

The son of Diphilus, Athenion hight,
Raised from the Thetes and become a knight,
Did to the gods this sculptured charger bring,
For his promotion a thank-offering. And a horse stands in evidence beside the man, implying that this was what was meant by belonging to the rank of Knight. At the same time it seems reasonable to suppose that this class, like the Pentacosiomedimni, was defined by the possession of an income of a certain number of measures. Those ranked as Zeugitae who made two hundred measures, liquid or solid; and the rest ranked as Thetes, and were not eligible for any office. Hence it is that even at the present day, when a candidate for any office is asked to what class he belongs, no one would think of saying that he belonged to the Thetes.

Part 8

The elections to the various offices Solon enacted should be by lot, out of candidates selected by each of the tribes. Each tribe selected ten candidates for the nine archonships, and among these the lot was cast. Hence it is still the custom for each tribe to choose ten candidates by lot, and then the lot is again cast among these. A proof that Solon regulated the elections to office according to the property classes may be found in the law still in force with regard to the Treasurers, which enacts that they shall be chosen from the Pentacosiomedimni. Such was Solon's legislation with respect to the nine Archons; whereas in early times the Council of Areopagus summoned suitable persons according to its own judgement and appointed them for the year to the several offices. There were four tribes, as before, and four tribe-kings. Each tribe was divided into three Trittyes [=Thirds], with twelve Naucraries in each; and the Naucraries had officers of their own, called Naucrari, whose duty it was to superintend the current receipts and expenditure. Hence, among the laws of Solon now obsolete, it is repeatedly written that the Naucrari are to receive and to spend out of the Naucraric fund. Solon also appointed a Council of four hundred, a hundred from each tribe; but he assigned to the Council of the Areopagus the duty of superintending the laws, acting as before as the guardian of the constitution in general. It kept watch over the affairs of the state in most of the more important matters, and corrected offenders, with full powers to inflict either fines or personal punishment. The money received in fines it brought up into the Acropolis, without assigning the reason for the mulct. It also tried those who conspired for the overthrow of the state, Solon having enacted a process of impeachment to deal with such offenders. Further, since he saw the state often engaged in internal disputes, while many of the citizens from sheer indifference accepted whatever might turn up, he made a law with express reference to such persons, enacting that any one who, in a time civil factions, did not take up arms with either party, should lose his rights as a citizen and cease to have any part in the state.

Part 9

Such, then, was his legislation concerning the magistracies. There are three points in the constitution of Solon which appear to be its most democratic features: first and most important, the prohibition of loans on the security of the debtor's person; secondly, the right of every person who so willed to claim redress on behalf of any one to whom wrong was being done; thirdly, the institution of the appeal to the jurycourts; and it is to this last, they say, that the masses have owed their strength most of all, since, when the democracy is master of the voting-power, it is master of the constitution. Moreover, since the laws were not drawn up in simple and explicit terms (but like the one concerning inheritances and wards of state), disputes inevitably occurred, and the courts had to decide in every matter, whether public or private. Some persons in fact believe that Solon deliberately made the laws indefinite, in order that the final decision might be in the hands of the people. This, however, is not probable, and the reason no doubt was that it is impossible to attain ideal perfection when framing a law in general terms; for we must judge of his intentions, not from the actual results in the present day, but from the general tenor of the rest of his legislation.

Part 10

These seem to be the democratic features of his laws; but in addition, before the period of his legislation, he carried through his abolition of debts, and after it his increase in the standards of weights and measures, and of the currency. During his administration the measures were made larger than those of Pheidon, and the mina, which previously had a standard of seventy drachmas, was raised to the full hundred. The standard coin in earlier times was the two-drachma piece. He also made weights corresponding with the coinage, sixty-three minas going to the talent; and the odd three minas were distributed among the staters and the other values.

Part 11

When he had completed his organization of the constitution in the manner that has been described, he found himself beset by people coming to him and harassing him concerning his laws, criticizing here and questioning there, till, as he wished neither to alter what he had decided on nor yet to be an object of ill will to every one by remaining in Athens, he set off on a journey to Egypt, with the combined objects of trade and travel, giving out that he should not return for ten years. He considered that there was no call for him to expound the laws personally, but that every one should obey them just as they were written. Moreover, his position at this time was unpleasant. Many members of the upper class had been estranged from him on account of his abolition of debts, and both parties were alienated through their disappointment at the condition of things which he had created. The mass of the people had expected him to make a complete redistribution of all property, and the upper class hoped he would restore everything to its former position, or, at any rate, make but a small change. Solon, however, had resisted both classes. He might have made himself a despot by attaching himself to whichever party he chose, but he preferred, though at the cost of incurring the enmity of both, to be the saviour of his country and the ideal lawgiver.

Part 12

The truth of this view of Solon's policy is established alike by common consent, and by the mention he has himself made of the matter in his poems. Thus:

I gave to the mass of the people such rank as befitted their need,
I took not away their honour, and I granted naught to their greed;
While those who were rich in power, who in wealth were glorious and
great,
I bethought me that naught should befall them unworthy their
splendour and state;
So I stood with my shield outstretched, and both were sale in its
sight,
And I would not that either should triumph, when the triumph was
not with right.

Again he declares how the mass of the people ought to be treated: But thus will the people best the voice of their leaders obey, When neither too slack is the rein, nor violence holdeth the sway; For indulgence breedeth a child, the presumption that spurns control,

When riches too great are poured upon men of unbalanced soul.

And again elsewhere he speaks about the persons who wished to redistribute the land: So they came in search of plunder, and their cravings knew no hound, Every one among them deeming endless wealth would here be found. And that I with glozing smoothness hid a cruel mind within. Fondly then and vainly dreamt they; now they raise an angry din, And they glare askance in anger, and the light within their eyes Burns with hostile flames upon me. Yet therein no justice lies. All I promised, fully wrought I with the gods at hand to cheer, Naught beyond in folly ventured. Never to my soul was dear With a tyrant's force to govern, nor to see the good and base Side by side in equal portion share the rich home of our race.

Once more he speaks of the abolition of debts and of those who before were in servitude, but were released owing to the Seisachtheia:

Of all the aims for which I summoned forth
The people, was there one I compassed not?
Thou, when slow time brings justice in its train,
O mighty mother of the Olympian gods,
Dark Earth, thou best canst witness, from whose breast
I swept the pillars broadcast planted there,
And made thee free, who hadst been slave of yore.
And many a man whom fraud or law had sold
For from his god-built land, an outcast slave,
I brought again to Athens; yea, and some,
Exiles from home through debt's oppressive load,
Speaking no more the dear Athenian tongue,
But wandering far and wide, I brought again;
And those that here in vilest slavery
Crouched 'neath a master's frown, I set them free.
Thus might and right were yoked in harmony,
Since by the force of law I won my ends
And kept my promise. Equal laws I gave
To evil and to good, with even hand
Drawing straight justice for the lot of each.
But had another held the goad as
One in whose heart was guile and greediness,
He had not kept the people back from strife.
For had I granted, now what pleased the one,
Then what their foes devised in counterpoise,
Of many a man this state had been bereft.
Therefore I showed my might on every side,
Turning at bay like wolf among the hounds.

And again he reviles both parties for their grumblings in the times that followed:

Nay, if one must lay blame where blame is due,
Wer't not for me, the people ne'er had set
Their eyes upon these blessings e'en in dreams:-
While greater men, the men of wealthier life,
Should praise me and should court me as their friend. For had any other man, he says, received this exalted post,

He had not kept the people hack, nor ceased
Til he had robbed the richness of the milk.
But I stood forth a landmark in the midst,
And barred the foes from battle.

Part 13

Such then, were Solon's reasons for his departure from the country. After his retirement the city was still torn by divisions. For four years, indeed, they lived in peace; but in the fifth year after Solon's government they were unable to elect an Archon on account of their dissensions, and again four years later they elected no Archon for the same reason. Subsequently, after a similar period had elapsed, Damasias was elected Archon; and he governed for two years and two months, until he was forcibly expelled from his office. After this, it was agreed, as a compromise, to elect ten Archons, five from the Eupatridae, three from the Agroeci, and two from the Demiurgi, and they ruled for the year following Damasias. It is clear from this that the Archon was at the time the magistrate who possessed the greatest power, since it is always in connexion with this office that conflicts are seen to arise. But altogether they were in a continual state of internal disorder. Some found the cause and justification of their discontent in the abolition of debts, because thereby they had been reduced to poverty; others were dissatisfied with the political constitution, because it had undergone a revolutionary change; while with others the motive was found in personal rivalries among themselves. The parties at this time were three in number. First there was the party of the Shore, led by Megacles the son of Alcmeon, which was considered to aim at a moderate form of government; then there were the men of the Plain, who desired an oligarchy and were led by Lycurgus; and thirdly there were the men of the Highlands, at the head of whom was Pisistratus, who was looked on as an extreme democrat. This latter party was reinforced by those who had been deprived of the debts due to them, from motives of poverty, and by those who were not of pure descent, from motives of personal apprehension. A proof of this is seen in the fact that after the tyranny was overthrown a revision was made of the citizen-roll, on the ground that many persons were partaking in the franchise without having a right to it. The names given to the respective parties were derived from the districts in which they held their lands.

Part 14

Pisistratus had the reputation of being an extreme democrat, and he also had distinguished himself greatly in the war with Megara. Taking advantage of this, he wounded himself, and by representing that his injuries had been inflicted on him by his political rivals, he persuaded the people, through a motion proposed by Aristion, to grant him a bodyguard. After he had got these 'club-bearers', as they were called, he made an attack with them on the people and seized the Acropolis. This happened in the archonship of Comeas, thirty-one years after the legislation of Solon. It is related that, when Pisistratus asked for his bodyguard, Solon opposed the request, and declared that in so doing he proved himself wiser than half the people and braver than the rest,-wiser than those who did not see that Pisistratus designed to make himself tyrant, and braver than those who saw it and kept silence. But when all his words availed nothing he carried forth his armour and set it up in front of his house, saying that he had helped his country so far as lay in his power (he was already a very old man), and that he called on all others to do the same. Solon's exhortations, however, proved fruitless, and Pisistratus assumed the sovereignty. His administration was more like a constitutional government than the rule of a tyrant; but before his power was firmly established, the adherents of Megacles and Lycurgus made a coalition and drove him out. This took place in the archonship of Hegesias, five years after the first establishment of his rule. Eleven years later Megacles, being in difficulties in a party struggle, again opened-negotiations with Pisistratus, proposing that the latter should marry his daughter; and on these terms he brought him back to Athens, by a very primitive and simple-minded device. He first spread abroad a rumour that Athena was bringing back Pisistratus, and then, having found a woman of great stature and beauty, named Phye (according to Herodotus, of the deme of Paeania, but as others say a Thracian flower-seller of the deme of Collytus), he dressed her in a garb resembling that of the goddess and brought her into the city with Pisistratus. The latter drove in on a chariot with the woman beside him, and the inhabitants of the city, struck with awe, received him with adoration.

Part 15

In this manner did his first return take place. He did not, however, hold his power long, for about six years after his return he was again expelled. He refused to treat the daughter of Megacles as his wife, and being afraid, in consequence, of a combination of the two opposing parties, he retired from the country. First he led a colony to a place called Rhaicelus, in the region of the Thermaic gulf; and thence he passed to the country in the neighbourhood of Mt. Pangaeus. Here he acquired wealth and hired mercenaries; and not till ten years had elapsed did he return to Eretria and make an attempt to recover the government by force. In this he had the assistance of many allies, notably the Thebans and Lygdamis of Naxos, and also the Knights who held the supreme power in the constitution of Eretria. After his victory in the battle at Pallene he captured Athens, and when he had disarmed the people he at last had his tyranny securely established, and was able to take Naxos and set up Lygdamis as ruler there. He effected the disarmament of the people in the following manner. He ordered a parade in full armour in the Theseum, and began to make a speech to the people. He spoke for a short time, until the people called out that they could not hear him, whereupon he bade them come up to the entrance of the Acropolis, in order that his voice might be better heard. Then, while he continued to speak to them at great length, men whom he had appointed for the purpose collected the arms and locked them up in the chambers of the Theseum hard by, and came and made a signal to him that it was done. Pisistratus accordingly, when he had finished the rest of what he had to say, told the people also what had happened to their arms; adding that they were not to be surprised or alarmed, but go home and attend to their private affairs, while he would himself for the future manage all the business of the state.

Part 16

Such was the origin and such the vicissitudes of the tyranny of Pisistratus. His administration was temperate, as has been said before, and more like constitutional government than a tyranny. Not only was he in every respect humane and mild and ready to forgive those who offended, but, in addition, he advanced money to the poorer people to help them in their labours, so that they might make their living by agriculture. In this he had two objects, first that they might not spend their time in the city but might be scattered over all the face of the country, and secondly that, being moderately well off and occupied with their own business, they might have neither the wish nor the time to attend to public affairs. At the same time his revenues were increased by the thorough cultivation of the country, since he imposed a tax of one tenth on all the produce. For the same reasons he instituted the local justices,' and often made expeditions in person into the country to inspect it and to settle disputes between individuals, that they might not come into the city and neglect their farms. It was in one of these progresses that, as the story goes, Pisistratus had his adventure with the man of Hymettus, who was cultivating the spot afterwards known as 'Tax-free Farm'. He saw a man digging and working at a very stony piece of ground, and being surprised he sent his attendant to ask what he got out of this plot of land. 'Aches and pains', said the man; 'and that's what Pisistratus ought to have his tenth of'. The man spoke without knowing who his questioner was; but Pisistratus was so leased with his frank speech and his industry that he granted him exemption from all taxes. And so in matters in general he burdened the people as little as possible with his government, but always cultivated peace and kept them in all quietness. Hence the tyranny of Pisistratus was often spoken of proverbially as 'the age of gold'; for when his sons succeeded him the government became much harsher. But most important of all in this respect was his popular and kindly disposition. In all things he was accustomed to observe the laws, without giving himself any exceptional privileges. Once he was summoned on a charge of homicide before the Areopagus, and he appeared in person to make his defence; but the prosecutor was afraid to present himself and abandoned the case. For these reasons he held power long, and whenever he was expelled he regained his position easily. The majority alike of the upper class and of the people were in his favour; the former he won by his social intercourse with them, the latter by the assistance which he gave to their private purses, and his nature fitted him to win the hearts of both. Moreover, the laws in reference to tyrants at that time in force at Athens were very mild, especially the one which applies more particularly to the establishment of a tyranny. The law ran as follows: 'These are the ancestral statutes of the Athenians; if any persons shall make an attempt to establish a tyranny, or if any person shall join in setting up a tyranny, he shall lose his civic rights, both himself and his whole house.'

Part 17

Thus did Pisistratus grow old in the possession of power, and he died a natural death in the archonship of Philoneos, three and thirty years from the time at which he first established himself as tyrant, during nineteen of which he was in possession of power; the rest he spent in exile. It is evident from this that the story is mere gossip which states that Pisistratus was the youthful favourite of Solon and commanded in the war against Megara for the recovery of Salamis. It will not harmonize with their respective ages, as any one may see who will reckon up the years of the life of each of them, and the dates at which they died. After the death of Pisistratus his sons took up the government, and conducted it on the same system. He had two sons by his first and legitimate wife, Hippias and Hipparchus, and two by his Argive consort, Iophon and Hegesistratus, who was surnamed Thessalus. For Pisistratus took a wife from Argos, Timonassa, the daughter of a man of Argos, named Gorgilus; she had previously been the wife of Archinus of Ambracia, one of the descendants of Cypselus. This was the origin of his friendship with the Argives, on account of which a thousand of them were brought over by Hegesistratus and fought on his side in the battle at Pallene. Some authorities say that this marriage took place after his first expulsion from Athens, others while he was in possession of the government.

Part 18

Hippias and Hipparchus assumed the control of affairs on grounds alike of standing and of age; but Hippias, as being also naturally of a statesmanlike and shrewd disposition, was really the head of the government. Hipparchus was youthful in disposition, amorous, and fond of literature (it was he who invited to Athens Anacreon, Simonides, and the other poets), while Thessalus was much junior in age, and was violent and headstrong in his behaviour. It was from his character that all the evils arose which befell the house. He became enamoured of Harmodius, and, since he failed to win his affection, he lost all restraint upon his passion, and in addition to other exhibitions of rage he finally prevented the sister of Harmodius from taking the part of a basket-bearer in the Panathenaic procession, alleging as his reason that Harmodius was a person of loose life. Thereupon, in a frenzy of wrath, Harmodius and Aristogeiton did their celebrated deed, in conjunction with a number of confederates. But while they were lying in wait for Hippias in the Acropolis at the time of the Panathenaea (Hippias, at this moment, was awaiting the arrival of the procession, while Hipparchus was organizing its dispatch) they saw one of the persons privy to the plot talking familiarly with him. Thinking that he was betraying them, and desiring to do something before they were arrested, they rushed down and made their attempt without waiting for the rest of their confederates. They succeeded in killing Hipparchus near the Leocoreum while he was engaged in arranging the procession, but ruined the design as a whole; of the two leaders, Harmodius was killed on the spot by the guards, while Aristogeiton was arrested, and perished later after suffering long tortures. While under the torture he accused many persons who belonged by birth to the most distinguished families and were also personal friends of the tyrants. At first the government could find no clue to the conspiracy; for the current story, that Hippias made all who were taking part in the procession leave their arms, and then detected those who were carrying secret daggers, cannot be true, since at that time they did not bear arms in the processions, this being a custom instituted at a later period by the democracy. According to the story of the popular party, Aristogeiton accused the friends of the tyrants with the deliberate intention that the latter might commit an impious act, and at the same time weaken themselves, by putting to death innocent men who were their own friends; others say that he told no falsehood, but was betraying the actual accomplices. At last, when for all his efforts he could not obtain release by death, he promised to give further information against a number of other persons; and, having induced Hippias to give him his hand to confirm his word, as soon as he had hold of it he reviled him for giving his hand to the murderer of his brother, till Hippias, in a frenzy of rage, lost control of himself and snatched out his dagger and dispatched him.

Part 19

After this event the tyranny became much harsher. In consequence of his vengeance for his brother, and of the execution and banishment of a large number of persons, Hippias became a distrusted and an embittered man. About three years after the death of Hipparchus, finding his position in the city insecure, he set about fortifying Munichia, with the intention of establishing himself there. While he was still engaged on this work, however, he was expelled by Cleomenes, king of Lacedaemon, in consequence of the Spartans being continually incited by oracles to overthrow the tyranny. These oracles were obtained in the following way. The Athenian exiles, headed by the Alcmeonidae, could not by their own power effect their return, but failed continually in their attempts. Among their other failures, they fortified a post in Attica, Lipsydrium, above Mt. Parnes, and were there joined by some partisans from the city; but they were besieged by the tyrants and reduced to surrender. After this disaster the following became a popular drinking song:

Ah! Lipsydrium, faithless friend!
Lo, what heroes to death didst send,
Nobly born and great in deed!
Well did they prove themselves at need
Of noble sires a noble seed.

Having failed, then, in very other method, they took the contract for rebuilding the temple at Delphi, thereby obtaining ample funds, which they employed to secure the help of the Lacedaemonians. All this time the Pythia kept continually enjoining on the Lacedaemonians who came to consult the oracle, that they must free Athens; till finally she succeeded in impelling the Spartans to that step, although the house of Pisistratus was connected with them by ties of hospitality. The resolution of the Lacedaemonians was, however, at least equally due to the friendship which had been formed between the house of Pisistratus and Argos. Accordingly they first sent Anchimolus by sea at the head of an army; but he was defeated and killed, through the arrival of Cineas of Thessaly to support the sons of Pisistratus with a force of a thousand horsemen. Then, being roused to anger by this disaster, they sent their king, Cleomenes, by land at the head of a larger force; and he, after defeating the Thessalian cavalry when they attempted to intercept his march into Attica, shut up Hippias within what was known as the Pelargic wall and blockaded him there with the assistance of the Athenians. While he was sitting down before the place, it so happened that the sons of the Pisistratidae were captured in an attempt to slip out; upon which the tyrants capitulated on condition of the safety of their children, and surrendered the Acropolis to the Athenians, five days being first allowed them to remove their effects. This took place in the archonship of Harpactides, after they had held the tyranny for about seventeen years since their father's death, or in all, including the period of their father's rule, for nine-and-forty years.

Part 20

After the overthrow of the tyranny, the rival leaders in the state were Isagoras son of Tisander, a partisan of the tyrants, and Cleisthenes, who belonged to the family of the Alcmeonidae. Cleisthenes, being beaten in the political clubs, called in the people by giving the franchise to the masses. Thereupon Isagoras, finding himself left inferior in power, invited Cleomenes, who was united to him by ties of hospitality, to return to Athens, and persuaded him to 'drive out the pollution', a plea derived from the fact that the Alcmeonidae were suppposed to be under the curse of pollution. On this Cleisthenes retired from the country, and Cleomenes, entering Attica with a small force, expelled, as polluted, seven hundred Athenian families. Having effected this, he next attempted to dissolve the Council, and to set up Isagoras and three hundred of his partisans as the supreme power in the state. The Council, however, resisted, the populace flocked together, and Cleomenes and Isagoras, with their adherents, took refuge in the Acropolis. Here the people sat down and besieged them for two days; and on the third they agreed to let Cleomenes and all his followers de art, while they summoned Cleisthenes and the other exiles back to Athens. When the people had thus obtained the command of affairs, Cleisthenes was their chief and popular leader. And this was natural; for the Alcmeonidae were perhaps the chief cause of the expulsion of the tyrants, and for the greater part of their rule were at perpetual war with them. But even earlier than the attempts of the Alcmeonidae, one Cedon made an attack on the tyrants; when there came another popular drinking song, addressed to him:

Pour a health yet again, boy, to Cedon; forget not this duty to do,
If a health is an honour befitting the name of a good man and true.

Part 21

The people, therefore, had good reason to place confidence in Cleisthenes. Accordingly, now that he was the popular leader, three years after the expulsion of the tyrants, in the archonship of Isagoras, his first step was to distribute the whole population into ten tribes in place of the existing four, with the object of intermixing the members of the different tribes, and so securing that more persons might have a share in the franchise. From this arose the saying 'Do not look at the tribes', addressed to those who wished to scrutinize the lists of the old families. Next he made the Council to consist of five hundred members instead of four hundred, each tribe now contributing fifty, whereas formerly each had sent a hundred. The reason why he did not organize the people into twelve tribes was that he might not have to use the existing division into trittyes; for the four tribes had twelve trittyes, so that he would not have achieved his object of redistributing the population in fresh combinations. Further, he divided the country into thirty groups of demes, ten from the districts about the city, ten from the coast, and ten from the interior. These he called trittyes; and he assigned three of them by lot to each tribe, in such a way that each should have one portion in each of these three localities. All who lived in any given deme he declared fellow-demesmen, to the end that the new citizens might not be exposed by the habitual use of family names, but that men might be officially described by the names of their demes; and accordingly it is by the names of their demes that the Athenians speak of one another. He also instituted Demarchs, who had the same duties as the previously existing Naucrari,-the demes being made to take the place of the naucraries. He gave names to the demes, some from the localities to which they belonged, some from the persons who founded them, since some of the areas no longer corresponded to localities possessing names. On the other hand he allowed every one to retain his family and clan and religious rites according to ancestral custom. The names given to the tribes were the ten which the Pythia appointed out of the hundred selected national heroes.

Part 22

By these reforms the constitution became much more democratic than that of Solon. The laws of Solon had been obliterated by disuse during the period of the tyranny, while Cleisthenes substituted new ones with the object of securing the goodwill of the masses. Among these was the law concerning ostracism. Four year after the establishment of this system, in the archonship of Hermocreon, they first imposed upon the Council of Five Hundred the oath which they take to the present day. Next they began to elect the generals by tribes, one from each tribe, while the Polemarch was the commander of the whole army. Then, eleven years later, in the archonship of Phaenippus they won the battle of Marathon; and two years after this victory, when the people had now gained self-confidence, they for the first time made use of the law of ostracism. This had originally been passed as a precaution against men in high office, because Pisistratus took advantage of his position as a popular leader and general to make himself tyrant; and the first person ostracized was one of his relatives, Hipparchus son of Charmus, of the deme of Collytus, the very person on whose account especially Cleisthenes had enacted the law, as he wished to get rid of him. Hitherto, however, he had escaped; for the Athenians, with the usual leniency of the democracy, allowed all the partisans of the tyrants, who had not joined in their evil deeds in the time of the troubles to remain in the city; and the chief and leader of these was Hipparchus. Then in the very next year, in the archonship of Telesinus, they for the first time since the tyranny elected, tribe by tribe, the nine Archons by lot out of the five hundred candidates selected by the demes, all the earlier ones having been elected by vote; and in the same year Megacles son of Hippocrates, of the deme of Alopece, was ostracized. Thus for three years they continued to ostracize the friends of the tyrants, on whose account the law had been passed; but in the following year they began to remove others as well, including any one who seemed to be more powerful than was expedient. The first person unconnected with the tyrants who was ostracized was Xanthippus son of Ariphron. Two years later, in the archonship of Nicodemus, the mines of Maroneia were discovered, and the state made a profit of a hundred talents from the working of them. Some persons advised the people to make a distribution of the money among themselves, but this was prevented by Themistocles. He refused to say on what he proposed to spend the money, but he bade them lend it to the hundred richest men in Athens, one talent to each, and then, if the manner in which it was employed pleased the people, the expenditure should be charged to the state, but otherwise the state should receive the sum back from those to whom it was lent. On these terms he received the money and with it he had a hundred triremes built, each of the hundred individuals building one; and it was with these ships that they fought the battle of Salamis against the barbarians. About this time Aristides the son of Lysimachus was ostracized. Three years later, however, in the archonship of Hypsichides, all the ostracized persons were recalled, on account of the advance of the army of Xerxes; and it was laid down for the future that persons under sentence of ostracism must live between Geraestus and Scyllaeum, on pain of losing their civic rights irrevocably.

Part 23

So far, then, had the city progressed by this time, growing gradually with the growth of the democracy; but after the Persian wars the Council of Areopagus once more developed strength and assumed the control of the state. It did not acquire this supremacy by virtue of any formal decree, but because it had been the cause of the battle of Salamis being fought. When the generals were utterly at a loss how to meet the crisis and made proclamation that every one should see to his own safety, the Areopagus provided a donation of money, distributing eight drachmas to each member of the ships' crews, and so prevailed on them to go on board. On these grounds people bowed to its prestige; and during this period Athens was well administered. At this time they devoted themselves to the prosecution of the war and were in high repute among the Greeks, so that the command by sea was conferred upon them, in spite of the opposition of the Lacedaemonians. The leaders of the people during this period were Aristides, of Lysimachus, and Themistocles, son of Lysimachus, and Themistocles, son of Neocles, of whom the latter appeared to devote himself to the conduct of war, while the former had the reputation of being a clever statesman and the most upright man of his time. Accordingly the one was usually employed as general, the other as political adviser. The rebuilding of the fortifications they conducted in combination, although they were political opponents; but it was Aristides who, seizing the opportunity afforded by the discredit brought upon the Lacedaemonians by Pausanias, guided the public policy in the matter of the defection of the Ionian states from the alliance with Sparta. It follows that it was he who made the first assessment of tribute from the various allied states, two years after the battle of Salamis, in the archonship of Timosthenes; and it was he who took the oath of offensive and defensive alliance with the Ionians, on which occasion they cast the masses of iron into the sea.

Part 24

After this, seeing the state growing in confidence and much wealth accumulated, he advised the people to lay hold of the leadership of the league, and to quit the country districts and settle in the city. He pointed out to them that all would be able to gain a living there, some by service in the army, others in the garrisons, others by taking a part in public affairs; and in this way they would secure the leadership. This advice was taken; and when the people had assumed the supreme control they proceeded to treat their allies in a more imperious fashion, with the exception of the Chians, Lesbians, and Samians. These they maintained to protect their empire, leaving their constitutions untouched, and allowing them to retain whatever dominion they then possessed. They also secured an ample maintenance for the mass of the population in the way which Aristides had pointed out to them. Out of the proceeds of the tributes and the taxes and the contributions of the allies more than twenty thousand persons were maintained. There were 6,000 jurymen, 1,600 bowmen, 1,200 Knights, 500 members of the Council, 500 guards of the dockyards, besides fifty guards in the Acropolis. There were some 700 magistrates at home, and some 700 abroad. Further, when they subsequently went to war, there were in addition 2,500 heavy-armed troops, twenty guard-ships, and other ships which collected the tributes, with crews amounting to 2,000 men, selected by lot; and besides these there were the persons maintained at the Prytaneum, and orphans, and gaolers, since all these were supported by the state.

Part 25

Such was the way in which the people earned their livelihood. The supremacy of the Areopagus lasted for about seventeen years after the Persian wars, although gradually declining. But as the strength of the masses increased, Ephialtes, son of Sophonides, a man with a reputation for incorruptibility and public virtue, who had become the leader of the people, made an attack upon that Council. First of all he ruined many of its members by bringing actions against them with reference to their administration. Then, in the archonship of Conon, he stripped the Council of all the acquired prerogatives from which it derived its guardianship of the constitution, and assigned some of them to the Council of Five Hundred, and others to the Assembly and the law-courts. In this revolution he was assisted by Themistocles, who was himself a member of the Areopagus, but was expecting to be tried before it on a charge of treasonable dealings with Persia. This made him anxious that it should be overthrown, and accordingly he warned Ephialtes that the Council intended to arrest him, while at the same time he informed the Areopagites that he would reveal to them certain persons who were conspiring to subvert the constitution. He then conducted the representatives delegated by the Council to the residence of Ephialtes, promising to show them the conspirators who assembled there, and proceeded to converse with them in an earnest manner. Ephialtes, seeing this, was seized with alarm and took refuge in suppliant guise at the altar. Every one was astounded at the occurrence, and presently, when the Council of Five Hundred met, Ephialtes and Themistocles together proceeded to denounce the Areopagus to them. This they repeated in similar fashion in the Assembly, until they succeeded in depriving it of its power. Not long afterwards, however, Ephialtes was assassinated by Aristodicus of Tanagra. In this way was the Council of Areopagus deprived of its guardianship of the state.

Part 26

After this revolution the administration of the state became more and more lax, in consequence of the eager rivalry of candidates for popular favour. During this period the moderate party, as it happened, had no real chief, their leader being Cimon son of Miltiades, who was a comparatively young man, and had been late in entering public life; and at the same time the general populace suffered great losses by war. The soldiers for active service were selected at that time from the roll of citizens, and as the generals were men of no military experience, who owed their position solely to their family standing, it continually happened that some two or three thousand of the troops perished on an expedition; and in this way the best men alike of the lower and the upper classes were exhausted. Consequently in most matters of administration less heed was paid to the laws than had formerly been the case. No alteration, however, was made in the method of election of the nine Archons, except that five years after the death of Ephialtes it was decided that the candidates to be submitted to the lot for that office might be selected from the Zeugitae as well as from the higher classes. The first Archon from that class was Mnesitheides. Up to this time all the Archons had been taken from the Pentacosiomedimni and Knights, while the Zeugitae were confined to the ordinary magistracies, save where an evasion of the law was overlooked. Four years later, in the archonship of Lysicrates, thirty 'local justices', as they as they were called, were re-established; and two years afterwards, in the archonship of Antidotus, consequence of the great increase in the number of citizens, it was resolved, on the motion of Pericles, that no one should admitted to the franchise who was not of citizen birth by both parents.

Part 27

After this Pericles came forward as popular leader, having first distinguished himself while still a young man by prosecuting Cimon on the audit of his official accounts as general. Under his auspices the constitution became still more democratic. He took away some of the privileges of the Areopagus, and, above all, he turned the policy of the state in the direction of sea power, which caused the masses to acquire confidence in themselves and consequently to take the conduct of affairs more and more into their own hands. Moreover, forty-eight years after the battle of Salamis, in the archonship of Pythodorus, the Peloponnesian war broke out, during which the populace was shut up in the city and became accustomed to gain its livelihood by military service, and so, partly voluntarily and partly involuntarily, determined to assume the administration of the state itself. Pericles was also the first to institute pay for service in the law-courts, as a bid for popular favour to counterbalance the wealth of Cimon. The latter, having private possessions on a regal scale, not only performed the regular public services magnificently, but also maintained a large number of his fellow-demesmen. Any member of the deme of Laciadae could go every day to Cimon's house and there receive a reasonable provision; while his estate was guarded by no fences, so that any one who liked might help himself to the fruit from it. Pericles' private property was quite unequal to this magnificence and accordingly he took the advice of Damonides of Oia (who was commonly supposed to be the person who prompted Pericles in most of his measures, and was therefore subsequently ostracized), which was that, as he was beaten in the matter of private possessions, he should make gifts to the people from their own property; and accordingly he instituted pay for the members of the juries. Some critics accuse him of thereby causing a deterioration in the character of the juries, since it was always the common people who put themselves forward for selection as jurors, rather than the men of better position. Moreover, bribery came into existence after this, the first person to introduce it being Anytus, after his command at Pylos. He was prosecuted by certain individuals on account of his loss of Pylos, but escaped by bribing the jury.

Part 28

So long, however, as Pericles was leader of the people, things went tolerably well with the state; but when he was dead there was a great change for the worse. Then for the first time did the people choose a leader who was of no reputation among men of good standing, whereas up to this time such men had always been found as leaders of the democracy. The first leader of the people, in the very beginning of things, was Solon, and the second was Pisistratus, both of them men of birth and position. After the overthrow of the tyrants there was Cleisthenes, a member of the house of the Alcmeonidae; and he had no rival opposed to him after the expulsion of the party of Isagoras. After this Xanthippus was the leader of the people, and Miltiades of the upper class. Then came Themistocles and Aristides, and after them Ephialtes as leader of the people, and Cimon son of Miltiades of the wealthier class. Pericles followed as leader of the people, and Thucydides, who was connected by marriage with Cimon, of the opposition. After the death of Pericles, Nicias, who subsequently fell in Sicily, appeared as leader of the aristocracy, and Cleon son of Cleaenetus of the people. The latter seems, more than any one else, to have been the cause of the corruption of the democracy by his wild undertakings; and he was the first to use unseemly shouting and coarse abuse on the Bema, and to harangue the people with his cloak girt up short about him, whereas all his predecessors had spoken decently and in order. These were succeeded by Theramenes son of Hagnon as leader of the one party, and the lyre-maker Cleophon of the people. It was Cleophon who first granted the twoobol donation for the theatrical performances, and for some time it continued to be given; but then Callicrates of Paeania ousted him by promising to add a third obol to the sum. Both of these persons were subsequently condemned to death; for the people, even if they are deceived for a time, in the end generally come to detest those who have beguiled them into any unworthy action. After Cleophon the popular leadership was occupied successively by the men who chose to talk the biggest and pander the most to the tastes of the majority, with their eyes fixed only on the interests of the moment. The best statesmen at Athens, after those of early times, seem to have been Nicias, Thucydides, and Theramenes. As to Nicias and Thucydides, nearly every one agrees that they were not merely men of birth and character, but also statesmen, and that they ruled the state with paternal care. On the merits of Theramenes opinion is divided, because it so happened that in his time public affairs were in a very stormy state. But those who give their opinion deliberately find him, not, as his critics falsely assert, overthrowing every kind of constitution, but supporting every kind so long as it did not transgress laws; thus showing that he was able, as every good citizen should be, to live under any form of constitution, while he refused to countenance illegality and was its constant enemy.

Part 29

So long as the fortune of the war continued even, the Athenians preserved the democracy; but after the disaster in Sicily, when the Lacedaemonians had gained the upper hand through their alliance with the king of Persia, they were compelled to abolish the democracy and establish in its place the constitution of the Four Hundred. The speech recommending this course before the vote was made by Melobius, and the motion was proposed by Pythodorus of Anaphlystus; but the real argument which persuaded the majority was the belief that the king of Persia was more likely to form an alliance with them if the constitution were on an oligarchical basis. The motion of Pythodorus was to the following effect. The popular Assembly was to elect twenty persons, over forty years of age, who, in conjunction with the existing ten members of the Committee of Public Safety, after taking an oath that they would frame such measures as they thought best for the state, should then prepare proposals for the public. safety. In addition, any other person might make proposals, so that of all the schemes before them the people might choose the best. Cleitophon concurred with the motion of Pythodorus, but moved that the committee should also investigate the ancient laws enacted by Cleisthenes when he created the democracy, in order that they might have these too before them and so be in a position to decide wisely; his suggestion being that the constitution of Cleisthenes was not really democratic, but closely akin to that of Solon. When the committee was elected, their first proposal was that the Prytanes should be compelled to put to the vote any motion that was offered on behalf of the public safety. Next they abolished all indictments for illegal proposals, all impeachments and pubic prosecutions, in order that every Athenian should be free to give his counsel on the situation, if he chose; and they decreed that if any person imposed a fine on any other for his acts in this respect, or prosecuted him or summoned him before the courts, he should, on an information being laid against him, be summarily arrested and brought before the generals, who should deliver him to the Eleven to be put to death. After these preliminary measures, they drew up the constitution in the following manner. The revenues of the state were not to be spent on any purpose except the war. All magistrates should serve without remuneration for the period of the war, except the nine Archons and the Prytanes for the time being, who should each receive three obols a day. The whole of the rest of the administration was to be committed, for the period of the war, to those Athenians who were most capable of serving the state personally or pecuniarily, to the number of not less than five thousand. This body was to have full powers, to the extent even of making treaties with whomsoever they willed; and ten representatives, over forty years of age, were to be elected from each tribe to draw up the list of the Five Thousand, after taking an oath on a full and perfect sacrifice.

Part 30

These were the recommendations of the committee; and when they had been ratified the Five Thousand elected from their own number a hundred commissioners to draw up the constitution. They, on their appointment, drew up and produced the following recommendations. There should be a Council, holding office for a year, consisting of men over thirty years of age, serving without pay. To this body should belong the Generals, the nine Archons, the Amphictyonic Registrar (Hieromnemon), the Taxiarchs, the Hipparchs, the Phylarch, the commanders of garrisons, the Treasurers of Athena and the other gods, ten in number, the Hellenic Treasurers (Hellenotamiae), the Treasurers of the other non-sacred moneys, to the number of twenty, the ten Commissioners of Sacrifices (Hieropoei), and the ten Superintendents of the mysteries. All these were to be appointed by the Council from a larger number of selected candidates, chosen from its members for the time being. The other offices were all to be filled by lot, and not from the members of the Council. The Hellenic Treasurers who actually administered the funds should not sit with the Council. As regards the future, four Councils were to be created, of men of the age already mentioned, and one of these was to be chosen by lot to take office at once, while the others were to receive it in turn, in the order decided by the lot. For this purpose the hundred commissioners were to distribute themselves and all the rest as equally as possible into four parts, and cast lots for precedence, and the selected body should hold office for a year. They were to administer that office as seemed to them best, both with reference to the safe custody and due expenditure of the finances, and generally with regard to all other matters to the best of their ability. If they desired to take a larger number of persons into counsel, each member might call in one assistant of his own choice, subject to the same qualification of age. The Council was to sit once every five days, unless there was any special need for more frequent sittings. The casting of the lot for the Council was to be held by the nine Archons; votes on divisions were to be counted by five tellers chosen by lot from the members of the Council, and of these one was to be selected by lot every day to act as president. These five persons were to cast lots for precedence between the parties wishing to appear before the Council, giving the first place to sacred matters, the second to heralds, the third to embassies, and the fourth to all other subjects; but matters concerning the war might be dealt with, on the motion of the generals, whenever there was need, without balloting. Any member of the Council who did not enter the Council-house at the time named should be fined a drachma for each day, unless he was away on leave of absence from the Council.

Part 31

Such was the constitution which they drew up for the time to come, but for the immediate present they devised the following scheme. There should be a Council of Four Hundred, as in the ancient constitution, forty from each tribe, chosen out of candidates of more than thirty years of age, selected by the members of the tribes. This Council should appoint the magistrates and draw up the form of oath which they were to take; and in all that concerned the laws, in the examination of official accounts, and in other matters generally, they might act according to their discretion. They must, however, observe the laws that might be enacted with reference to the constitution of the state, and had no power to alter them nor to pass others. The generals should be provisionally elected from the whole body of the Five Thousand, but so soon as the Council came into existence it was to hold an examination of military equipments, and thereon elect ten persons, together with a secretary, and the persons thus elected should hold office during the coming year with full powers, and should have the right, whenever they desired it, of joining in the deliberations of the Council. The Five thousand was also to elect a single Hipparch and ten Phylarchs; but for the future the Council was to elect these officers according to the regulations above laid down. No office, except those of member of the Council and of general, might be held more than once, either by the first occupants or by their successors. With reference to the future distribution of the Four Hundred into the four successive sections, the hundred commissioners must divide them whenever the time comes for the citizens to join in the Council along with the rest.

Part 32

The hundred commissioners appointed by the Five Thousand drew up the constitution as just stated; and after it had been ratified by the people, under the presidency of Aristomachus, the existing Council, that of the year of Callias, was dissolved before it had completed its term of office. It was dissolved on the fourteenth day of the month Thargelion, and the Four Hundred entered into office on the twenty-first; whereas the regular Council, elected by lot, ought to have entered into office on the fourteenth of Scirophorion. Thus was the oligarchy established, in the archonship of Callias, just about a hundred years after the expulsion of the tyrants. The chief promoters of the revolution were Pisander, Antiphon, and Theramenes, all of them men of good birth and with high reputations for ability and judgement. When, however, this constitution had been established, the Five Thousand were only nominally selected, and the Four Hundred, together with the ten officers on whom full powers had been conferred, occupied the Council-house and really administered the government. They began by sending ambassadors to the Lacedaemonians proposing a cessation of the war on the basis of the existing Position; but as the Lacedaemonians refused to listen to them unless they would also abandon the command of the sea, they broke off the negotiations.

Part 33

For about four months the constitution of the Four Hundred lasted, and Mnasilochus held office as Archon of their nomination for two months of the year of Theopompus, who was Archon for the remaining ten. On the loss of the naval battle of Eretria, however, and the revolt of the whole of Euboea except Oreum, the indignation of the people was greater than at any of the earlier disasters, since they drew far more supplies at this time from Euboea than from Attica itself. Accordingly they deposed the Four Hundred and committed the management of affairs to the Five Thousand, consisting of persons Possessing a military equipment. At the same time they voted that pay should not be given for any public office. The persons chiefly responsible for the revolution were Aristocrates and Theramenes, who disapproved of the action of the Four Hundred in retaining the direction of affairs entirely in their own hands, and referring nothing to the Five Thousand. During this period the constitution of the state seems to have been admirable, since it was a time of war and the franchise was in the hands of those who possessed a military equipment.

Part 34

The people, however, in a very short time deprived the Five Thousand of their monopoly of the government. Then, six years after the overthrow of the Four Hundred, in the archonship of Callias of Angele, battle of Arginusae took place, of which the results were, first, that the ten generals who had gained the victory were all condemned by a single decision, owing to the people being led astray by persons who aroused their indignation; though, as a matter of fact, some of the generals had actually taken no part in the battle, and others were themselves picked up by other vessels. Secondly, when the Lacedaemonians proposed to evacuate Decelea and make peace on the basis of the existing position, although some of the Athenians supported this proposal, the majority refused to listen to them. In this they were led astray by Cleophon, who appeared in the Assembly drunk and wearing his breastplate, and prevented peace being made, declaring that he would never accept peace unless the Lacedaemonians abandoned their claims on all the cities allied with them. They mismanaged their opportunity then, and in a very short time they learnt their mistake. The next year, in the archonship of Alexias, they suffered the disaster of Aegospotami, the consequence of which was that Lysander became master of the city, and set up the Thirty as its governors. He did so in the following manner. One of the terms of peace stipulated that the state should be governed according to 'the ancient constitution'. Accordingly the popular party tried to preserve the democracy, while that part of the upper class which belonged to the political clubs, together with the exiles who had returned since the peace, aimed at an oligarchy, and those who were not members of any club, though in other respects they considered themselves as good as any other citizens, were anxious to restore the ancient constitution. The latter class included Archinus, Anytus, Cleitophon, Phormisius, and many others, but their most prominent leader was Theramenes. Lysander, however, threw his influence on the side of the oligarchical party, and the popular Assembly was compelled by sheer intimidation to pass a vote establishing the oligarchy. The motion to this effect was proposed by Dracontides of Aphidna.

Part 35

In this way were the Thirty established in power, in the archonship of Pythodorus. As soon, however, as they were masters of the city, they ignored all the resolutions which had been passed relating to the organization of the constitution, but after appointing a Council of Five Hundred and the other magistrates out of a thousand selected candidates, and associating with themselves ten Archons in Piraeus, eleven superintendents of the prison, and three hundred 'lash-bearers' as attendants, with the help of these they kept the city under their own control. At first, indeed, they behaved with moderation towards the citizens and pretended to administer the state according to the ancient constitution. In pursuance of this policy they took down from the hill of Areopagus the laws of Ephialtes and Archestratus relating to the Areopagite Council; they also repealed such of the statutes of Solon as were obscure, and abolished the supreme power of the law-courts. In this they claimed to be restoring the constitution and freeing it from obscurities; as, for instance, by making the testator free once for all to leave his property as he pleased, and abolishing the existing limitations in cases of insanity, old age, and undue female influence, in order that no opening might be left for professional accusers. In other matters also their conduct was similar. At first, then, they acted on these lines, and they destroyed the professional accusers and those mischievous and evil-minded persons who, to the great detriment of the democracy, had attached themselves to it in order to curry favour with it. With all of this the city was much pleased, and thought that the Thirty were doing it with the best of motives. But so soon as they had got a firmer hold on the city, they spared no class of citizens, but put to death any persons who were eminent for wealth or birth or character. Herein they aimed at removing all whom they had reason to fear, while they also wished to lay hands on their possessions; and in a short time they put to death not less than fifteen hundred persons.

Part 36

Theramenes, however, seeing the city thus falling into ruin, was displeased with their proceedings, and counselled them to cease such unprincipled conduct and let the better classes have a share in the government. At first they resisted his advice, but when his proposals came to be known abroad, and the masses began to associate themselves with him, they were seized with alarm lest he should make himself the leader of the people and destroy their despotic power. Accordingly they drew up a list of three thousand citizens, to whom they announced that they would give a share in the constitution. Theramenes, however, criticized this scheme also, first on the ground that, while proposing to give all respectable citizens a share in the constitution, they were actually giving it only to three thousand persons, as though all merit were confined within that number; and secondly because they were doing two inconsistent things, since they made the government rest on the basis of force, and yet made the governors inferior in strength to the governed. However, they took no notice of his criticisms, and for a long time put off the publication of the list of the Three Thousand and kept to themselves the names of those who had been placed upon it; and every time they did decide to publish it they proceeded to strike out some of those who had been included in it, and insert others who had been omitted.

Part 37

Now when winter had set in, Thrasybulus and the exiles occupied Phyle, and the force which the Thirty led out to attack them met with a reverse. Thereupon the Thirty decided to disarm the bulk of the population and to get rid of Theramenes; which they did in the following way. They introduced two laws into the Council, which they commanded it to pass; the first of them gave the Thirty absolute power to put to death any citizen who was not included in the list of the Three Thousand, while the second disqualified all persons from participation in the franchise who should have assisted in the demolition of the fort of Eetioneia, or have acted in any way against the Four Hundred who had organized the previous oligarchy. Theramenes had done both, and accordingly, when these laws were ratified, he became excluded from the franchise and the Thirty had full power to put him to death. Theramenes having been thus removed, they disarmed all the people except the Three Thousand, and in every respect showed a great advance in cruelty and crime. They also sent ambassadors to Lacedaemonian to blacken the character of Theramenes and to ask for help; and the Lacedaemonians, in answer to their appeal, sent Callibius as military governor with about seven hundred troops, who came and occupied the Acropolis.

Part 38

These events were followed by the occupation of Munichia by the exiles from Phyle, and their victory over the Thirty and their partisans. After the fight the party of the city retreated, and next day they held a meeting in the marketplace and deposed the Thirty, and elected ten citizens with full powers to bring the war to a termination. When, however, the Ten had taken over the government they did nothing towards the object for which they were elected, but sent envoys to Lacedaemonian to ask for help and to borrow money. Further, finding that the citizens who possessed the franchise were displeased at their proceedings, they were afraid lest they should be deposed, and consequently, in order to strike terror into them (in which design they succeeded), they arrested Demaretus, one of the most eminent citizens, and put him to death. This gave them a firm hold on the government, and they also had the support of Callibius and his Peloponnesians, together with several of the Knights; for some of the members of this class were the most zealous among the citizens to prevent the return of the exiles from Phyle. When, however, the party in Piraeus and Munichia began to gain the upper hand in the war, through the defection of the whole populace to them, the party in the city deposed the original Ten, and elected another Ten, consisting of men of the highest repute. Under their administration, and with their active and zealous cooperation, the treaty of reconciliation was made and the populace returned to the city. The most prominent members of this board were Rhinon of Paeania and Phayllus of Acherdus, who, even before the arrival of Pausanias, opened negotiations with the party in Piraeus, and after his arrival seconded his efforts to bring about the return of the exiles. For it was Pausanias, the king of the Lacedaemonians, who brought the peace and reconciliation to a fulfillment, in conjunction with the ten commissioners of arbitration who arrived later from Lacedaemonian, at his own earnest request. Rhinon and his colleagues received a vote of thanks for the goodwill shown by them to the people, and though they received their charge under an oligarchy and handed in their accounts under a democracy, no one, either of the party that had stayed in the city or of the exiles that had returned from the Piraeus, brought any complaint against them. On the contrary, Rhinon was immediately elected general on account of his conduct in this office.

Part 39

This reconciliation was effected in the archonship of Eucleides, on the following terms. All persons who, having remained in the city during the troubles, were now anxious to leave it, were to be free to settle at Eleusis, retaining their civil rights and possessing full and independent powers of self-government, and with the free enjoyment of their own personal property. The temple at Eleusis should be common ground for both parties, and should be under the superintendence of the Ceryces, and the Eumolpidae, according to primitive custom. The settlers at Eleusis should not be allowed to enter Athens, nor the people of Athens to enter Eleusis, except at the season of the mysteries, when both parties should be free from these restrictions. The secessionists should pay their share to the fund for the common defence out of their revenues, just like all the other Athenians. If any of the seceding party wished to take a house in Eleusis, the people would help them to obtain the consent of the owner; but if they could not come to terms, they should appoint three valuers on either side, and the owner should receive whatever price they should appoint. Of the inhabitants of Eleusis, those whom the secessionists wished to remain should be allowed to do so. The list of those who desired to secede should be made up within ten days after the taking of the oaths in the case of persons already in the country, and their actual departure should take place within twenty days; persons at present out of the country should have the same terms allowed to them after their return. No one who settled at Eleusis should be capable of holding any office in Athens until he should again register himself on the roll as a resident in the city. Trials for homicide, including all cases in which one party had either killed or wounded another, should be conducted according to ancestral practice. There should be a general amnesty concerning past events towards all persons except the Thirty, the Ten, the Eleven, and the magistrates in Piraeus; and these too should be included if they should submit their accounts in the usual way. Such accounts should be given by the magistrates in Piraeus before a court of citizens rated in Piraeus, and by the magistrates in the city before a court of those rated in the city. On these terms those who wished to do so might secede. Each party was to repay separately the money which it had borrowed for the war.

Part 40

When the reconciliation had taken place on these terms, those who had fought on the side of the Thirty felt considerable apprehensions, and a large number intended to secede. But as they put off entering their names till the last moment, as people will do, Archinus, observing their numbers, and being anxious to retain them as citizens, cut off the remaining days during which the list should have remained open; and in this way many persons were compelled to remain, though they did so very unwillingly until they recovered confidence. This is one point in which Archinus appears to have acted in a most statesmanlike manner, and another was his subsequent prosecution of Thrasybulus on the charge of illegality, for a motion by which he proposed to confer the franchise on all who had taken part in the return from Piraeus, although some of them were notoriously slaves. And yet a third such action was when one of the returned exiles began to violate the amnesty, whereupon Archinus haled him to the Council and persuaded them to execute him without trial, telling them that now they would have to show whether they wished to preserve the democracy and abide by the oaths they had taken; for if they let this man escape they would encourage others to imitate him, while if they executed him they would make an example for all to learn by. And this was exactly what happened; for after this man had been put to death no one ever again broke the amnesty. On the contrary, the Athenians seem, both in public and in private, to have behaved in the most unprecedentedly admirable and public-spirited way with reference to the preceding troubles. Not only did they blot out all memory of former offences, but they even repaid to the Lacedaemonians out of the public purse the money which the Thirty had borrowed for the war, although the treaty required each party, the party of the city and the party of Piraeus, to pay its own debts separately. This they did because they thought it was a necessary first step in the direction of restoring harmony; but in other states, so far from the democratic parties making advances from their own possessions, they are rather in the habit of making a general redistribution of the land. A final reconciliation was made with the secessionists at Eleusis two years after the secession, in the archonship of Xenaenetus.

Part 41

This, however, took place at a later date; at the time of which we are speaking the people, having secured the control of the state, established the constitution which exists at the present day. Pythodorus was Archon at the time, but the democracy seems to have assumed the supreme power with perfect justice, since it had effected its own return by its own exertions. This was the eleventh change which had taken place in the constitution of Athens. The first modification of the primaeval condition of things was when Ion and his companions brought the people together into a community, for then the people was first divided into the four tribes, and the tribe-kings were created. Next, and first after this, having now some semblance of a constitution, was that which took place in the reign of Theseus, consisting in a slight deviation from absolute monarchy. After this came the constitution formed under Draco, when the first code of laws was drawn up. The third was that which followed the civil war, in the time of Solon; from this the democracy took its rise. The fourth was the tyranny of Pisistratus; the fifth the constitution of Cleisthenes, after the overthrow of the tyrants, of a more democratic character than that of Solon. The sixth was that which followed on the Persian wars, when the Council of Areopagus had the direction of the state. The seventh, succeeding this, was the constitution which Aristides sketched out, and which Ephialtes brought to completion by overthrowing the Areopagite Council; under this the nation, misled by the demagogues, made the most serious mistakes in the interest of its maritime empire. The eighth was the establishment of the Four Hundred, followed by the ninth, the restored democracy. The tenth was the tyranny of the Thirty and the Ten. The eleventh was that which followed the return from Phyle and Piraeus; and this has continued from that day to this, with continual accretions of power to the masses. The democracy has made itself master of everything and administers everything by its votes in the Assembly and by the law-courts, in which it holds the supreme power. Even the jurisdiction of the Council has passed into the hands of the people at large; and this appears to be a judicious change, since small bodies are more open to corruption, whether by actual money or influence, than large ones. At first they refused to allow payment for attendance at the Assembly; but the result was that people did not attend. Consequently, after the Prytanes had tried many devices in vain in order to induce the populace to come and ratify the votes, Agyrrhius, in the first instance, made a provision of one obol a day, which Heracleides of Clazomenae, nicknamed 'the king', increased to two obols, and Agyrrhius again to three.

Part 42

The present state of the constitution is as follows. The franchise is open to all who are of citizen birth by both parents. They are enrolled among the demesmen at the age of eighteen. On the occasion of their enrollment the demesmen give their votes on oath, first whether the candidates appear to be of the age prescribed by the law (if not, they are dismissed back into the ranks of the boys), and secondly whether the candidate is free born and of such parentage as the laws require. Then if they decide that he is not a free man, he appeals to the law-courts, and the demesmen appoint five of their own number to act as accusers; if the court decides that he has no right to be enrolled, he is sold by the state as a slave, but if he wins his case he has a right to be enrolled among the demesmen without further question. After this the Council examines those who have been enrolled, and if it comes to the conclusion that any of them is less than eighteen years of age, it fines the demesmen who enrolled him. When the youths (Ephebi) have passed this examination, their fathers meet by their tribes, and appoint on oath three of their fellow tribesmen, over forty years of age, who, in their opinion, are the best and most suitable persons to have charge of the youths; and of these the Assembly elects one from each tribe as guardian, together with a director, chosen from the general body of Athenians, to control the while. Under the charge of these persons the youths first of all make the circuit of the temples; then they proceed to Piraeus, and some of them garrison Munichia and some the south shore. The Assembly also elects two trainers, with subordinate instructors, who teach them to fight in heavy armour, to use the bow and javelin, and to discharge a catapult. The guardians receive from the state a drachma apiece for their keep, and the youths four obols apiece. Each guardian receives the allowance for all the members of his tribe and buys the necessary provisions for the common stock (they mess together by tribes), and generally superintends everything. In this way they spend the first year. The next year, after giving a public display of their military evolutions, on the occasion when the Assembly meets in the theatre, they receive a shield and spear from the state; after which they patrol the country and spend their time in the forts. For these two years they are on garrison duty, and wear the military cloak, and during this time they are exempt from all taxes. They also can neither bring an action at law, nor have one brought against them, in order that they may have no excuse for requiring leave of absence; though exception is made in cases of actions concerning inheritances and wards of state, or of any sacrificial ceremony connected with the family. When the two years have elapsed they thereupon take their position among the other citizens. Such is the manner of the enrollment of the citizens and the training of the youths.

Part 43

All the magistrates that are concerned with the ordinary routine of administration are elected by lot, except the Military Treasurer, the Commissioners of the Theoric fund, and the Superintendent of Springs. These are elected by vote, and hold office from one Panathenaic festival to the next. All military officers are also elected by vote.

The Council of Five Hundred is elected by lot, fifty from each tribe. Each tribe holds the office of Prytanes in turn, the order being determined by lot; the first four serve for thirty-six days each, the last six for thirty-five, since the reckoning is by lunar years. The Prytanes for the time being, in the first place, mess together in the Tholus, and receive a sum of money from the state for their maintenance; and, secondly, they convene the meetings of the Council and the Assembly. The Council they convene every day, unless it is a holiday, the Assembly four times in each prytany. It is also their duty to draw up the programme of the business of the Council and to decide what subjects are to be dealt with on each particular da, and where the sitting is to be held. They also draw up the programme for the meetings of the Assembly. One of these in each prytany is called the 'sovereign' Assembly; in this the people have to ratify the continuance of the magistrates in office, if they are performing their duties properly, and to consider the supply of corn and the defence of the country. On this day, too, impeachments are introduced by those who wish to do so, the lists of property confiscated by the state are read, and also applications for inheritances and wards of state, so that nothing may pass unclaimed without the cognizance of any person concerned. In the sixth prytany, in addition to the business already stated, the question is put to the vote whether it is desirable to hold a vote of ostracism or not; and complaints against professional accusers, whether Athenian or aliens domiciled in Athens, are received, to the number of not more than three of either class, together with cases in which an individual has made some promise to the people and has not performed it. Another Assembly in each prytany is assigned to the hearing of petitions, and at this meeting any one is free, on depositing the petitioner's olive-branch, to speak to the people concerning any matter, public or private. The two remaining meetings are devoted to all other subjects, and the laws require them to deal with three questions connected with religion, three connected with heralds and embassies, and three on secular subjects. Sometimes questions are brought forward without a preliminary vote of the Assembly to take them into consideration.

Heralds and envoys appear first before the Prytanes, and the bearers of dispatches also deliver them to the same officials.

Part 44

There is a single President of the Prytanes, elected by lot, who presides for a night and a day; he may not hold the office for more than that time, nor may the same individual hold it twice. He keeps the keys of the sanctuaries in which the treasures and public records of the state are preserved, and also the public seal; and he is bound to remain in the Tholus, together with one-third of the Prytanes, named by himself. Whenever the Prytanes convene a meeting of the Council or Assembly, he appoints by lot nine Proedri, one from each tribe except that which holds the office of Prytanes for the time being; and out of these nine he similarly appoints one as President, and hands over the programme for the meeting to them. They take it and see to the preservation of order, put forward the various subjects which are to be considered, decide the results of the votings, and direct the proceedings generally. They also have power to dismiss the meeting. No one may act as President more than once in the year, but he may be a Proedrus once in each prytany.

Elections to the offices of General and Hipparch and all other military commands are held in the Assembly, in such manner as the people decide; they are held after the sixth prytany by the first board of Prytanes in whose term of office the omens are favourable. There has, however, to be a preliminary consideration by the Council in this case also.

Part 45

In former times the Council had full powers to inflict fines and imprisonment and death; but when it had consigned Lysimachus to the executioner, and he was sitting in the immediate expectation of death, Eumelides of Alopece rescued him from its hands, maintaining that no citizen ought to be put to death except on the decision of a court of law. Accordingly a trial was held in a law-court, and Lysimachus was acquitted, receiving henceforth the nickname of 'the man from the drum-head'; and the people deprived the Council thenceforward of the power to inflict death or imprisonment or fine, passing a law that if the Council condemn any person for an offence or inflict a fine, the Thesmothetae shall bring the sentence or fine before the law-court, and the decision of the jurors shall be the final judgement in the matter.

The Council passes judgement on nearly all magistrates, especially those who have the control of money; its judgement, however, is not final, but is subject to an appeal to the lawcourts. Private individuals, also, may lay an information against any magistrate they please for not obeying the laws, but here too there is an appeal to the law-courts if the Council declare the charge proved. The Council also examines those who are to be its members for the ensuing year, and likewise the nine Archons. Formerly the Council had full power to reject candidates for office as unsuitable, but now they have an appeal to the law-courts. In all these matters, therefore, the Council has no final jurisdiction. It takes, however, preliminary cognizance of all matters brought before the Assembly, and the Assembly cannot vote on any question unless it has first been considered by the Council and placed on the programme by the Prytanes; since a person who carries a motion in the Assembly is liable to an action for illegal proposal on these grounds.

Part 46

The Council also superintends the triremes that are already in existence, with their tackle and sheds, and builds new triremes or quadriremes, whichever the Assembly votes, with tackle and sheds to match. The Assembly appoints master-builders for the ships by vote; and if they do not hand them over completed to the next Council, the old Council cannot receive the customary donation-that being normally given to it during its successor's term of office. For the building of the triremes it appoints ten commissioners, chosen from its own members. The Council also inspects all public buildings, and if it is of opinion that the state is being defrauded, it reports the culprit to the Assembly, and on condemnation hands him over to the law-courts.

Part 47

The Council also co-operates with other magistrates in most of their duties. First there are the treasurers of Athena, ten in number, elected by lot, one from each tribe. According to the law of Solon-which is still in force-they must be Pentacosiomedimni, but in point of fact the person on whom the lot falls holds the office even though he be quite a poor man. These officers take over charge of the statue of Athena, the figures of Victory, and all the other ornaments of the temple, together with the money, in the presence of the Council. Then there are the Commissioners for Public Contracts (Poletae), ten in number, one chosen by lot from each tribe, who farm out the public contracts. They lease the mines and taxes, in conjunction with the Military Treasurer and the Commissioners of the Theoric fund, in the presence of the Council, and grant, to the persons indicated by the vote of the Council, the mines which are let out by the state, including both the workable ones, which are let for three years, and those which are let under special agreements years. They also sell, in the presence of the Council, the property of those who have gone into exile from the court of the Areopagus, and of others whose goods have been confiscated, and the nine Archons ratify the contracts. They also hand over to the Council lists of the taxes which are farmed out for the year, entering on whitened tablets the name of the lessee and the amount paid. They make separate lists, first of those who have to pay their instalments in each prytany, on ten several tablets, next of those who pay thrice in the year, with a separate tablet for each instalment, and finally of those who pay in the ninth prytany. They also draw up a list of farms and dwellings which have been confiscated and sold by order of the courts; for these too come within their province. In the case of dwellings the value must be paid up in five years, and in that of farms, in ten. The instalments are paid in the ninth prytany. Further, the King-archon brings before the Council the leases of the sacred enclosures, written on whitened tablets. These too are leased for ten years, and the instalments are paid in the prytany; consequently it is in this prytany that the greatest amount of money is collected. The tablets containing the lists of the instalments are carried into the Council, and the public clerk takes charge of them. Whenever a payment of instalments is to be made he takes from the pigeon-holes the precise list of the sums which are to be paid and struck off on that day, and delivers it to the Receivers-General. The rest are kept apart, in order that no sum may be struck off before it is paid.

Part 48

There are ten Receivers-General (Apodectae), elected by lot, one from each tribe. These officers receive the tablets, and strike off the instalments as they are paid, in the presence of the Council in the Council-chamber, and give the tablets back to the public clerk. If any one fails to pay his instalment, a note is made of it on the tablet; and he is bound to pay double the amount of the deficiency, or, in default, to be imprisoned. The Council has full power by the laws to exact these payments and to inflict this imprisonment. They receive all the instalments, therefore, on one day, and portion the money out among the magistrates; and on the next day they bring up the report of the apportionment, written on a wooden notice-board, and read it out in the Council-chamber, after which they ask publicly in the Council whether any one knows of any malpractice in reference to the apportionment, on the part of either a magistrate or a private individual, and if any one is charged with malpractice they take a vote on it.

The Council also elects ten Auditors (Logistae) by lot from its own members, to audit the accounts of the magistrates for each prytany. They also elect one Examiner of Accounts (Euthunus) by lot from each tribe, with two assessors (Paredri) for each examiner, whose duty it is to sit at the ordinary market hours, each opposite the statue of the eponymous hero of his tribe; and if any one wishes to prefer a charge, on either public or private grounds, against any magistrate who has passed his audit before the law-courts, within three days of his having so passed, he enters on a whitened tablet his own name and that of the magistrate prosecuted, together with the malpractice that is alleged against him. He also appends his claim for a penalty of such amount as seems to him fitting, and gives in the record to the Examiner. The latter takes it, and if after reading it he considers it proved he hands it over, if a private case, to the local justices who introduce cases for the tribe concerned, while if it is a public case he enters it on the register of the Thesmothetae. Then, if the Thesmothetae accept it, they bring the accounts of this magistrate once more before the law-court, and the decision of the jury stands as the final judgement.

Part 49

The Council also inspects the horses belonging to the state. If a man who has a good horse is found to keep it in bad condition, he is mulcted in his allowance of corn; while those which cannot keep up or which shy and will not stand steady, it brands with a wheel on the jaw, and the horse so marked is disqualified for service. It also inspects those who appear to be fit for service as scouts, and any one whom it rejects is deprived of his horse. It also examines the infantry who serve among the cavalry, and any one whom it rejects ceases to receive his pay. The roll of the cavalry is drawn up by the Commissioners of Enrolment (Catalogeis), ten in number, elected by the Assembly by open vote. They hand over to the Hipparchs and Phylarchs the list of those whom they have enrolled, and these officers take it and bring it up before the Council, and there open the sealed tablet containing the names of the cavalry. If any of those who have been on the roll previously make affidavit that they are physically incapable of cavalry service, they strike them out; then they call up the persons newly enrolled, and if any one makes affidavit that he is either physically or pecuniarily incapable of cavalry service they dismiss him, but if no such affidavit is made the Council vote whether the individual in question is suitable for the purpose or not. If they vote in the affirmative his name is entered on the tablet; if not, he is dismissed with the others.

Formerly the Council used to decide on the plans for public buildings and the contract for making the robe of Athena; but now this work is done by a jury in the law-courts appointed by lot, since the Council was considered to have shown favouritism in its decisions. The Council also shares with the Military Treasurer the superintendence of the manufacture of the images of Victory and the prizes at the Panathenaic festival.

The Council also examines infirm paupers; for there is a law which provides that persons possessing less than three minas, who are so crippled as to be unable to do any work, are, after examination by the Council, to receive two obols a day from the state for their support. A treasurer is appointed by lot to attend to them.

The Council also, speaking broadly, cooperates in most of the duties of all the other magistrates; and this ends the list of the functions of that body.

Part 50

There are ten Commissioners for Repairs of Temples, elected by lot, who receive a sum of thirty minas from the Receivers-General, and therewith carry out the most necessary repairs in the temples.

There are also ten City Commissioners (Astynomi), of whom five hold office in Piraeus and five in the city. Their duty is to see that female flute-and harp-and lute-players are not hired at more than two drachmas, and if more than one person is anxious to hire the same girl, they cast lots and hire her out to the person to whom the lot falls. They also provide that no collector of sewage shall shoot any of his sewage within ten stradia of the walls; they prevent people from blocking up the streets by building, or stretching barriers across them, or making drain-pipes in mid-air with a discharge into the street, or having doors which open outwards; they also remove the corpses of those who die in the streets, for which purpose they have a body of state slaves assigned to them.

Part 51

Market Commissioners (Agoranomi) are elected by lot, five for Piraeus, five for the city. Their statutory duty is to see that all articles offered for sale in the market are pure and unadulterated.

Commissioners of Weights and Measures (Metronomi) are elected by lot, five for the city, and five for Piraeus. They see that sellers use fair weights and measures.

Formerly there were ten Corn Commissioners (Sitophylaces), elected by lot, five for Piraeus, and five for the city; but now there are twenty for the city and fifteen for Piraeus. Their duties are, first, to see that the unprepared corn in the market is offered for sale at reasonable prices, and secondly, to see that the millers sell barley meal at a price proportionate to that of barley, and that the bakers sell their loaves at a price proportionate to that of wheat, and of such weight as the Commissioners may appoint; for the law requires them to fix the standard weight.

There are ten Superintendents of the Mart, elected by lot, whose duty is to superintend the Mart, and to compel merchants to bring up into the city two-thirds of the corn which is brought by sea to the Corn Mart.

Part 52

The Eleven also are appointed by lot to take care of the prisoners in the state gaol. Thieves, kidnappers, and pickpockets are brought to them, and if they plead guilty they are executed, but if they deny the charge the Eleven bring the case before the law-courts; if the prisoners are acquitted, they release them, but if not, they then execute them. They also bring up before the law-courts the list of farms and houses claimed as state-property; and if it is decided that they are so, they deliver them to the Commissioners for Public Contracts. The Eleven also bring up informations laid against magistrates alleged to be disqualified; this function comes within their province, but some such cases are brought up by the Thesmothetae.

There are also five Introducers of Cases (Eisagogeis), elected by lot, one for each pair of tribes, who bring up the 'monthly' cases to the law-courts. 'Monthly' cases are these: refusal to pay up a dowry where a party is bound to do so, refusal to pay interest on money borrowed at 12 per cent., or where a man desirous of setting up business in the market has borrowed from another man capital to start with; also cases of slander, cases arising out of friendly loans or partnerships, and cases concerned with slaves, cattle, and the office of trierarch, or with banks. These are brought up as 'monthly' cases and are introduced by these officers; but the Receivers-General perform the same function in cases for or against the farmers of taxes. Those in which the sum concerned is not more than ten drachmas they can decide summarily, but all above that amount they bring into the law-courts as 'monthly' cases.

Part 53

The Forty are also elected by lot, four from each tribe, before whom suitors bring all other cases. Formerly they were thirty in number, and they went on circuit through the demes to hear causes; but after the oligarchy of the Thirty they were increased to forty. They have full powers to decide cases in which the amount at issue does not exceed ten drachmas, but anything beyond that value they hand over to the Arbitrators. The Arbitrators take up the case, and, if they cannot bring the parties to an agreement, they give a decision. If their decision satisfies both parties, and they abide by it, the case is at an end; but if either of the parties appeals to the law-courts, the Arbitrators enclose the evidence, the pleadings, and the laws quoted in the case in two urns, those of the plaintiff in the one, and those of the defendant in the other. These they seal up and, having attached to them the decision of the arbitrator, written out on a tablet, place them in the custody of the four justices whose function it is to introduce cases on behalf of the tribe of the defendant. These officers take them and bring up the case before the law-court, to a jury of two hundred and one members in cases up to the value of a thousand drachmas, or to one of four hundred and one in cases above that value. No laws or pleadings or evidence may be used except those which were adduced before the Arbitrator, and have been enclosed in the urns.

The Arbitrators are persons in the sixtieth year of their age; this appears from the schedule of the Archons and the Eponymi. There are two classes of Eponymi, the ten who give their names to the tribes, and the forty-two of the years of service. The youths, on being enrolled among the citizens, were formerly registered upon whitened tablets, and the names were appended of the Archon in whose year they were enrolled, and of the Eponymus who had been in course in the preceding year; at the present day they are written on a bronze pillar, which stands in front of the Council-chamber, near the Eponymi of the tribes. Then the Forty take the last of the Eponymi of the years of service, and assign the arbitrations to the persons belonging to that year, casting lots to determine which arbitrations each shall undertake; and every one is compelled to carry through the arbitrations which the lot assigns to him. The law enacts that any one who does not serve as Arbitrator when he has arrived at the necessary age shall lose his civil rights, unless he happens to be holding some other office during that year, or to be out of the country. These are the only persons who escape the duty. Any one who suffers injustice at the hands of the Arbitrator may appeal to the whole board of Arbitrators, and if they find the magistrate guilty, the law enacts that he shall lose his civil rights. The persons thus condemned have, however, in their turn an appeal. The Eponymi are also used in reference to military expeditions; when the men of military age are despatched on service, a notice is put up stating that the men from such-and such an Archon and Eponymus to such-and such another Archon and Eponymus are to go on the expedition.

Part 54

The following magistrates also are elected by lot: Five Commissioners of Roads (Hodopoei), who, with an assigned body of public slaves, are required to keep the roads in order: and ten Auditors, with ten assistants, to whom all persons who have held any office must give in their accounts. These are the only officers who audit the accounts of those who are subject to examination, and who bring them up for examination before the law-courts. If they detect any magistrate in embezzlement, the jury condemn him for theft, and he is obliged to repay tenfold the sum he is declared to have misappropriated. If they charge a magistrate with accepting bribes and the jury convict him, they fine him for corruption, and this sum too is repaid tenfold. Or if they convict him of unfair dealing, he is fined on that charge, and the sum assessed is paid without increase, if payment is made before the ninth prytany, but otherwise it is doubled. A tenfold fine is not doubled.

The Clerk of the prytany, as he is called, is also elected by lot. He has the charge of all public documents, and keeps the resolutions which are passed by the Assembly, and checks the transcripts of all other official papers and attends at the sessions of the Council. Formerly he was elected by open vote, and the most distinguished and trustworthy persons were elected to the post, as is known from the fact that the name of this officer is appended on the pillars recording treaties of alliance and grants of consulship and citizenship. Now, however, he is elected by lot. There is, in addition, a Clerk of the Laws, elected by lot, who attends at the sessions of the Council; and he too checks the transcript of all the laws. The Assembly also elects by open vote a clerk to read documents to it and to the Council; but he has no other duty except that of reading aloud.

The Assembly also elects by lot the Commissioners of Public Worship (Hieropoei) known as the Commissioners for Sacrifices, who offer the sacrifices appointed by oracle, and, in conjunction with the seers, take the auspices whenever there is occasion. It also elects by lot ten others, known as Annual Commissioners, who offer certain sacrifices and administer all the quadrennial festivals except the Panathenaea. There are the following quadrennial festivals: first that of Delos (where there is also a sexennial festival), secondly the Brauronia, thirdly the Heracleia, fourthly the Eleusinia, and fifthly the Panathenaea; and no two of these are celebrated in the same place. To these the Hephaestia has now been added, in the archonship of Cephisophon.

An Archon is also elected by lot for Salamis, and a Demarch for Piraeus. These officers celebrate the Dionysia in these two places, and appoint Choregi. In Salamis, moreover, the name of the Archon is publicly recorded.

Part 55

All the foregoing magistrates are elected by lot, and their powers are those which have been stated. To pass on to the nine Archons, as they are called, the manner of their appointment from the earliest times has been described already. At the present day six Thesmothetae are elected by lot, together with their clerk, and in addition to these an Archon, a King, and a Polemarch. One is elected from each tribe. They are examined first of all by the Council of Five Hundred, with the exception of the clerk. The latter is examined only in the lawcourt, like other magistrates (for all magistrates, whether elected by lot or by open vote, are examined before entering on their offices); but the nine Archons are examined both in the Council and again in the law-court. Formerly no one could hold the office if the Council rejected him, but now there is an appeal to the law-court, which is the final authority in the matter of the examination. When they are examined, they are asked, first, 'Who is your father, and of what deme? who is your father's father? who is your mother? who is your mother's father, and of what deme?' Then the candidate is asked whether he possesses an ancestral Apollo and a household Zeus, and where their sanctuaries are; next if he possesses a family tomb, and where; then if he treats his parents well, and pays his taxes, and has served on the required military expeditions. When the examiner has put these questions, he proceeds, 'Call the witnesses to these facts'; and when the candidate has produced his witnesses, he next asks, 'Does any one wish to make any accusation against this man?' If an accuser appears, he gives the parties an opportunity of making their accusation and defence, and then puts it to the Council to pass the candidate or not, and to the law-court to give the final vote. If no one wishes to make an accusation, he proceeds at once to the vote. Formerly a single individual gave the vote, but now all the members are obliged to vote on the candidates, so that if any unprincipled candidate has managed to get rid of his accusers, it may still be possible for him to be disqualified before the law-court. When the examination has been thus completed, they proceed to the stone on which are the pieces of the victims, and on which the Arbitrators take oath before declaring their decisions, and witnesses swear to their testimony. On this stone the Archons stand, and swear to execute their office uprightly and according to the laws, and not to receive presents in respect of the performance of their duties, or, if they do, to dedicate a golden statue. When they have taken this oath they proceed to the Acropolis, and there they repeat it; after this they enter upon their office.

Part 56

The Archon, the King, and the Polemarch have each two assessors, nominated by themselves. These officers are examined in the lawcourt before they begin to act, and give in accounts on each occasion of their acting.

As soon as the Archon enters office, he begins by issuing a proclamation that whatever any one possessed before he entered into office, that he shall possess and hold until the end of his term. Next he assigns Choregi to the tragic poets, choosing three of the richest persons out of the whole body of Athenians. Formerly he used also to assign five Choregi to the comic poets, but now the tribes provide the Choregi for them. Then he receives the Choregi who have been appointed by the tribes for the men's and boys' choruses and the comic poets at the Dionysia, and for the men's and boys' choruses at the Thargelia (at the Dionysia there is a chorus for each tribe, but at the Thargelia one between two tribes, each tribe bearing its share in providing it); he transacts the exchanges of properties for them, and reports any excuses that are tendered, if any one says that he has already borne this burden, or that he is exempt because he has borne a similar burden and the period of his exemption has not yet expired, or that he is not of the required age; since the Choregus of a boys' chorus must be over forty years of age. He also appoints Choregi for the festival at Delos, and a chief of the mission for the thirty-oar boat which conveys the youths thither. He also superintends sacred processions, both that in honour of Asclepius, when the initiated keep house, and that of the great Dionysia-the latter in conjunction with the Superintendents of that festival. These officers, ten in number, were formerly elected by open vote in the Assembly, and used to provide for the expenses of the procession out of their private means; but now one is elected by lot from each tribe, and the state contributes a hundred minas for the expenses. The Archon also superintends the procession at the Thargelia, and that in honour of Zeus the Saviour. He also manages the contests at the Dionysia and the Thargelia.

These, then, are the festivals which he superintends. The suits and indictments which come before him, and which he, after a preliminary inquiry, brings up before the lawcourts, are as follows. Injury to parents (for bringing these actions the prosecutor cannot suffer any penalty); injury to orphans (these actions lie against their guardians); injury to a ward of state (these lie against their guardians or their husbands), injury to an orphan's estate (these too lie against the guardians); mental derangement, where a party charges another with destroying his own property through unsoundness of mind; for appointment of liquidators, where a party refuses to divide property in which others have a share; for constituting a wardship; for determining between rival claims to a wardship; for granting inspection of property to which another party lays claim; for appointing oneself as guardian; and for determining disputes as to inheritances and wards of state. The Archon also has the care of orphans and wards of state, and of women who, on the death of their husbands, declare themselves to be with child; and he has power to inflict a fine on those who offend against the persons under his charge, or to bring the case before the law-courts. He also leases the houses of orphans and wards of state until they reach the age of fourteen, and takes mortgages on them; and if the guardians fail to provide the necessary food for the children under their charge, he exacts it from them. Such are the duties of the Archon.

Part 57

The King in the first place superintends the mysteries, in conjunction with the Superintendents of Mysteries. The latter are elected in the Assembly by open vote, two from the general body of Athenians, one from the Eumolpidae, and one from the Ceryces. Next, he superintends the Lenaean Dionysia, which consists of a procession and a contest. The procession is ordered by the King and the Superintendents in conjunction; but the contest is managed by the King alone. He also manages all the contests of the torch-race; and to speak broadly, he administers all the ancestral sacrifices. Indictments for impiety come before him, or any disputes between parties concerning priestly rites; and he also determines all controversies concerning sacred rites for the ancient families and the priests. All actions for homicide come before him, and it is he that makes the proclamation requiring polluted persons to keep away from sacred ceremonies. Actions for homicide and wounding are heard, if the homicide or wounding be willful, in the Areopagus; so also in cases of killing by poison, and of arson. These are the only cases heard by that Council. Cases of unintentional homicide, or of intent to kill, or of killing a slave or a resident alien or a foreigner, are heard by the court of Palladium. When the homicide is acknowledged, but legal justification is pleaded, as when a man takes an adulterer in the act, or kills another by mistake in battle, or in an athletic contest, the prisoner is tried in the court of Delphinium. If a man who is in banishment for a homicide which admits of reconcilliation incurs a further charge of killing or wounding, he is tried in Phreatto, and he makes his defence from a boat moored near the shore. All these cases, except those which are heard in the Areopagus, are tried by the Ephetae on whom the lot falls. The King introduces them, and the hearing is held within sacred precincts and in the open air. Whenever the King hears a case he takes off his crown. The person who is charged with homicide is at all other times excluded from the temples, nor is it even lawful for him to enter the market-place; but on the occasion of his trial he enters the temple and makes his defence. If the actual offender is unknown, the writ runs against 'the doer of the deed'. The King and the tribe-kings also hear the cases in which the guilt rests on inanimate objects and the lower animal.

Part 58

The Polemarch performs the sacrifices to Artemis the huntress and to Enyalius, and arranges the contest at the funeral of those who have fallen in war, and makes offerings to the memory of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. Only private actions come before him, namely those in which resident aliens, both ordinary and privileged, and agents of foreign states are concerned. It is his duty to receive these cases and divide them into ten groups, and assign to each tribe the group which comes to it by lot; after which the magistrates who introduce cases for the tribe hand them over to the Arbitrators. The Polemarch, however, brings up in person cases in which an alien is charged with deserting his patron or neglecting to provide himself with one, and also of inheritances and wards of state where aliens are concerned; and in fact, generally, whatever the Archon does for citizens, the Polemarch does for aliens.

Part 59

The Thesmothetae in the first place have the power of prescribing on what days the lawcourts are to sit, and next of assigning them to the several magistrates; for the latter must follow the arrangement which the Thesmothetae assign. Moreover they introduce impeachments before the Assembly, and bring up all votes for removal from office, challenges of a magistrate's conduct before the Assembly, indictments for illegal proposals, or for proposing a law which is contrary to the interests of the state, complaints against Proedri or their president for their conduct in office, and the accounts presented by the generals. All indictments also come before them in which a deposit has to be made by the prosecutor, namely, indictments for concealment of foreign origin, for corrupt evasion of foreign origin (when a man escapes the disqualification by bribery), for blackmailing accusations, bribery, false entry of another as a state debtor, false testimony to the service of a summons, conspiracy to enter a man as a state debtor, corrupt removal from the list of debtors, and adultery. They also bring up the examinations of all magistrates, and the rejections by the demes and the condemnations by the Council. Moreover they bring up certain private suits in cases of merchandise and mines, or where a slave has slandered a free man. It is they also who cast lots to assign the courts to the various magistrates, whether for private or public cases. They ratify commercial treaties, and bring up the cases which arise out of such treaties; and they also bring up cases of perjury from the Areopagus. The casting of lots for the jurors is conducted by all the nine Archons, with the clerk to the Thesmothetae as the tenth, each performing the duty for his own tribe. Such are the duties of the nine Archons.

Part 60

There are also ten Commissioners of Games (Athlothetae), elected by lot, one from each tribe. These officers, after passing an examination, serve for four years; and they manage the Panathenaic procession, the contest in music and that in gymnastic, and the horse-race; they also provide the robe of Athena and, in conjunction with the Council, the vases, and they present the oil to the athletes. This oil is collected from the sacred olives. The Archon requisitions it from the owners of the farms on which the sacred olives grow, at the rate of three-quarters of a pint from each plant. Formerly the state used to sell the fruit itself, and if any one dug up or broke down one of the sacred olives, he was tried by the Council of Areopagus, and if he was condemned, the penalty was death. Since, however, the oil has been paid by the owner of the farm, the procedure has lapsed, though the law remains; and the oil is a state charge upon the property instead of being taken from the individual plants. When, then, the Archon has collected the oil for his year of office, he hands it over to the Treasurers to preserve in the Acropolis, and he may not take his seat in the Areopagus until he has paid over to the Treasurers the full amount. The Treasurers keep it in the Acropolis until the Panathenaea, when they measure it out to the Commissioners of Games, and they again to the victorious competitors. The prizes for the victors in the musical contest consist of silver and gold, for the victors in manly vigour, of shields, and for the victors in the gymnastic contest and the horse-race, of oil.

Part 61

All officers connected with military service are elected by open vote. In the first place, ten Generals (Strategi), who were formerly elected one from each tribe, but now are chosen from the whole mass of citizens. Their duties are assigned to them by open vote; one is appointed to command the heavy infantry, and leads them if they go out to war; one to the defence of the country, who remains on the defensive, and fights if there is war within the borders of the country; two to Piraeus, one of whom is assigned to Munichia, and one to the south shore, and these have charge of the defence of the Piraeus; and one to superintend the symmories, who nominates the trierarchs arranges exchanges of properties for them, and brings up actions to decide on rival claims in connexion with them. The rest are dispatched to whatever business may be on hand at the moment. The appointment of these officers is submitted for confirmation in each prytany, when the question is put whether they are considered to be doing their duty. If any officer is rejected on this vote, he is tried in the lawcourt, and if he is found guilty the people decide what punishment or fine shall be inflicted on him; but if he is acquitted he resumes his office. The Generals have full power, when on active service, to arrest any one for insubordination, or to cashier him publicly, or to inflict a fine; the latter is, however, unusual.

There are also ten Taxiarchs, one from each tribe, elected by open vote; and each commands his own tribesmen and appoints captains of companies (Lochagi). There are also two Hipparchs, elected by open vote from the whole mass of the citizens, who command the cavalry, each taking five tribes. They have the same powers as the Generals have in respect of the infantry, and their appointments are also subject to confirmation. There are also ten Phylarchs, elected by open vote, one from each tribe, to command the cavalry, as the Taxiarchs do the infantry. There is also a Hipparch for Lemnos, elected by open vote, who has charge of the cavalry in Lemnos. There is also a treasurer of the Paralus, and another of the Ammonias, similarly elected.

Part 62

Of the magistrates elected by lot, in former times some including the nine Archons, were elected out of the tribe as a whole, while others, namely those who are now elected in the Theseum, were apportioned among the demes; but since the demes used to sell the elections, these magistrates too are now elected from the whole tribe, except the members of the Council and the guards of the dockyards, who are still left to the demes.

Pay is received for the following services. First the members of the Assembly receive a drachma for the ordinary meetings, and nine obols for the 'sovereign' meeting. Then the jurors at the law-courts receive three obols; and the members of the Council five obols. They Prytanes receive an allowance of an obol for their maintenance. The nine Archons receive four obols apiece for maintenance, and also keep a herald and a flute-player; and the Archon for Salamis receives a drachma a day. The Commissioners for Games dine in the Prytaneum during the month of Hecatombaeon in which the Panathenaic festival takes place, from the fourteenth day onwards. The Amphictyonic deputies to Delos receive a drachma a day from the exchequer of Delos. Also all magistrates sent to Samos, Scyros, Lemnos, or Imbros receive an allowance for their maintenance. The military offices may be held any number of times, but none of the others more than once, except the membership of the Council, which may be held twice.

Part 63

The juries for the law-courts are chosen by lot by the nine Archons, each for their own tribe, and by the clerk to the Thesmothetae for the tenth. There are ten entrances into the courts, one for each tribe; twenty rooms in which the lots are drawn, two for each tribe; a hundred chests, ten for each tribe; other chests, in which are placed the tickets of the jurors on whom the lot falls; and two vases. Further, staves, equal in number to the jurors required, are placed by the side of each entrance; and counters are put into one vase, equal in number to the staves. These are inscribed with letters of the alphabet beginning with the eleventh (lambda), equal in number to the courts which require to be filled. All persons above thirty years of age are qualified to serve as jurors, provided they are not debtors to the state and have not lost their civil rights. If any unqualified person serves as juror, an information is laid against him, and he is brought before the court; and, if he is convicted, the jurors assess the punishment or fine which they consider him to deserve. If he is condemned to a money fine, he must be imprisoned until he has paid up both the original debt, on account of which the information was laid against him, and also the fine which the court as imposed upon him. Each juror has his ticket of boxwood, on which is inscribed his name, with the name of his father and his deme, and one of the letters of the alphabet up to kappa; for the jurors in their several tribes are divided into ten sections, with approximately an equal number in each letter. When the Thesmothetes has decided by lot which letters are required to attend at the courts, the servant puts up above each court the letter which has been assigned to it by the lot.

Part 64

The ten chests above mentioned are placed in front of the entrance used by each tribe, and are inscribed with the letters of the alphabet from alpha to kappa. The jurors cast in their tickets, each into the chest on which is inscribed the letter which is on his ticket; then the servant shakes them all up, and the Archon draws one ticket from each chest. The individual so selected is called the Ticket-hanger (Empectes), and his function is to hang up the tickets out of his chest on the bar which bears the same letter as that on the chest. He is chosen by lot, lest, if the Ticket-hanger were always the same person, he might tamper with the results. There are five of these bars in each of the rooms assigned for the lot-drawing. Then the Archon casts in the dice and thereby chooses the jurors from each tribe, room by room. The dice are made of brass, coloured black or white; and according to the number of jurors required, so many white dice are put in, one for each five tickets, while the remainder are black, in the same proportion. As the Archon draws out the dice, the crier calls out the names of the individuals chosen. The Ticket-hanger is included among those selected. Each juror, as he is chosen and answers to his name, draws a counter from the vase, and holding it out with the letter uppermost shows it first to the presiding Archon; and he, when he has seen it, throws the ticket of the juror into the chest on which is inscribed the letter which is on the counter, so that the juror must go into the court assigned to him by lot, and not into one chosen by himself, and that it may be impossible for any one to collect the jurors of his choice into any particular court. For this purpose chests are placed near the Archon, as many in number as there are courts to be filled that day, bearing the letters of the courts on which the lot has fallen.

Part 65

The juror thereupon, after showing his counter again to the attendant, passes through the barrier into the court. The attendant gives him a staff of the same colour as the court bearing the letter which is on his counter, so as to ensure his going into the court assigned to him by lot; since, if he were to go into any other, he would be betrayed by the colour of his staff. Each court has a certain colour painted on the lintel of the entrance. Accordingly the juror, bearing his staff, enters the court which has the same colour as his staff, and the same letter as his counter. As he enters, he receives a voucher from the official to whom this duty has been assigned by lot. So with their counters and their staves the selected jurors take their seats in the court, having thus completed the process of admission. The unsuccessful candidates receive back their tickets from the Ticket-hangers. The public servants carry the chests from each tribe, one to each court, containing the names of the members of the tribe who are in that court, and hand them over to the officials assigned to the duty of giving back their tickets to the jurors in each court, so that these officials may call them up by name and pay them their fee.

Part 66

When all the courts are full, two ballot boxes are placed in the first court, and a number of brazen dice, bearing the colours of the several courts, and other dice inscribed with the names of the presiding magistrates. Then two of the Thesmothetae, selected by lot, severally throw the dice with the colours into one box, and those with the magistrates' names into the other. The magistrate whose name is first drawn is thereupon proclaimed by the crier as assigned for duty in the court which is first drawn, and the second in the second, and similarly with the rest. The object of this procedure is that no one may know which court he will have, but that each may take the court assigned to him by lot.

When the jurors have come in, and have been assigned to their respective courts, the presiding magistrate in each court draws one ticket out of each chest (making ten in all, one out of each tribe), and throws them into another empty chest. He then draws out five of them, and assigns one to the superintendence of the water-clock, and the other four to the telling of the votes. This is to prevent any tampering beforehand with either the superintendent of the clock or the tellers of the votes, and to secure that there is no malpractice in these respects. The five who have not been selected for these duties receive from them a statement of the order in which the jurors shall receive their fees, and of the places where the several tribes shall respectively gather in the court for this purpose when their duties are completed; the object being that the jurors may be broken up into small groups for the reception of their pay, and not all crowd together and impede one another.

Part 67

These preliminaries being concluded, the cases are called on. If it is a day for private cases, the private litigants are called. Four cases are taken in each of the categories defined in the law, and the litigants swear to confine their speeches to the point at issue. If it is a day for public causes, the public litigants are called, and only one case is tried. Water-clocks are provided, having small supply-tubes, into which the water is poured by which the length of the pleadings is regulated. Ten gallons are allowed for a case in which an amount of more than five thousand drachmas is involved, and three for the second speech on each side. When the amount is between one and five thousand drachmas, seven gallons are allowed for the first speech and two for the second; when it is less than one thousand, five and two. Six gallons are allowed for arbitrations between rival claimants, in which there is no second speech. The official chosen by lot to superintend the water-clock places his hand on the supply tube whenever the clerk is about to read a resolution or law or affidavit or treaty. When, however, a case is conducted according to a set measurement of the day, he does not stop the supply, but each party receives an equal allowance of water. The standard of measurement is the length of the days in the month Poseideon.... The measured day is employed in cases when imprisonment, death, exile, loss of civil rights, or confiscation of goods is assigned as the penalty.

Part 68

Most of the courts consist of 500 members...; and when it is necessary to bring public cases before a jury of 1,000 members, two courts combine for the purpose, the most important cases of all are brought 1,500 jurors, or three courts. The ballot balls are made of brass with stems running through the centre, half of them having the stem pierced and the other half solid. When the speeches are concluded, the officials assigned to the taking of the votes give each juror two ballot balls, one pierced and one solid. This is done in full view of the rival litigants, to secure that no one shall receive two pierced or two solid balls. Then the official designated for the purpose takes away the jurors staves, in return for which each one as he records his vote receives a brass voucher market with the numeral 3 (because he gets three obols when he gives it up). This is to ensure that all shall vote; since no one can get a voucher unless he votes. Two urns, one of brass and the other of wood, stand in the court, in distinct spots so that no one may surreptitiously insert ballot balls; in these the jurors record their votes. The brazen urn is for effective votes, the wooden for unused votes; and the brazen urn has a lid pierced so as to take only one ballot ball, in order that no one may put in two at a time.

When the jurors are about to vote, the crier demands first whether the litigants enter a protest against any of the evidence; for no protest can be received after the voting has begun. Then he proclaims again, 'The pierced ballot for the plaintiff, the solid for the defendant'; and the juror, taking his two ballot balls from the stand, with his hand closed over the stem so as not to show either the pierced or the solid ballot to the litigants, casts the one which is to count into the brazen urn, and the other into the wooden urn.

Part 69

When all the jurors have voted, the attendants take the urn containing the effective votes and discharge them on to a reckoning board having as many cavities as there are ballot balls, so that the effective votes, whether pierced or solid, may be plainly displayed and easily counted. Then the officials assigned to the taking of the votes tell them off on the board, the solid in one place and the pierced in another, and the crier announces the numbers of the votes, the pierced ballots being for the prosecutor and the solid for the defendant. Whichever has the majority is victorious; but if the votes are equal the verdict is for the defendant. Each juror receives two ballots, and uses one to record his vote, and throws the other away.

Then, if damages have to be awarded, they vote again in the same way, first returning their pay-vouchers and receiving back their staves. Half a gallon of water is allowed to each party for the discussion of the damages. Finally, when all has been completed in accordance with the law, the jurors receive their pay in the order assigned by the lot.

THE END Read More...

On Generation and Corruption

On Generation and Corruption
By Aristotle

Translated by H. H. Joachim

BOOK I

Part 1

Our next task is to study coming-to-be and passing-away. We are to
distinguish the causes, and to state the definitions, of these processes
considered in general-as changes predicable uniformly of all the things
that come-to-be and pass-away by nature. Further, we are to study
growth and 'alteration'. We must inquire what each of them is; and
whether 'alteration' is to be identified with coming-to-be, or whether
to these different names there correspond two separate processes with
distinct natures.

On this question, indeed, the early philosophers are divided. Some
of them assert that the so-called 'unqualified coming-to-be' is 'alteration',
while others maintain that 'alteration' and coming-to-be are distinct.
For those who say that the universe is one something (i.e. those who
generate all things out of one thing) are bound to assert that coming-to-be
is 'alteration', and that whatever 'comes-to-be' in the proper sense
of the term is 'being altered': but those who make the matter of things
more than one must distinguish coming-to-be from 'alteration'. To
this latter class belong Empedocles, Anaxagoras, and Leucippus. And
yet Anaxagoras himself failed to understand his own utterance. He
says, at all events, that coming-to-be and passing-away are the same
as 'being altered':' yet, in common with other thinkers, he affirms
that the elements are many. Thus Empedocles holds that the corporeal
elements are four, while all the elements-including those which initiate
movement-are six in number; whereas Anaxagoras agrees with Leucippus
and Democritus that the elements are infinite.

(Anaxagoras posits as elements the 'homoeomeries', viz. bone, flesh,
marrow, and everything else which is such that part and whole are
the same in name and nature; while Democritus and Leucippus say that
there are indivisible bodies, infinite both in number and in the varieties
of their shapes, of which everything else is composed-the compounds
differing one from another according to the shapes, 'positions', and
'groupings' of their constituents.)

For the views of the school of Anaxagoras seem diametrically opposed
to those of the followers of Empedocles. Empedocles says that Fire,
Water, Air, and Earth are four elements, and are thus 'simple' rather
than flesh, bone, and bodies which, like these, are 'homoeomeries'.
But the followers of Anaxagoras regard the 'homoeomeries' as 'simple'
and elements, whilst they affirm that Earth, Fire, Water, and Air
are composite; for each of these is (according to them) a 'common
seminary' of all the 'homoeomeries'.

Those, then, who construct all things out of a single element, must
maintain that coming-tobe and passing-away are 'alteration'. For they
must affirm that the underlying something always remains identical
and one; and change of such a substratum is what we call 'altering'
Those, on the other hand, who make the ultimate kinds of things more
than one, must maintain that 'alteration' is distinct from coming-to-be:
for coming-to-be and passingaway result from the consilience and the
dissolution of the many kinds. That is why Empedocles too uses language
to this effect, when he says 'There is no coming-to-be of anything,
but only a mingling and a divorce of what has been mingled'. Thus
it is clear (i) that to describe coming-to-be and passing-away in
these terms is in accordance with their fundamental assumption, and
(ii) that they do in fact so describe them: nevertheless, they too
must recognize 'alteration' as a fact distinct from coming to-be,
though it is impossible for them to do so consistently with what they
say.

That we are right in this criticism is easy to perceive. For 'alteration'
is a fact of observation. While the substance of the thing remains
unchanged, we see it 'altering' just as we see in it the changes of
magnitude called 'growth' and 'diminution'. Nevertheless, the statements
of those who posit more 'original reals' than one make 'alteration'
impossible. For 'alteration, as we assert, takes place in respect
to certain qualities: and these qualities (I mean, e.g. hot-cold,
white-black, dry-moist, soft-hard, and so forth) are, all of them,
differences characterizing the 'elements'. The actual words of Empedocles
may be quoted in illustration-

The sun everywhere bright to see, and hot,
The rain everywhere dark and cold; and he distinctively characterizes
his remaining elements in a similar manner. Since, therefore, it is
not possible for Fire to become Water, or Water to become Earth, neither
will it be possible for anything white to become black, or anything
soft to become hard; and the same argument applies to all the other
qualities. Yet this is what 'alteration' essentially is.

It follows, as an obvious corollary, that a single matter must always
be assumed as underlying the contrary 'poles' of any change whether
change of place, or growth and diminution, or 'alteration'; further,
that the being of this matter and the being of 'alteration' stand
and fall together. For if the change is 'alteration', then the substratum
is a single element; i.e. all things which admit of change into one
another have a single matter. And, conversely, if the substratum of
the changing things is one, there is 'alteration'.

Empedocles, indeed, seems to contradict his own statements as well
as the observed facts. For he denies that any one of his elements
comes-to-be out of any other, insisting on the contrary that they
are the things out of which everything else comes-to-be; and yet (having
brought the entirety of existing things, except Strife, together into
one) he maintains, simultaneously with this denial, that each thing
once more comes-to-be out of the One. Hence it was clearly out of
a One that this came-to-be Water, and that Fire, various portions
of it being separated off by certain characteristic differences or
qualities-as indeed he calls the sun 'white and hot', and the earth
'heavy and hard'. If, therefore, these characteristic differences
be taken away (for they can be taken away, since they came-to-be),
it will clearly be inevitable for Earth to come to-be out of Water
and Water out of Earth, and for each of the other elements to undergo
a similar transformation-not only then, but also now-if, and because,
they change their qualities. And, to judge by what he says, the qualities
are such that they can be 'attached' to things and can again be 'separated'
from them, especially since Strife and Love are still fighting with
one another for the mastery. It was owing to this same conflict that
the elements were generated from a One at the former period. I say
'generated', for presumably Fire, Earth, and Water had no distinctive
existence at all while merged in one.

There is another obscurity in the theory Empedocles. Are we to regard
the One as his 'original real'? Or is it the Many-i.e. Fire and Earth,
and the bodies co-ordinate with these? For the One is an 'element'
in so far as it underlies the process as matter-as that out of which
Earth and Fire come-to-be through a change of qualities due to 'the
motion'. On the other hand, in so far as the One results from composition
(by a consilience of the Many), whereas they result from disintegration
the Many are more 'elementary' than the One, and prior to it in their
nature.

Part 2

We have therefore to discuss the whole subject of 'unqualified' coming-to-be
and passingaway; we have to inquire whether these changes do or do
not occur and, if they occur, to explain the precise conditions of
their occurrence. We must also discuss the remaining forms of change,
viz. growth and 'alteration'. For though, no doubt, Plato investigated
the conditions under which things come-to-be and pass-away, he confined
his inquiry to these changes; and he discussed not all coming-to-be,
but only that of the elements. He asked no questions as to how flesh
or bones, or any of the other similar compound things, come-to-be;
nor again did he examine the conditions under which 'alteration' or
growth are attributable to things.

A similar criticism applies to all our predecessors with the single
exception of Democritus. Not one of them penetrated below the surface
or made a thorough examination of a single one of the problems. Democritus,
however, does seem not only to have thought carefully about all the
problems, but also to be distinguished from the outset by his method.
For, as we are saying, none of the other philosophers made any definite
statement about growth, except such as any amateur might have made.
They said that things grow 'by the accession of like to like', but
they did not proceed to explain the manner of this accession. Nor
did they give any account of 'combination': and they neglected almost
every single one of the remaining problems, offering no explanation,
e.g. of 'action' or 'passion' how in physical actions one thing acts
and the other undergoes action. Democritus and Leucippus, however,
postulate the 'figures', and make 'alteration' and coming-to-be result
from them. They explain coming-to-be and passing-away by their 'dissociation'
and 'association', but 'alteration' by their 'grouping' and 'Position'.
And since they thought that the 'truth lay in the appearance, and
the appearances are conflicting and infinitely many, they made the
'figures' infinite in number. Hence-owing to the changes of the compound-the
same thing seems different and conflicting to different people: it
is 'transposed' by a small additional ingredient, and appears utterly
other by the 'transposition' of a single constituent. For Tragedy
and Comedy are both composed of the same letters.

Since almost all our predecessors think (i) that coming-to-be is distinct
from 'alteration', and (ii) that, whereas things 'alter' by change
of their qualities, it is by 'association' and 'dissociation' that
they come-to-be and pass-away, we must concentrate our attention on
these theses. For they lead to many perplexing and well-grounded dilemmas.
If, on the one hand, coming-to-be is 'association', many impossible
consequences result: and yet there are other arguments, not easy to
unravel, which force the conclusion upon us that coming-to-be cannot
possibly be anything else. If, on the other hand, coming-to-be is
not 'association', either there is no such thing as coming-to-be at
all or it is 'alteration': or else we must endeavour to unravel this
dilemma too-and a stubborn one we shall find it. The fundamental question,
in dealing with all these difficulties, is this: 'Do things come-to-be
and "alter" and grow, and undergo the contrary changes, because the
primary "reals" are indivisible magnitudes? Or is no magnitude indivisible?'
For the answer we give to this question makes the greatest difference.
And again, if the primary 'reals' are indivisible magnitudes, are
these bodies, as Democritus and Leucippus maintain? Or are they planes,
as is asserted in the Timaeus?

To resolve bodies into planes and no further-this, as we have also
remarked elsewhere, in itself a paradox. Hence there is more to be
said for the view that there are indivisible bodies. Yet even these
involve much of paradox. Still, as we have said, it is possible to
construct 'alteration' and coming-to-be with them, if one 'transposes'
the same by 'turning' and 'intercontact', and by 'the varieties of
the figures', as Democritus does. (His denial of the reality of colour
is a corollary from this position: for, according to him, things get
coloured by 'turning' of the 'figures'.) But the possibility of such
a construction no longer exists for those who divide bodies into planes.
For nothing except solids results from putting planes together: they
do not even attempt to generate any quality from them.

Lack of experience diminishes our power of taking a comprehensive
view of the admitted facts. Hence those who dwell in intimate association
with nature and its phenomena grow more and more able to formulate,
as the foundations of their theories, principles such as to admit
of a wide and coherent development: while those whom devotion to abstract
discussions has rendered unobservant of the facts are too ready to
dogmatize on the basis of a few observations. The rival treatments
of the subject now before us will serve to illustrate how great is
the difference between a 'scientific' and a 'dialectical' method of
inquiry. For, whereas the Platonists argue that there must be atomic
magnitudes 'because otherwise "The Triangle" will be more than one',
Democritus would appear to have been convinced by arguments appropriate
to the subject, i.e. drawn from the science of nature. Our meaning
will become clear as we proceed. For to suppose that a body (i.e.
a magnitude) is divisible through and through, and that this division
is possible, involves a difficulty. What will there be in the body
which escapes the division?

If it is divisible through and through, and if this division is possible,
then it might be, at one and the same moment, divided through and
through, even though the dividings had not been effected simultaneously:
and the actual occurrence of this result would involve no impossibility.
Hence the same principle will apply whenever a body is by nature divisible
through and through, whether by bisection, or generally by any method
whatever: nothing impossible will have resulted if it has actually
been divided-not even if it has been divided into innumerable parts,
themselves divided innumerable times. Nothing impossible will have
resulted, though perhaps nobody in fact could so divide it.

Since, therefore, the be dy is divisible through and through, let
it have been divided. What, then, will remain? A magnitude? No: that
is impossible, since then there will be something not divided, whereas
ex hypothesis the body was divisible through and through. But if it
be admitted that neither a body nor a magnitude will remain, and yet
division is to take place, the constituents of the body will either
be points (i.e. without magnitude) or absolutely nothing. If its constituents
are nothings, then it might both come-to-be out of nothings and exist
as a composite of nothings: and thus presumably the whole body will
be nothing but an appearance. But if it consists of points, a similar
absurdity will result: it will not possess any magnitude. For when
the points were in contact and coincided to form a single magnitude,
they did not make the whole any bigger (since, when the body was divided
into two or more parts, the whole was not a bit smaller or bigger
than it was before the division): hence, even if all the points be
put together, they will not make any magnitude.

But suppose that, as the body is being divided, a minute section-a
piece of sawdust, as it were-is extracted, and that in this sense-a
body 'comes away' from the magnitude, evading the division. Even then
the same argument applies. For in what sense is that section divisible?
But if what 'came away' was not a body but a separable form or quality,
and if the magnitude is 'points or contacts thus qualified': it is
paradoxical that a magnitude should consist of elements, which are
not magnitudes. Moreover, where will the points be? And are they motionless
or moving? And every contact is always a contact of two somethings,
i.e. there is always something besides the contact or the division
or the point.

These, then, are the difficulties resulting from the supposition that
any and every body, whatever its size, is divisible through and through.
There is, besides, this further consideration. If, having divided
a piece of wood or anything else, I put it together, it is again equal
to what it was, and is one. Clearly this is so, whatever the point
at which I cut the wood. The wood, therefore, has been divided potentially
through and through. What, then, is there in the wood besides the
division? For even if we suppose there is some quality, yet how is
the wood dissolved into such constituents and how does it come-to-be
out of them? Or how are such constituents separated so as to exist
apart from one another? Since, therefore, it is impossible for magnitudes
to consist of contacts or points, there must be indivisible bodies
and magnitudes. Yet, if we do postulate the latter, we are confronted
with equally impossible consequences, which we have examined in other
works.' But we must try to disentangle these perplexities, and must
therefore formulate the whole problem over again.

On the one hand, then, it is in no way paradoxical that every perceptible
body should be indivisible as well as divisible at any and every point.
For the second predicate will at. tach to it potentially, but the
first actually. On the other hand, it would seem to be impossible
for a body to be, even potentially, divisible at all points simultaneously.
For if it were possible, then it might actually occur, with the result,
not that the body would simultaneously be actually both (indivisible
and divided), but that it would be simultaneously divided at any and
every point. Consequently, nothing will remain and the body will have
passed-away into what is incorporeal: and so it might come-to-be again
either out of points or absolutely out of nothing. And how is that
possible?

But now it is obvious that a body is in fact divided into separable
magnitudes which are smaller at each division-into magnitudes which
fall apart from one another and are actually separated. Hence (it
is urged) the process of dividing a body part by part is not a 'breaking
up' which could continue ad infinitum; nor can a body be simultaneously
divided at every point, for that is not possible; but there is a limit,
beyond which the 'breaking up' cannot proceed. The necessary consequence-especially
if coming-to-be and passing-away are to take place by 'association'
and 'dissociation' respectively-is that a body must contain atomic
magnitudes which are invisible. Such is the argument which is believed
to establish the necessity of atomic magnitudes: we must now show
that it conceals a faulty inference, and exactly where it conceals
it.

For, since point is not 'immediately-next' to point, magnitudes are
'divisible through and through' in one sense, and yet not in another.
When, however, it is admitted that a magnitude is 'divisible through
and through', it is thought there is a point not only anywhere, but
also everywhere, in it: hence it is supposed to follow, from the admission,
that the magnitude must be divided away into nothing. For it is supposed-there
is a point everywhere within it, so that it consists either of contacts
or of points. But it is only in one sense that the magnitude is 'divisible
through and through', viz. in so far as there is one point anywhere
within it and all its points are everywhere within it if you take
them singly one by one. But there are not more points than one anywhere
within it, for the points are not 'consecutive': hence it is not simultaneously
'divisible through and through'. For if it were, then, if it be divisible
at its centre, it will be divisible also at a point 'immediately-next'
to its centre. But it is not so divisible: for position is not 'immediately-next'
to position, nor point to point-in other words, division is not 'immediately-next'
to division, nor composition to composition.

Hence there are both 'association' and 'dissociation', though neither
(a) into, and out of, atomic magnitudes (for that involves many impossibilities),
nor (b) so that division takes place through and through-for this
would have resulted only if point had been 'immediately-next' to point:
but 'dissociation' takes place into small (i.e. relatively small)
parts, and 'association' takes place out of relatively small parts.

It is wrong, however, to suppose, as some assert, that coming-to-be
and passing-away in the unqualified and complete sense are distinctively
defined by 'association' and 'dissociation', while the change that
takes place in what is continuous is 'alteration'. On the contrary,
this is where the whole error lies. For unqualified coming-to-be and
passing-away are not effected by 'association' and 'dissociation'.
They take place when a thing changes, from this to that, as a whole.
But the philosophers we are criticizing suppose that all such change
is 'alteration': whereas in fact there is a difference. For in that
which underlies the change there is a factor corresponding to the
definition and there is a material factor. When, then, the change
is in these constitutive factors, there will be coming-to-be or passing-away:
but when it is in the thing's qualities, i.e. a change of the thing
per accidents, there will be 'alteration'.

'Dissociation' and 'association' affect the thing's susceptibility
to passing-away. For if water has first been 'dissociated' into smallish
drops, air comes-to-be out of it more quickly: while, if drops of
water have first been 'associated', air comes-to-be more slowly. Our
doctrine will become clearer in the sequel.' Meantime, so much may
be taken as established-viz. that coming-to-be cannot be 'association',
at least not the kind of 'association' some philosophers assert it
to be.

Part 3

Now that we have established the preceding distinctions, we must first
consider whether there is anything which comes-to-be and passes-away
in the unqualified sense: or whether nothing comes-to-be in this strict
sense, but everything always comes-to-be something and out of something-I
mean, e.g. comes-to-be-healthy out of being-ill and ill out of being-healthy,
comes-to-be-small out of being big and big out of being-small, and
so on in every other instance. For if there is to be coming-to-be
without qualification, 'something' must-without qualification-'come-to-be
out of not-being', so that it would be true to say that 'not-being
is an attribute of some things'. For qualified coming-to-be is a process
out of qualified not-being (e.g. out of not-white or not-beautiful),
but unqualified coming-to-be is a process out of unqualified not-being.

Now 'unqulified' means either (i) the primary predication within each
Category, or (ii) the universal, i.e. the all-comprehensive, predication.
Hence, if'unqualified not-being 'means the negation of 'being' in
the sense of the primary term of the Category in question, we shall
have, in 'unqualified coming-to-be', a coming-to-be of a substance
out of not-substance. But that which is not a substance or a 'this'
clearly cannot possess predicates drawn from any of the other Categories
either-e.g. we cannot attribute to it any quality, quantity, or position.
Otherwise, properties would admit of existence in separation from
substances. If, on the other hand, 'unqualified not-being' means 'what
is not in any sense at all', it will be a universal negation of all
forms of being, so that what comes-to-be will have to come-to-be out
of nothing.

Although we have dealt with these problems at greater length in another
work,where we have set forth the difficulties and established the
distinguishing definitions, the following concise restatement of our
results must here be offered: In one sense things come-to-be out of
that which has no 'being' without qualification: yet in another sense
they come-to-be always out of what is'. For coming-to-be necessarily
implies the pre-existence of something which potentially 'is', but
actually 'is not'; and this something is spoken of both as 'being'
and as 'not-being'.

These distinctions may be taken as established: but even then it is
extraordinarily difficult to see how there can be 'unqualified coming-to-be'
(whether we suppose it to occur out of what potentially 'is', or in
some other way), and we must recall this problem for further examination.
For the question might be raised whether substance (i.e. the 'this')
comes-to-be at all. Is it not rather the 'such', the 'so great', or
the 'somewhere', which comes-to-be? And the same question might be
raised about 'passing-away' also. For if a substantial thing comes-to-be,
it is clear that there will 'be' (not actually, but potentially) a
substance, out of which its coming-to-be will proceed and into which
the thing that is passing-away will necessarily change. Then will
any predicate belonging to the remaining Categories attach actually
to this presupposed substance? In other words, will that which is
only potentially a 'this' (which only potentially is), while without
the qualification 'potentially' it is not a 'this' (i.e. is not),
possess, e.g. any determinate size or quality or position? For (i)
if it possesses none of these determinations actually, but all of
them only potentially, the result is first that a being, which is
not a determinate being, is capable of separate existence; and in
addition that coming-to-be proceeds out of nothing pre-existing-a
thesis which, more than any other, preoccupied and alarmed the earliest
philosophers. On the other hand (ii) if, although it is not a 'this
somewhat' or a substance, it is to possess some of the remaining determinations
quoted above, then (as we said)' properties will be separable from
substances.

We must therefore concentrate all our powers on the discussion of
these difficulties and on the solution of a further question-viz.
What is the cause of the perpetuity of coming-to-be? Why is there
always unqualified, as well as partial, coming-to-be? Cause' in this
connexion has two senses. It means (i) the source from which, as we
say, the process 'originates', and (ii) the matter. It is the material
cause that we have here to state. For, as to the other cause, we have
already explained (in our treatise on Motion that it involves (a)
something immovable through all time and (b) something always being
moved. And the accurate treatment of the first of these-of the immovable
'originative source'-belongs to the province of the other, or 'prior',
philosophy: while as regards 'that which sets everything else in motion
by being itself continuously moved', we shall have to explain later'
which amongst the so-called 'specific' causes exhibits this character.
But at present we are to state the material cause-the cause classed
under the head of matter-to which it is due that passing-away and
coming-to-be never fail to occur in Nature. For perhaps, if we succeed
in clearing up this question, it will simultaneously become clear
what account we ought to give of that which perplexed us just now,
i.e. of unqualified passingaway and coming-to-be.

Our new question too-viz. 'what is the cause of the unbroken continuity
of coming-to-be?'-is sufficiently perplexing, if in fact what passes-away
vanishes into 'what is not' and 'what is not' is nothing (since 'what
is not' is neither a thing, nor possessed of a quality or quantity,
nor in any place). If, then, some one of the things 'which are' constantly
disappearing, why has not the whole of 'what is' been used up long
ago and vanished away assuming of course that the material of all
the several comings-to-be was finite? For, presumably, the unfailing
continuity of coming-to-be cannot be attributed to the infinity of
the material. That is impossible, for nothing is actually infinite.
A thing is infinite only potentially, i.e. the dividing of it can
continue indefinitely: so that we should have to suppose there is
only one kind of coming-to-be in the world-viz. one which never fails,
because it is such that what comes-to-be is on each successive occasion
smaller than before. But in fact this is not what we see occurring.

Why, then, is this form of change necessarily ceaseless? Is it because
the passing-away of this is a coming-to-be of something else, and
the coming-to-be of this a passing-away of something else?

The cause implied in this solution must no doubt be considered adequate
to account for coming-to-be and passing-away in their general character
as they occur in all existing things alike. Yet, if the same process
is a coming to-be of this but a passing-away of that, and a passing-away
of this but a coming-to-be of that, why are some things said to come-to-be
and pass-away without qualification, but others only with a qualification?

The distinction must be investigated once more, for it demands some
explanation. (It is applied in a twofold manner.) For (i) we say 'it
is now passing-away' without qualification, and not merely 'this is
passing-away': and we call this change 'coming-to-be', and that 'passing-away',
without qualification. And (ii) so-and-so 'comes-to-be-something',
but does not 'come-to-be' without qualification; for we say that the
student 'comes-to-be-learned', not 'comes-to-be' without qualification.

(i) Now we often divide terms into those which signify a 'this somewhat'
and those which do not. And (the first form of) the distinction, which
we are investigating, results from a similar division of terms: for
it makes a difference into what the changing thing changes. Perhaps,
e.g. the passage into Fire is 'coming-to-be' unqualified, but 'passingaway-of-something'
(e.g. Earth): whilst the coming-to-be of Earth is qualified (not unqualified)
'coming-to-be', though unqualified 'passing-away' (e.g. of Fire).
This would be the case on the theory set forth in Parmenides: for
he says that the things into which change takes place are two, and
he asserts that these two, viz. what is and what is not, are Fire
and Earth. Whether we postulate these, or other things of a similar
kind, makes no difference. For we are trying to discover not what
undergoes these changes, but what is their characteristic manner.
The passage, then, into what 'is' not except with a qualification
is unqualified passing-away, while the passage into what 'is' without
qualification is unqualified coming-to-be. Hence whatever the contrasted
'poles' of the changes may be whether Fire and Earth, or some other
couple-the one of them will be 'a being' and the other 'a not-being'.

We have thus stated one characteristic manner in which unqualified
will be distinguished from qualified coming-to-be and passing-away:
but they are also distinguished according to the special nature of
the material of the changing thing. For a material, whose constitutive
differences signify more a 'this somewhat', is itself more 'substantial'
or 'real': while a material, whose constitutive differences signify
privation, is 'not real'. (Suppose, e.g. that 'the hot' is a positive
predication, i.e. a 'form', whereas 'cold' is a privation, and that
Earth and Fire differ from one another by these constitutive differences.)

The opinion, however, which most people are inclined to prefer, is
that the distinction depends upon the difference between 'the perceptible'
and 'the imperceptible'. Thus, when there is a change into perceptible
material, people say there is 'coming-to-be'; but when there is a
change into invisible material, they call it 'passing-away'. For they
distinguish 'what is' and 'what is not' by their perceiving and not-perceiving,
just as what is knowable 'is' and what is unknowable 'is not'-perception
on their view having the force of knowledge. Hence, just as they deem
themselves to live and to 'be' in virtue of their perceiving or their
capacity to perceive, so too they deem the things to 'be' qua perceived
or perceptible-and in this they are in a sense on the track of the
truth, though what they actually say is not true.

Thus unqualified coming-to-be and passingaway turn out to be different
according to common opinion from what they are in truth. For Wind
and Air are in truth more real more a 'this somewhat' or a 'form'-than
Earth. But they are less real to perception which explains why things
are commonly said to 'pass-away' without qualification when they change
into Wind and Air, and to 'come-to-be' when they change into what
is tangible, i.e. into Earth.

We have now explained why there is 'unqualified coming-to-be' (though
it is a passingaway-of-something) and 'unqualified passingaway (though
it is a coming-to-be-of-something). For this distinction of appellation
depends upon a difference in the material out of which, and into which,
the changes are effected. It depends either upon whether the material
is or is not 'substantial', or upon whether it is more or less 'substantial',
or upon whether it is more or less perceptible.

(ii) But why are some things said to 'come to-be' without qualification,
and others only to 'come-to-be-so-and-so', in cases different from
the one we have been considering where two things come-to-be reciprocally
out of one another? For at present we have explained no more than
this:-why, when two things change reciprocally into one another, we
do not attribute coming-to-be and passing-away uniformly to them both,
although every coming-to-be is a passing-away of something else and
every passing-away some other thing's coming-to-be. But the question
subsequently formulated involves a different problem-viz. why, although
the learning thing is said to 'come-to-be-learned' but not to 'come-tobe'
without qualification, yet the growing thing is said to 'come-to-be'.

The distinction here turns upon the difference of the Categories.
For some things signify a this somewhat, others a such, and others
a so-much. Those things, then, which do not signify substance, are
not said to 'come-to-be' without qualification, but only to 'come-to-be-so-and-so'.
Nevertheless, in all changing things alike, we speak of 'coming-to-be'
when the thing comes-to-be something in one of the two Columns-e.g.
in Substance, if it comes-to-be Fire but not if it comes-to-be Earth;
and in Quality, if it comes-to-be learned but not when it comes-to-be
ignorant.

We have explained why some things come to-be without qualification,
but not others both in general, and also when the changing things
are substances and nothing else; and we have stated that the substratum
is the material cause of the continuous occurrence of coming to-be,
because it is such as to change from contrary to contrary and because,
in substances, the coming-to-be of one thing is always a passing-away
of another, and the passing-away of one thing is always another's
coming-to-be. But there is no need even to discuss the other question
we raised-viz. why coming-to-be continues though things are constantly
being destroyed. For just as people speak of 'a passing-away' without
qualification when a thing has passed into what is imperceptible and
what in that sense 'is not', so also they speak of 'a coming-to-be
out of a not-being' when a thing emerges from an imperceptible. Whether,
therefore, the substratum is or is not something, what comes-tobe
emerges out of a 'not-being': so that a thing comes-to-be out of a
not-being' just as much as it 'passes-away into what is not'. Hence
it is reasonable enough that coming-to-be should never fail. For coming-to-be
is a passing-away of 'what is not' and passing-away is a coming to-be
of 'what is not'.

But what about that which 'is' not except with a qualification? Is
it one of the two contrary poles of the chang-e.g. Earth (i.e. the
heavy) a 'not-being', but Fire (i.e. the light) a 'being'? Or, on
the contrary, does what is 'include Earth as well as Fire, whereas
what is not' is matter-the matter of Earth and Fire alike? And again,
is the matter of each different? Or is it the same, since otherwise
they would not come-to-be reciprocally out of one another, i.e. contraries
out of contraries? For these things-Fire, Earth, Water, Air-are characterized
by 'the contraries'.

Perhaps the solution is that their matter is in one sense the same,
but in another sense different. For that which underlies them, whatever
its nature may be qua underlying them, is the same: but its actual
being is not the same. So much, then, on these topics.

Part 4

Next we must state what the difference is between coming-to-be and
'alteration'-for we maintain that these changes are distinct from
one another.

Since, then, we must distinguish (a) the substratum, and (b) the property
whose nature it is to be predicated of the substratum; and since change
of each of these occurs; there is 'alteration' when the substratum
is perceptible and persists, but changes in its own properties, the
properties in question being opposed to one another either as contraries
or as intermediates. The body, e.g. although persisting as the same
body, is now healthy and now ill; and the bronze is now spherical
and at another time angular, and yet remains the same bronze. But
when nothing perceptible persists in its identity as a substratum,
and the thing changes as a whole (when e.g. the seed as a whole is
converted into blood, or water into air, or air as a whole into water),
such an occurrence is no longer 'alteration'. It is a coming-to-be
of one substance and a passing-away of the other-especially if the
change proceeds from an imperceptible something to something perceptible
(either to touch or to all the senses), as when water comes-to-be
out of, or passes-away into, air: for air is pretty well imperceptible.
If, however, in such cases, any property (being one of a pair of contraries)
persists, in the thing that has come-to-be, the same as it was in
the thing which has passedaway-if, e.g. when water comes-to-be out
of air, both are transparent or cold-the second thing, into which
the first changes, must not be a property of this persistent identical
something. Otherwise the change will be 'alteration.' Suppose, e.g.
that the musical man passed-away and an unmusical man came-tobe, and
that the man persists as something identical. Now, if 'musicalness
and unmusicalness' had not been a property essentially inhering in
man, these changes would have been a coming-to-be of unmusicalness
and a passing-away of musicalness: but in fact 'musicalness and unmusicalness'
are a property of the persistent identity, viz. man. (Hence, as regards
man, these changes are 'modifications'; though, as regards musical
man and unmusical man, they are a passing-away and a coming-to-be.)
Consequently such changes are 'alteration.' When the change from contrary
to contrary is in quantity, it is 'growth and diminution'; when it
is in place, it is 'motion'; when it is in property, i.e. in quality,
it is 'alteration': but, when nothing persists, of which the resultant
is a property (or an 'accident' in any sense of the term), it is 'coming-to-be',
and the converse change is 'passing-away'.

'Matter', in the most proper sense of the term, is to be identified
with the substratum which is receptive of coming-to-be and passingaway:
but the substratum of the remaining kinds of change is also, in a
certain sense, 'matter', because all these substrata are receptive
of 'contrarieties' of some kind. So much, then, as an answer to the
questions (i) whether coming-to-be 'is' or 'is not'-i.e. what are
the precise conditions of its occurrence and (ii) what 'alteration'
is: but we have still to treat of growth.

Part 5

We must explain (i) wherein growth differs from coming-to-be and from
'alteration', and ii) what is the process of growing and the sprocess
of diminishing in each and all of the things that grow and diminish.

Hence our first question is this: Do these changes differ from one
another solely because of a difference in their respective 'spheres'?
In other words, do they differ because, while a change from this to
that (viz. from potential to actual substance) is coming-to-be, a
change in the sphere of magnitude is growth and one in the sphere
of quality is 'alteration'-both growth and 'alteration' being changes
from what is-potentially to what is-actually magnitude and quality
respectively? Or is there also a difference in the manner of the change,
since it is evident that, whereas neither what is 'altering' nor what
is coming-to-be necessarily changes its place, what is growing or
diminishing changes its spatial position of necessity, though in a
different manner from that in which the moving thing does so? For
that which is being moved changes its place as a whole: but the growing
thing changes its place like a metal that is being beaten, retaining
its position as a whole while its parts change their places. They
change their places, but not in the same way as the parts of a revolving
globe. For the parts of the globe change their places while the whole
continues to occupy an equal place: but the parts of the rowing thing
expand over an ever-increasing place and the parts of the diminishing
thing contract within an ever-diminishing area.

It is clear, then, that these changes-the changes of that which is
coming-to-be, of that which is 'altering', and of that which is growing-differ
in manner as well as in sphere. But how are we to conceive the 'sphere'
of the change which is growth and diminution? The sphere' of growing
and diminishing is believed to be magnitude. Are we to suppose that
body and magnitude come-to-be out of something which, though potentially
magnitude and body, is actually incorporeal and devoid of magnitude?
And since this description may be understood in two different ways,
in which of these two ways are we to apply it to the process of growth?
Is the matter, out of which growth takes place, (i) 'separate' and
existing alone by itself, or (ii) 'separate' but contained in another
body?

Perhaps it is impossible for growth to take place in either of these
ways. For since the matter is 'separate', either (a) it will occupy
no place (as if it were a point), or (b) it will be a 'void', i.e.
a non-perceptible body. But the first of these alternatives is impossible.
For since what comes-to-be out of this incorporeal and sizeless something
will always be 'somewhere', it too must be 'somewhere'-either intrinsically
or indirectly. And the second alternative necessarily implies that
the matter is contained in some other body. But if it is to be 'in'
another body and yet remains 'separate' in such a way that it is in
no sense a part of that body (neither a part of its substantial being
nor an 'accident' of it), many impossibilities will result. It is
as if we were to suppose that when, e.g. air comes-to-be out of water
the process were due not to a change of the but to the matter of the
air being 'contained in' the water as in a vessel. This is impossible.
For (i) there is nothing to prevent an indeterminate number of matters
being thus 'contained in' the water, so that they might come-to-be
actually an indeterminate quantity of air; and (ii) we do not in fact
see air coming-to-be out of water in this fashion, viz. withdrawing
out of it and leaving it unchanged.

It is therefore better to suppose that in all instances of coming-to-be
the matter is inseparable, being numerically identical and one with
the 'containing' body, though isolable from it by definition. But
the same reasons also forbid us to regard the matter, out of which
the body comes-to-be, as points or lines. The matter is that of which
points and lines are limits, and it is something that can never exist
without quality and without form.

Now it is no doubt true, as we have also established elsewhere,' that
one thing 'comes-tobe' (in the unqualified sense) out of another thing:
and further it is true that the efficient cause of its coming-to-be
is either (i) an actual thing (which is the same as the effect either
generically-or the efficient cause of the coming-to-be of a hard thing
is not a hard thing or specifically, as e.g. fire is the efficient
cause of the coming-to-be of fire or one man of the birth of another),
or (ii) an actuality. Nevertheless, since there is also a matter out
of which corporeal substance itself comes-to-be (corporeal substance,
however, already characterized as such-and-such a determinate body,
for there is no such thing as body in general), this same matter is
also the matter of magnitude and quality-being separable from these
matters by definition, but not separable in place unless Qualities
are, in their turn, separable.

It is evident, from the preceding development and discussion of difficulties,
that growth is not a change out of something which, though potentially
a magnitude, actually possesses no magnitude. For, if it were, the
'void' would exist in separation; but we have explained in a former
work' that this is impossible. Moreover, a change of that kind is
not peculiarly distinctive of growth, but characterizes coming-to-be
as such or in general. For growth is an increase, and diminution is
a lessening, of the magnitude which is there already-that, indeed,
is why the growing thing must possess some magnitude. Hence growth
must not be regarded as a process from a matter without magnitude
to an actuality of magnitude: for this would be a body's coming-to-be
rather than its growth.

We must therefore come to closer quarters with the subject of our
inquiry. We must grapple' with it (as it were) from its beginning,
and determine the precise character of the growing and diminishing
whose causes we are investigating.

It is evident (i) that any and every part of the growing thing has
increased, and that similarly in diminution every part has become
smaller: also (ii) that a thing grows by the accession, and diminishes
by the departure, of something. Hence it must grow by the accession
either (a) of something incorporeal or (b) of a body. Now, if (a)
it grows by the accession of something incorporeal, there will exist
separate a void: but (as we have stated before)' is impossible for
a matter of magnitude to exist 'separate'. If, on the other hand (b)
it grows by the accession of a body, there will be two bodies-that
which grows and that which increases it-in the same place: and this
too is impossible.

But neither is it open to us to say that growth or diminution occurs
in the way in which e.g. air is generated from water. For, although
the volume has then become greater, the change will not be growth,
but a coming to-be of the one-viz. of that into which the change is
taking place-and a passing-away of the contrasted body. It is not
a growth of either. Nothing grows in the process; unless indeed there
be something common to both things (to that which is coming-to-be
and to that which passed-away), e.g. 'body', and this grows. The water
has not grown, nor has the air: but the former has passed-away and
the latter has come-to-be, and-if anything has grown-there has been
a growth of 'body.' Yet this too is impossible. For our account of
growth must preserve the characteristics of that which is growing
and diminishing. And these characteristics are three: (i) any and
every part of the growing magnitude is made bigger (e.g. if flesh
grows, every particle of the flesh gets bigger), (ii) by the accession
of something, and (iii) in such a way that the growing thing is preserved
and persists. For whereas a thing does not persist in the processes
of unqualified coming-to-be or passing-away, that which grows or 'alters'
persists in its identity through the 'altering' and through the growing
or diminishing, though the quality (in 'alteration') and the size
(in growth) do not remain the same. Now if the generation of air from
water is to be regarded as growth, a thing might grow without the
accession (and without the persistence) of anything, and diminish
without the departure of anything-and that which grows need not persist.
But this characteristic must be preserved: for the growth we are discussing
has been assumed to be thus characterized.

One might raise a further difficulty. What is 'that which grows'?
Is it that to which something is added? If, e.g. a man grows in his
shin, is it the shin which is greater-but not that 'whereby' he grows,
viz. not the food? Then why have not both 'grown'? For when A is added
to B, both A and B are greater, as when you mix wine with water; for
each ingredient is alike increased in volume. Perhaps the explanation
is that the substance of the one remains unchanged, but the substance
of the other (viz. of the food) does not. For indeed, even in the
mixture of wine and water, it is the prevailing ingredient which is
said to have increased in volume. We say, e.g. that the wine has increased,
because the whole mixture acts as wine but not as water. A similar
principle applies also to 'alteration'. Flesh is said to have been
'altered' if, while its character and substance remain, some one of
its essential properties, which was not there before, now qualifies
it: on the other hand, that 'whereby' it has been 'altered' may have
undergone no change, though sometimes it too has been affected. The
altering agent, however, and the originative source of the process
are in the growing thing and in that which is being 'altered': for
the efficient cause is in these. No doubt the food, which has come
in, may sometimes expand as well as the body that has consumed it
(that is so, e.g. if, after having come in, a food is converted into
wind), but when it has undergone this change it has passedaway: and
the efficient cause is not in the food.

We have now developed the difficulties sufficiently and must therefore
try to find a solution of the problem. Our solution must preserve
intact the three characteristics of growth-that the growing thing
persists, that it grows by the accession (and diminishes by the departure)
of something, and further that every perceptible particle of it has
become either larger or smaller. We must recognize also (a) that the
growing body is not 'void' and that yet there are not two magnitudes
in the same place, and (b) that it does not grow by the accession
of something incorporeal.

Two preliminary distinctions will prepare us to grasp the cause of
growth. We must note (i) that the organic parts grow by the growth
of the tissues (for every organ is composed of these as its constituents);
and (ii) that flesh, bone, and every such part-like every other thing
which has its form immersed in matter-has a twofold nature: for the
form as well as the matter is called 'flesh' or 'bone'.

Now, that any and every part of the tissue qua form should grow-and
grow by the accession of something-is possible, but not that any and
every part of the tissue qua matter should do so. For we must think
of the tissue after the image of flowing water that is measured by
one and the same measure: particle after particle comes-to-be, and
each successive particle is different. And it is in this sense that
the matter of the flesh grows, some flowing out and some flowing in
fresh; not in the sense that fresh matter accedes to every particle
of it. There is, however, an accession to every part of its figure
or 'form'.

That growth has taken place proportionally, is more manifest in the
organic parts-e.g. in the hand. For there the fact that the matter
is distinct from the form is more manifest than in flesh, i.e. than
in the tissues. That is why there is a greater tendency to suppose
that a corpse still possesses flesh and bone than that it still has
a hand or an arm.

Hence in one sense it is true that any and every part of the flesh
has grown; but in another sense it is false. For there has been an
accession to every part of the flesh in respect to its form, but not
in respect to its matter. The whole, however, has become larger. And
this increase is due (a) on the one hand to the accession of something,
which is called 'food' and is said to be 'contrary' to flesh, but
(b) on the other hand to the transformation of this food into the
same form as that of flesh as if, e.g. 'moist' were to accede to 'dry'
and, having acceded, were to be transformed and to become 'dry'. For
in one sense 'Like grows by Like', but in another sense 'Unlike grows
by Unlike'.

One might discuss what must be the character of that 'whereby' a thing
grows. Clearly it must be potentially that which is growing-potentially
flesh, e.g. if it is flesh that is growing. Actually, therefore, it
must be 'other' than the growing thing. This 'actual other', then,
has passed-away and come-to-be flesh. But it has not been transformed
into flesh alone by itself (for that would have been a coming-to-be,
not a growth): on the contrary, it is the growing thing which has
come-to-be flesh (and grown) by the food. In what way, then, has the
food been modified by the growing thing? Perhaps we should say that
it has been 'mixed' with it, as if one were to pour water into wine
and the wine were able to convert the new ingredient into wine. And
as fire lays hold of the inflammable, so the active principle of growth,
dwelling in the growing thing that which is actually flesh), lays
hold of an acceding food which is potentially flesh and converts it
into actual flesh. The acceding food, therefore, must be together
with the growing thing: for if it were apart from it, the change would
be a coming-to-be. For it is possible to produce fire by piling logs
on to the already burning fire. That is 'growth'. But when the logs
themselves are set on fire, that is 'coming-to-be'.

'Quantum-in-general' does not come-to-be any more than 'animal' which
is neither man nor any other of the specific forms of animal: what
'animal-in-general' is in coming-to-be, that 'quantum-in-general'
is in growth. But what does come-to-be in growth is flesh or bone-or
a hand or arm (i.e. the tissues of these organic parts). Such things
come-to-be, then, by the accession not of quantified-flesh but of
a quantified-something. In so far as this acceding food is potentially
the double result e.g. is potentially so-much-flesh-it produces growth:
for it is bound to become actually both so-much and flesh. But in
so far as it is potentially flesh only, it nourishes: for it is thus
that 'nutrition' and 'growth' differ by their definition. That is
why a body's' nutrition' continues so long as it is kept alive (even
when it is diminishing), though not its 'growth'; and why nutrition,
though 'the same' as growth, is yet different from it in its actual
being. For in so far as that which accedes is potentially 'so much-flesh'
it tends to increase flesh: whereas, in so far as it is potentially
'flesh' only, it is nourishment.

The form of which we have spoken is a kind of power immersed in matter-a
duct, as it were. If, then, a matter accedes-a matter, which is potentially
a duct and also potentially possesses determinate quantity the ducts
to which it accedes will become bigger. But if it is no longer able
to act-if it has been weakened by the continued influx of matter,
just as water, continually mixed in greater and greater quantity with
wine, in the end makes the wine watery and converts it into water-then
it will cause a diminution of the quantum; though still the form persists.

Part 6

(In discussing the causes of coming-tobe) we must first investigate
the matter, i.e. the so-called 'elements'. We must ask whether they
really are clements or not, i.e. whether each of them is eternal or
whether there is a sense in which they come-to-be: and, if they do
come-to-be, whether all of them come-to-be in the same manner reciprocally
out of one another, or whether one amongst them is something primary.
Hence we must begin by explaining certain preliminary matters, about
which the statements now current are vague.

For all (the pluralist philosophers)- those who generate the 'elements'
as well as those who generate the bodies that are compounded of the
elements- make use of 'dissociation' and 'association', and of 'action'
and 'passion'. Now 'association' is 'combination'; but the precise
meaning of the process we call 'combining' has not been explained.
Again, (all the monists make use of 'alteration': but) without an
agent and a patient there cannot be 'altering' any more than there
can be 'dissociating' and 'associating'. For not only those who postulate
a plurality of elements employ their reciprocal action and passion
to generate the compounds: those who derive things from a single element
are equally compelled to introduce 'acting'. And in this respect Diogenes
is right when he argues that 'unless all things were derived from
one, reciprocal action and passion could not have occurred'. The hot
thing, e.g. would not be cooled and the cold thing in turn be warmed:
for heat and cold do not change reciprocally into one another, but
what changes (it is clear) is the substratum. Hence, whenever there
is action and passion between two things, that which underlies them
must be a single something. No doubt, it is not true to say that all
things are of this character: but it is true of all things between
which there is reciprocal action and passion.

But if we must investigate 'action-passion' and 'combination', we
must also investigate 'contact'. For action and passion (in the proper
sense of the terms) can only occur between things which are such as
to touch one another; nor can things enter into combination at all
unless they have come into a certain kind of contact. Hence we must
give a definite account of these three things- of 'contact', 'combination',
and 'acting'.

Let us start as follows. All things which admit of 'combination' must
be capable of reciprocal contact: and the same is true of any two
things, of which one 'acts' and the other 'suffers action' in the
proper sense of the terms. For this reason we must treat of 'contact'
first. every term which possesses a variety of meaning includes those
various meanings either owing to a mere coincidence of language, or
owing to a real order of derivation in the different things to which
it is applied: but, though this may be taken to hold of 'contact'
as of all such terms, it is nevertheless true that contact' in the
proper sense applies only to things which have 'position'. And 'position'
belongs only to those things which also have a Place': for in so far
as we attribute 'contact' to the mathematical things, we must also
attribute 'place' to them, whether they exist in separation or in
some other fashion. Assuming, therefore, that 'to touch' is-as we
have defined it in a previous work'-'to have the extremes together',
only those things will touch one another which, being separate magnitudes
and possessing position, have their extremes 'together'. And since
position belongs only to those things which also have a 'place', while
the primary differentiation of 'place' is the above' and 'the below'
(and the similar pairs of opposites), all things which touch one another
will have 'weight' or 'lightness' either both these qualities or one
or the other of them. But bodies which are heavy or light are such
as to 'act' and 'suffer action'. Hence it is clear that those things
are by nature such as to touch one another, which (being separate
magnitudes) have their extremes 'together' and are able to move, and
be moved by, one another.

The manner in which the 'mover' moves the moved' not always the same:
on the contrary, whereas one kind of 'mover' can only impart motion
by being itself moved, another kind can do so though remaining itself
unmoved. Clearly therefore we must recognize a corresponding variety
in speaking of the 'acting' thing too: for the 'mover' is said to
'act' (in a sense) and the 'acting' thing to 'impart motion'. Nevertheless
there is a difference and we must draw a distinction. For not every
'mover' can 'act', if (a) the term 'agent' is to be used in contrast
to 'patient' and (b) 'patient' is to be applied only to those things
whose motion is a 'qualitative affection'-i.e. a quality, like white'
or 'hot', in respect to which they are moved' only in the sense that
they are 'altered': on the contrary, to 'impart motion' is a wider
term than to 'act'. Still, so much, at any rate, is clear: the things
which are 'such as to impart motion', if that description be interpreted
in one sense, will touch the things which are 'such as to be moved
by them'-while they will not touch them, if the description be interpreted
in a different sense. But the disjunctive definition of 'touching'
must include and distinguish (a) 'contact in general' as the relation
between two things which, having position, are such that one is able
to impart motion and the other to be moved, and (b) 'reciprocal contact'
as the relation between two things, one able to impart motion and
the other able to be moved in such a way that 'action and passion'
are predicable of them.

As a rule, no doubt, if A touches B, B touches A. For indeed practically
all the 'movers' within our ordinary experience impart motion by being
moved: in their case, what touches inevitably must, and also evidently
does, touch something which reciprocally touches it. Yet, if A moves
B, it is possible-as we sometimes express it-for A 'merely to touch'
B, and that which touches need not touch a something which touches
it. Nevertheless it is commonly supposed that 'touching' must be reciprocal.
The reason of this belief is that 'movers' which belong to the same
kind as the 'moved' impart motion by being moved. Hence if anything
imparts motion without itself being moved, it may touch the 'moved'
and yet itself be touched by nothing-for we say sometimes that the
man who grieves us 'touches' us, but not that we 'touch' him.

The account just given may serve to distinguish and define the 'contact'
which occurs in the things of Nature.

Part 7

Next in order we must discuss 'action' and 'passion'. The traditional
theories on the subject are conflicting. For (i) most thinkers are
unanimous in maintaining (a) that 'like' is always unaffected by 'like',
because (as they argue) neither of two 'likes' is more apt than the
other either to act or to suffer action, since all the properties
which belong to the one belong identically and in the same degree
to the other; and (b) that 'unlikes', i.e. 'differents', are by nature
such as to act and suffer action reciprocally. For even when the smaller
fire is destroyed by the greater, it suffers this effect (they say)
owing to its 'contrariety' since the great is contrary to the small.
But (ii) Democritus dissented from all the other thinkers and maintained
a theory peculiar to himself. He asserts that agent and patient are
identical, i.e. 'like'. It is not possible (he says) that 'others',
i.e. 'differents', should suffer action from one another: on the contrary,
even if two things, being 'others', do act in some way on one another,
this happens to them not qua 'others' but qua possessing an identical
property.

Such, then, are the traditional theories, and it looks as if the statements
of their advocates were in manifest conflict. But the reason of this
conflict is that each group is in fact stating a part, whereas they
ought to have taken a comprehensive view of the subject as a whole.
For (i) if A and B are 'like'-absolutely and in all respects without
difference from one another -it is reasonable to infer that neither
is in any way affected by the other. Why, indeed, should either of
them tend to act any more than the other? Moreover, if 'like' can
be affected by 'like', a thing can also be affected by itself: and
yet if that were so-if 'like' tended in fact to act qua 'like'-there
would be nothing indestructible or immovable, for everything would
move itself. And (ii) the same consequence follows if A and B are
absolutely 'other', i.e. in no respect identical. Whiteness could
not be affected in any way by line nor line by whiseness-except perhaps
'coincidentally', viz. if the line happened to be white or black:
for unless two things either are, or are composed of, 'contraries',
neither drives the other out of its natural condition. But (iii) since
only those things which either involve a 'contrariety' or are 'contraries'-and
not any things selected at random-are such as to suffer action and
to act, agent and patient must be 'like' (i.e. identical) in kind
and yet 'unlike' (i.e. contrary) in species. (For it is a law of nature
that body is affected by body, flavour by flavour, colour by colour,
and so in general what belongs to any kind by a member of the same
kind-the reason being that 'contraries' are in every case within a
single identical kind, and it is 'contraries' which reciprocally act
and suffer action.) Hence agent and patient must be in one sense identical,
but in another sense other than (i.e. 'unlike') one another. And since
(a) patient and agent are generically identical (i.e. 'like') but
specifically 'unlike', while (b) it is 'contraries' that exhibit this
character: it is clear that 'contraries' and their 'intermediates'
are such as to suffer action and to act reciprocally-for indeed it
is these that constitute the entire sphere of passing-away and coming-to-be.

We can now understand why fire heats and the cold thing cools, and
in general why the active thing assimilates to itself the patient.
For agent and patient are contrary to one another, and coming-to-be
is a process into the contrary: hence the patient must change into
the agent, since it is only thus that coming-to be will be a process
into the contrary. And, again, it is intelligible that the advocates
of both views, although their theories are not the same, are yet in
contact with the nature of the facts. For sometimes we speak of the
substratum as suffering action (e.g. of 'the man' as being healed,
being warmed and chilled, and similarly in all the other cases), but
at other times we say 'what is cold is 'being warmed', 'what is sick
is being healed': and in both these ways of speaking we express the
truth, since in one sense it is the 'matter', while in another sense
it is the 'contrary', which suffers action. (We make the same distinction
in speaking of the agent: for sometimes we say that 'the man', but
at other times that 'what is hot', produces heat.) Now the one group
of thinkers supposed that agent and patient must possess something
identical, because they fastened their attention on the substratum:
while the other group maintained the opposite because their attention
was concentrated on the 'contraries'. We must conceive the same account
to hold of action and passion as that which is true of 'being moved'
and 'imparting motion'. For the 'mover', like the 'agent', has two
meanings. Both (a) that which contains the originative source of the
motion is thought to 'impart motion' (for the originative source is
first amongst the causes), and also (b) that which is last, i.e. immediately
next to the moved thing and to the coming-to-be. A similar distinction
holds also of the agent: for we speak not only (a) of the doctor,
but also (b) of the wine, as healing. Now, in motion, there is nothing
to prevent the firs; mover being unmoved (indeed, as regards some
'first' movers' this is actually necessary) although the last mover
always imparts motion by being itself moved: and, in action, there
is nothing to prevent the first agent being unaffected, while the
last agent only acts by suffering action itself. For agent and patient
have not the same matter, agent acts without being affected: thus
the art of healing produces health without itself being acted upon
in any way by that which is being healed. But (b) the food, in acting,
is itself in some way acted upon: for, in acting, it is simultaneously
heated or cooled or otherwise affected. Now the art of healing corresponds
to an 'originative source', while the food corresponds to 'the last'
(i.e. 'continuous') mover.

Those active powers, then, whose forms are not embodied in matter,
are unaffected: but those whose forms are in matter are such as to
be affected in acting. For we maintain that one and the same 'matter'
is equally, so to say, the basis of either of the two opposed things-being
as it were a 'kind'; and that that which can he hot must be made hot,
provided the heating agent is there, i.e. comes near. Hence (as we
have said) some of the active powers are unaffected while others are
such as to be affected; and what holds of motion is true also of the
active powers. For as in motion 'the first mover' is unmoved, so among
the active powers 'the first agent' is unaffected.

The active power is a 'cause' in the sense of that from which the
process originates: but the end, for the sake of which it takes place,
is not 'active'. (That is why health is not 'active', except metaphorically.)
For when the agent is there, the patient he-comes something: but when
'states' are there, the patient no longer becomes but already is-and
'forms' (i.e. lends') are a kind of 'state'. As to the 'matter', it
(qua matter) is passive. Now fire contains 'the hot' embodied in matter:
but a 'hot' separate from matter (if such a thing existed) could not
suffer any action. Perhaps, indeed, it is impossible that 'the hot'
should exist in separation from matter: but if there are any entities
thus separable, what we are saying would be true of them.

We have thus explained what action and passion are, what things exhibit
them, why they do so, and in what manner. We must go on to discuss
how it is possible for action and passion to take place.

Part 8

Some philosophers think that the 'last' agent-the 'agent' in the strictest
sense-enters in through certain pores, and so the patient suffers
action. It is in this way, they assert, that we see and hear and exercise
all our other senses. Moreover, according to them, things are seen
through air and water and other transparent bodies, because such bodies
possess pores, invisible indeed owing to their minuteness, but close-set
and arranged in rows: and the more transparent the body, the more
frequent and serial they suppose its pores to be. Such was the theory
which some philosophers (induding Empedocles) advanced in regard to
the structure of certain bodies. They do not restrict it to the bodies
which act and suffer action: but 'combination' too, they say, takes
place 'only between bodies whose pores are in reciprocal symmetry'.
The most systematic and consistent theory, however, and one that applied
to all bodies, was advanced by Leucippus and Democritus: and, in maintaining
it, they took as their starting-point what naturally comes first.

For some of the older philosophers thought that 'what is' must of
necessity be 'one' and immovable. The void, they argue, 'is not':
but unless there is a void with a separate being of its own, 'what
is' cannot be moved-nor again can it be 'many', since there is nothing
to keep things apart. And in this respect, they insist, the view that
the universe is not 'continuous' but 'discretes-in-contact' is no
better than the view that there are 'many' (and not 'one') and a void.
For (suppose that the universe is discretes-in-contact. Then), if
it is divisible through and through, there is no 'one', and therefore
no 'many' either, but the Whole is void; while to maintain that it
is divisible at some points, but not at others, looks like an arbitrary
fiction. For up to what limit is it divisible? And for what reason
is part of the Whole indivisible, i.e. a plenum, and part divided?
Further, they maintain, it is equally necessary to deny the existence
of motion.

Reasoning in this way, therefore, they were led to transcend sense-perception,
and to disregard it on the ground that 'one ought to follow the argument':
and so they assert that the universe is 'one' and immovable. Some
of them add that it is 'infinite', since the limit (if it had one)
would be a limit against the void.

There were, then, certain thinkers who, for the reasons we have stated,
enunciated views of this kind as their theory of 'The Truth'.... Moreover,
although these opinions appear to follow logically in a dialectical
discussion, yet to believe them seems next door to madness when one
considers the facts. For indeed no lunatic seems to be so far out
of his senses as to suppose that fire and ice are 'one': it is only
between what is right and what seems right from habit, that some people
are mad enough to see no difference.

Leucippus, however, thought he had a theory which harmonized with
sense-perception and would not abolish either coming-to-be and passing-away
or motion and the multiplicity of things. He made these concessions
to the facts of perception: on the other hand, he conceded to the
Monists that there could be no motion without a void. The result is
a theory which he states as follows: 'The void is a "not being", and
no part of "what is" is a "not-being"; for what "is" in the strict
sense of the term is an absolute plenum. This plenum, however, is
not "one": on the contrary, it is a many" infinite in number and invisible
owing to the minuteness of their bulk. The "many" move in the void
(for there is a void): and by coming together they produce "coming
to-be", while by separating they produce "passing-away". Moreover,
they act and suffer action wherever they chance to be in contact (for
there they are not "one"), and they generate by being put together
and becoming intertwined. From the genuinely-one, on the other hand,
there never could have come-to-be a multiplicity, nor from the genuinely-many
a "one": that is impossible. But' (just as Empedocles and some of
the other philosophers say that things suffer action through their
pores, so) 'all "alteration" and all "passion" take place in the way
that has been explained: breaking-up (i.e. passing-away) is effected
by means of the void, and so too is growth-solids creeping in to fill
the void places.' Empedocles too is practically bound to adopt the
same theory as Leucippus. For he must say that there are certain solids
which, however, are indivisible-unless there are continuous pores
all through the body. But this last alternative is impossible: for
then there will be nothing solid in the body (nothing beside the pores)
but all of it will be void. It is necessary, therefore, for his 'contiguous
discretes' to be indivisible, while the intervals between them-which
he calls 'pores'-must be void. But this is precisely Leucippus' theory
of action and passion.

Such, approximately, are the current explanations of the manner in
which some things 'act' while others 'suffer action'. And as regards
the Atomists, it is not only clear what their explanation is: it is
also obvious that it follows with tolerable consistency from the assumptions
they employ. But there is less obvious consistency in the explanation
offered by the other thinkers. It is not clear, for instance, how,
on the theory of Empedocles, there is to be 'passing-away' as well
as 'alteration'. For the primary bodies of the Atomists-the primary
constituents of which bodies are composed, and the ultimate elements
into which they are dissolved-are indivisible, differing from one
another only in figure. In the philosophy of Empedocles, on the other
hand, it is evident that all the other bodies down to the 'elements'
have their coming-to-be and their passingaway: but it is not clear
how the 'elements' themselves, severally in their aggregated masses,
come-to-be and pass-away. Nor is it possible for Empedocles to explain
how they do so, since he does not assert that Fire too (and similarly
every one of his other 'elements') possesses 'elementary constituents'
of itself.

Such an assertion would commit him to doctrines like those which Plato
has set forth in the Timaeus. For although both Plato and Leucippus
postulate elementary constituents that are indivisible and distinctively
characterized by figures, there is this great difference between the
two theories: the 'indivisibles' of Leucippus (i) are solids, while
those of Plato are planes, and (ii) are characterized by an infinite
variety of figures, while the characterizing figures employed by Plato
are limited in number. Thus the 'comings-to-be' and the 'dissociations'
result from the 'indivisibles' (a) according to Leucippus through
the void and through contact (for it is at the point of contact that
each of the composite bodies is divisible), but (b) according to Plato
in virtue of contact alone, since he denies there is a void.

Now we have discussed 'indivisible planes' in the preceding treatise.'
But with regard to the assumption of 'indivisible solids', although
we must not now enter upon a detailed study of its consequences, the
following criticisms fall within the compass of a short digression:
i. The Atomists are committed to the view that every 'indivisible'
is incapable alike of receiving a sensible property (for nothing can
'suffer action' except through the void) and of producing one-no 'indivisible'
can be, e.g. either hard or cold. Yet it is surely a paradox that
an exception is made of 'the hot'-'the hot' being assigned as peculiar
to the spherical figure: for, that being so, its 'contrary' also ('the
cold') is bound to belong to another of the figures. If, however,
these properties (heat and cold) do belong to the 'indivisibles',
it is a further paradox that they should not possess heaviness and
lightness, and hardness and softness. And yet Democritus says 'the
more any indivisible exceeds, the heavier it is'-to which we must
clearly add 'and the hotter it is'. But if that is their character,
it is impossible they should not be affected by one another: the 'slightly-hot
indivisible', e.g. will inevitably suffer action from one which far
exceeds it in heat. Again, if any 'indivisible' is 'hard', there must
also be one which is 'soft': but 'the soft' derives its very name
from the fact that it suffers a certain action-for 'soft' is that
which yields to pressure.

Ii. But further, not only is it paradoxical (i) that no property except
figure should belong to the 'indivisibles': it is also paradoxical
(ii) that, if other properties do belong to them, one only of these
additional properties should attach to each-e.g. that this 'indivisible'
should be cold and that 'indivisible' hot. For, on that supposition,
their substance would not even be uniform. And it is equally impossible
(iii) that more than one of these additional properties should belong
to the single 'indivisible'. For, being indivisible, it will possess
these properties in the same point-so that, if it 'suffers action'
by being chilled, it will also, qua chilled, 'act' or 'suffer action'
in some other way. And the same line of argument applies to all the
other properties too: for the difficulty we have just raised confronts,
as a necessary consequence, all who advocate 'indivisibles' (whether
solids or planes), since their 'indivisibles' cannot become either
'rarer' or 'derser' inasmuch as there is no void in them.

Iii. It is a further paradox that there should be small 'indivisibles',
but not large ones. For it is natural enough, from the ordinary point
of view, that the larger bodies should be more liable to fracture
than the small ones, since they (viz. the large bodies) are easily
broken up because they collide with many other bodies. But why should
indivisibility as such be the property of small, rather than of large,
bodies?

Iv. Again, is the substance of all those solids uniform, or do they
fall into sets which differ from one another-as if, e.g. some of them,
in their aggregated bulk, were 'fiery', others earthy'? For (i) if
all of them are uniform in substance, what is it that separated one
from another? Or why, when they come into contact, do they not coalesce
into one, as drops of water run together when drop touches drop (for
the two cases are precisely parallel)? On the other hand (ii) if they
fall into differing sets, how are these characterized? It is clear,
too, that these, rather than the 'figures', ought to be postulated
as 'original reals', i.e. causes from which the phenomena result.
Moreover, if they differed in substance, they would both act and suffer
action on coming into reciprocal contact.

V. Again, what is it which sets them moving? For if their 'mover'
is other than themselves, they are such as to 'suffer action'. If,
on the other hand, each of them sets itself in motion, either (a)
it will be divisible ('imparting motion' qua this, 'being moved' qua
that), or (b) contrary properties will attach to it in the same respect-i.e.
'matter' will be identical in-potentiality as well as numerically-identical.

As to the thinkers who explain modification of property through the
movement facilitated by the pores, if this is supposed to occur notwithstanding
the fact that the pores are filled, their postulate of pores is superfluous.
For if the whole body suffers action under these conditions, it would
suffer action in the same way even if it had no pores but were just
its own continuous self. Moreover, how can their account of 'vision
through a medium' be correct? It is impossible for (the visual ray)
to penetrate the transparent bodies at their 'contacts'; and impossible
for it to pass through their pores if every pore be full. For how
will that differ from having no pores at all? The body will be uniformly
'full' throughout. But, further, even if these passages, though they
must contain bodies, are 'void', the same consequence will follow
once more. And if they are 'too minute to admit any body', it is absurd
to suppose there is a 'minute' void and yet to deny the existence
of a 'big' one (no matter how small the 'big' may be), or to imagine
'the void' means anything else than a body's place-whence it clearly
follows that to every body there will correspond a void of equal cubic
capacity.

As a general criticism we must urge that to postulate pores is superfluous.
For if the agent produces no effect by touching the patient, neither
will it produce any by passing through its pores. On the other hand,
if it acts by contact, then-even without pores-some things will 'suffer
action' and others will 'act', provided they are by nature adapted
for reciprocal action and passion. Our arguments have shown that it
is either false or futile to advocate pores in the sense in which
some thinkers conceive them. But since bodies are divisible through
and through, the postulate of pores is ridiculous: for, qua divisible,
a body can fall into separate parts.

Part 9

Let explain the way in which things in fact possess the power of generating,
and of acting and suffering action: and let us start from the principle
we have often enunciated. For, assuming the distinction between (a)
that which is potentially and (b) that which is actually such-and-such,
it is the nature of the first, precisely in so far as it is what it
is, to suffer action through and through, not merely to be susceptible
in some parts while insusceptible in others. But its susceptibility
varies in degree, according as it is more or less; such-and such,
and one would be more justified in speaking of 'pores' in this connexion:
for instance, in the metals there are veins of 'the susceptible' stretching
continuously through the substance.

So long, indeed, as any body is naturally coherent and one, it is
insusceptible. So, too, bodies are insusceptible so long as they are
not in contact either with one another or with other bodies which
are by nature such as to act and suffer action. (To illustrate my
meaning: Fire heats not only when in contact, but also from a distance.
For the fire heats the air, and the air-being by nature such as both
to act and suffer action-heats the body.) But the supposition that
a body is 'susceptible in some parts, but insusceptible in others'
(is only possible for those who hold an erroneous view concerning
the divisibility of magnitudes. For us) the following account results
from the distinctions we established at the beginning. For (i) if
magnitudes are not divisible through and through-if, on the contrary,
there are indivisible solids or planes-then indeed no body would be
susceptible through and through :but neither would any be continuous.
Since, however, (ii) this is false, i.e. since every body is divisible,
there is no difference between 'having been divided into parts which
remain in contact' and 'being divisible'. For if a body 'can be separated
at the contacts' (as some thinkers express it), then, even though
it has not yet been divided, it will be in a state of dividedness-since,
as it can be divided, nothing inconceivable results. And (iii) the
suposition is open to this general objection-it is a paradox that
'passion' should occur in this manner only, viz. by the bodies being
split. For this theory abolishes 'alteration': but we see the same
body liquid at one time and solid at another, without losing its continuity.
It has suffered this change not by 'division' and composition', nor
yet by 'turning' and 'intercontact' as Democritus asserts; for it
has passed from the liquid to the solid state without any change of
'grouping' or 'position' in the constituents of its substance. Nor
are there contained within it those 'hard' (i.e. congealed) particles
'indivisible in their bulk': on the contrary, it is liquid-and again,
solid and congealed-uniformly all through. This theory, it must be
added, makes growth and diminution impossible also. For if there is
to be opposition (instead of the growing thing having changed as a
whole, either by the admixture of something or by its own transformation),
increase of size will not have resulted in any and every part.

So much, then, to establish that things generate and are generated,
act and suffer action, reciprocally; and to distinguish the way in
which these processes can occur from the (impossible) way in which
some thinkers say they occur.

Part 10

But we have still to explain 'combination', for that was the third
of the subjects we originally proposed to discuss. Our explanation
will proceed on the same method as before. We must inquire: What is
'combination', and what is that which can 'combine'? Of what things,
and under what conditions, is 'combination' a property? And, further,
does 'combination' exist in fact, or is it false to assert its existence?

For, according to some thinkers, it is impossible for one thing to
be combined with another. They argue that (i) if both the 'combined'
constituents persist unaltered, they are no more 'combined' now than
they were before, but are in the same condition: while (ii) if one
has been destroyed, the constituents have not been 'combined'-on the
contrary, one constituent is and the other is not, whereas 'combination'
demands uniformity of condition in them both: and on the same principle
(iii) even if both the combining constituents have been destroyed
as the result of their coalescence, they cannot 'have been combined'
since they have no being at all.

What we have in this argument is, it would seem, a demand for the
precise distinction of 'combination' from coming-to-be and passingaway
(for it is obvious that 'combination', if it exists, must differ from
these processes) and for the precise distinction of the 'combinable'
from that which is such as to come-to-be and pass-away. As soon, therefore,
as these distinctions are clear, the difficulties raised by the argument
would be solved.

Now (i) we do not speak of the wood as 'combined' with the fire, nor
of its burning as a 'combining' either of its particles with one another
or of itself with the fire: what we say is that 'the fire is coming-to-be,
but the wood is 'passing-away'. Similarly, we speak neither (ii) of
the food as 'combining' with the body, nor (iii) of the shape as 'combining'
with the wax and thus fashioning the lump. Nor can body 'combine'
with white, nor (to generalize) 'properties' and 'states' with 'things':
for we see them persisting unaltered. But again (iv) white and knowledge
cannot be 'combined' either, nor any other of the 'adjectivals'. (Indeed,
this is a blemish in the theory of those who assert that 'once upon
a time all things were together and combined'. For not everything
can 'combine' with everything. On the contrary, both of the constituents
that are combined in the compound must originally have existed in
separation: but no property can have separate existence.)

Since, however, some things are-potentially while others are-actually,
the constituents combined in a compound can 'be' in a sense and yet
'not-be'. The compound may he-actually other than the constituents
from which it has resulted; nevertheless each of them may still he-potentially
what it was before they were combined, and both of them may survive
undestroyed. (For this was the difficulty that emerged in the previous
argument: and it is evident that the combining constituents not only
coalesce, having formerly existed in separation, but also can again
be separated out from the compound.) The constituents, therefore,
neither (a) persist actually, as 'body' and 'white' persist: nor (b)
are they destroyed (either one of them or both), for their 'power
of action' is preserved. Hence these difficulties may be dismissed:
but the problem immediately connected with them-whether combination
is something relative to perception' must be set out and discussed.

When the combining constituents have been divided into parts so small,
and have been juxtaposed in such a manner, that perception fails to
discriminate them one from another, have they then 'been combined
Or ought we to say 'No, not until any and every part of one constituent
is juxtaposed to a part of the other'? The term, no doubt, is applied
in the former sense: we speak, e.g. of wheat having been 'combined'
with barley when each grain of the one is juxtaposed to a grain of
the other. But every body is divisible and therefore, since body 'combined'
with body is uniform in texture throughout, any and every part of
each constituent ought to be juxtaposed to a part of the other.

No body, however, can be divided into its 'least' parts: and 'composition'
is not identical with 'combination', but other than it. From these
premises it clearly follows (i) that so long as the constituents are
preserved in small particles, we must not speak of them as 'combined'.
(For this will be a 'composition' instead of a 'blending' or 'combination':
nor will every portion of the resultant exhibit the same ratio between
its constituents as the whole. But we maintain that, if 'combination'
has taken place, the compound must be uniform in texture throughout-any
part of such a compound being the same as the whole, just as any part
of water is water: whereas, if 'combination' is 'composition of the
small particles', nothing of the kind will happen. On the contrary,
the constituents will only be 'combined' relatively to perception:
and the same thing will be 'combined' to one percipient, if his sight
is not sharp, (but not to another,) while to the eye of Lynceus nothing
will be 'combined'.) It clearly follows (ii) that we must not speak
of the constituents as 'combined in virtue of a division such that
any and every part of each is juxtaposed to a part of the other: for
it is impossible for them to be thus divided. Either, then, there
is no 'combination', or we have still to explain the manner in which
it can take place.

Now, as we maintain, some things are such as to act and others such
as to suffer action from them. Moreover, some things-viz. those Which
have the same matter-'reciprocate', i.e. are such as to act upon one
another and to suffer action from one another; while other things,
viz. agents which have not the same matter as their patients, act
without themselves suffering action. Such agents cannot 'combine'-that
is why neither the art of healing nor health produces health by 'combining'
with the bodies of the patients. Amongst those things, however, which
are reciprocally active and passive, some are easily-divisible. Now
(i) if a great quantity (or a large bulk) of one of these easily-divisible
'reciprocating' materials be brought together with a little (or with
a small piece) of another, the effect produced is not 'combination',
but increase of the dominant: for the other material is transformed
into the dominant. (That is why a drop of wine does not 'combine'
with ten thousand gallons of water: for its form is dissolved, and
it is changed so as to merge in the total volume of water.) On the
other hand (ii) when there is a certain equilibrium between their
'powers of action', then each of them changes out of its own nature
towards the dominant: yet neither becomes the other, but both become
an intermediate with properties common to both.

Thus it is clear that only those agents are 'combinable' which involve
a contrariety-for these are such as to suffer action reciprocally.
And, further, they combine more freely if small pieces of each of
them are juxtaposed. For in that condition they change one another
more easily and more quickly; whereas this effect takes a long time
when agent and patient are present in bulk.

Hence, amongst the divisible susceptible materials, those whose shape
is readily adaptable have a tendency to combine: for they are easily
divided into small particles, since that is precisely what 'being
readily adaptable in shape' implies. For instance, liquids are the
most 'combinable' of all bodies-because, of all divisible materials,
the liquid is most readily adaptable in shape, unless it be viscous.
Viscous liquids, it is true, produce no effect except to increase
the volume and bulk. But when one of the constituents is alone susceptible-or
superlatively susceptible, the other being susceptible in a very slight
degree-the compound resulting from their combination is either no
greater in volume or only a little greater. This is what happens when
tin is combined with bronze. For some things display a hesitating
and ambiguous attitude towards one another-showing a slight tendency
to combine and also an inclination to behave as 'receptive matter'
and 'form' respectively. The behaviour of these metals is a case in
point. For the tin almost vanishes, behaving as if it were an immaterial
property of the bronze: having been combined, it disappears, leaving
no trace except the colour it has imparted to the bronze. The same
phenomenon occurs in other instances too.

It is clear, then, from the foregoing account, that 'combination'
occurs, what it is, to what it is due, and what kind of thing is 'combinable'.
The phenomenon depends upon the fact that some things are such as
to be (a) reciprocally susceptible and (b) readily adaptable in shape,
i.e. easily divisible. For such things can be 'combined' without its
being necessary either that they should have been destroyed or that
they should survive absolutely unaltered: and their 'combination'
need not be a 'composition', nor merely 'relative to perception'.
On the contrary: anything is 'combinable' which, being readily adaptable
in shape, is such as to suffer action and to act; and it is 'combinable
with' another thing similarly characterized (for the 'combinable'
is relative to the 'combinable'); and 'combination' is unification
of the 'combinables', resulting from their 'alteration'.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

BOOK II

Part 1

We have explained under what conditions 'combination', 'contact',
and 'action-passion' are attributable to the things which undergo
natural change. Further, we have discussed 'unqualified' coming-to-be
and passing-away, and explained under what conditions they are predicable,
of what subject, and owing to what cause. Similarly, we have also
discussed 'alteration', and explained what 'altering' is and how it
differs from coming-to-be and passing-away. But we have still to investigate
the so-called 'elements' of bodies.

For the complex substances whose formation and maintenance are due
to natural processes all presuppose the perceptible bodies as the
condition of their coming-to-be and passing-away: but philosophers
disagree in regard to the matter which underlies these perceptible
bodies. Some maintain it is single, supposing it to be, e.g. Air or
Fire, or an 'intermediate' between these two (but still a body with
a separate existence). Others, on the contrary, postulate two or more
materials-ascribing to their 'association' and 'dissociation', or
to their 'alteration', the coming-to-be and passing-away of things.
(Some, for instance, postulate Fire and Earth: some add Air, making
three: and some, like Empedocles, reckon Water as well, thus postulating
four.)

Now we may agree that the primary materials, whose change (whether
it be 'association and dissociation' or a process of another kind)
results in coming-to-be and passingaway, are rightly described as
'originative sources, i.e. elements'. But (i) those thinkers are in
error who postulate, beside the bodies we have mentioned, a single
matter-and that corporeal and separable matter. For this 'body' of
theirs cannot possibly exist without a 'perceptible contrariety':
this 'Boundless', which some thinkers identify with the 'original
real', must be either light or heavy, either cold or hot. And (ii)
what Plato has written in the Timaeus is not based on any precisely-articulated
conception. For he has not stated clearly whether his 'Omnirecipient"
exists in separation from the 'elements'; nor does he make any use
of it. He says, indeed, that it is a substratum prior to the so-called
'elements'-underlying them, as gold underlies the things that are
fashioned of gold. (And yet this comparison, if thus expressed, is
itself open to criticism. Things which come-to-be and pass-away cannot
be called by the name of the material out of which they have come-tobe:
it is only the results of 'alteration' which retain the name of the
substratum whose 'alterations' they are. However, he actually says'
that the truest account is to affirm that each of them is "gold"'.)
Nevertheless he carries his analysis of the 'elements'-solids though
they are-back to 'planes', and it is impossible for 'the Nurse' (i.e.
the primary matter) to be identical with 'the planes'.

Our own doctrine is that although there is a matter of the perceptible
bodies (a matter out of which the so-called 'clements' come-to-be),
it has no separate existence, but is always bound up with a contrariety.
A more precise account of these presuppositions has been given in
another work': we must, however, give a detailed explanation of the
primary bodies as well, since they too are similarly derived from
the matter. We must reckon as an 'originative source' and as 'primary'
the matter which underlies, though it is inseparable from, the contrary
qualities: for the hot' is not matter for 'the cold' nor 'the cold'
for 'the hot', but the substratum is matter for them both. We therefore
have to recognize three 'originative sources': firstly that which
potentially perceptible body, secondly the contrarieties (I mean,
e.g. heat and cold), and thirdly Fire, Water, and the like. Only 'thirdly',
however: for these bodies change into one another (they are not immutable
as Empedocles and other thinkers assert, since 'alteration' would
then have been impossible), whereas the contrarieties do not change.

Nevertheless, even so the question remains: What sorts of contrarieties,
and how many of them, are to be accounted 'originative sources' of
body? For all the other thinkers assume and use them without explaining
why they are these or why they are just so many.

Part 2

Since, then, we are looking for 'originative sources' of perceptible
body; and since 'perceptible' is equivalent to 'tangible', and 'tangible'
is that of which the perception is touch; it is clear that not all
the contrarieties constitute 'forms' and 'originative sources' of
body, but only those which correspond to touch. For it is in accordance
with a contrariety-a contrariety, moreover, of tangible qualities-that
the primary bodies are differentiated. That is why neither whiteness
(and blackness), nor sweetness (and bitterness), nor (similarly) any
quality belonging to the other perceptible contrarieties either, constitutes
an 'element'. And yet vision is prior to touch, so that its object
also is prior to the object of touch. The object of vision, however,
is a quality of tangible body not qua tangible, but qua something
else-qua something which may well be naturally prior to the object
of touch.

Accordingly, we must segregate the tangible differences and contrarieties,
and distinguish which amongst them are primary. Contrarieties correlative
to touch are the following: hot-cold, dry-moist, heavy-light, hard-soft,
viscous-brittle, rough-smooth, coarse-fine. Of these (i) heavy and
light are neither active nor susceptible. Things are not called 'heavy'
and 'light' because they act upon, or suffer action from, other things.
But the 'elements' must be reciprocally active and susceptible, since
they 'combine' and are transformed into one another. On the other
hand (ii) hot and cold, and dry and moist, are terms, of which the
first pair implies power to act and the second pair susceptibility.
'Hot' is that which 'associates' things of the same kind (for 'dissociating',
which people attribute to Fire as its function, is 'associating' things
of the same class, since its effect is to eliminate what is foreign),
while 'cold' is that which brings together, i.e. 'associates', homogeneous
and heterogeneous things alike. And moise is that which, being readily
adaptable in shape, is not determinable by any limit of its own: while
'dry' is that which is readily determinable by its own limit, but
not readily adaptable in shape.

From moist and dry are derived (iii) the fine and coarse, viscous
and brittle, hard and soft, and the remaining tangible differences.
For (a) since the moist has no determinate shape, but is readily adaptable
and follows the outline of that which is in contact with it, it is
characteristic of it to be 'such as to fill up'. Now 'the fine' is
'such as to fill up'. For the fine' consists of subtle particles;
but that which consists of small particles is 'such as to fill up',
inasmuch as it is in contact whole with whole-and 'the fine' exhibits
this character in a superlative degree. Hence it is evident that the
fine derives from the moist, while the coarse derives from the dry.
Again (b) the viscous' derives from the moist: for 'the viscous' (e.g.
oil) is a 'moist' modified in a certain way. 'The brittle', on the
other hand, derives from the dry: for 'brittle' is that which is completely
dry-so completely, that its solidification has actually been due to
failure of moisture. Further (c) 'the soft' derives from the moist.
For 'soft' is that which yields to pressure by retiring into itself,
though it does not yield by total displacement as the moist does-which
explains why the moist is not 'soft', although 'the soft' derives
from the moist. 'The hard', on the other hand, derives from the dry:
for 'hard' is that which is solidified, and the solidified is dry.

The terms 'dry' and 'moist' have more senses than one. For 'the damp',
as well as the moist, is opposed to the dry: and again 'the solidified',
as well as the dry, is opposed to the moist. But all these qualities
derive from the dry and moist we mentioned first.' For (i) the dry
is opposed to the damp: i.e. 'damp' is that which has foreign moisture
on its surface ('sodden' being that which is penetrated to its core),
while 'dry' is that which has lost foreign moisture. Hence it is evident
that the damp will derive from the moist, and 'the dry' which is opposed
to it will derive from the primary dry. Again (ii) the 'moist' and
the solidified derive in the same way from the primary pair. For 'moist'
is that which contains moisture of its-own deep within it ('sodden'
being that which is deeply penetrated by foreign mosture), whereas
'solidigied' is that which has lost this inner moisture. Hence these
too derive from the primary pair, the 'solidified' from the dry and
the 'solidified' from the dry the 'liquefiable' from the moist.

It is clear, then, that all the other differences reduce to the first
four, but that these admit of no further reduction. For the hot is
not essentially moist or dry, nor the moist essentially hot or cold:
nor are the cold and the dry derivative forms, either of one another
or of the hot and the moist. Hence these must be four.

Part 3

The elementary qualities are four, and any four terms can be combined
in six couples. Contraries, however, refuse to be coupled: for it
is impossible for the same thing to be hot and cold, or moist and
dry. Hence it is evident that the 'couplings' of the elementary qualities
will be four: hot with dry and moist with hot, and again cold with
dry and cold with moist. And these four couples have attached themselves
to the apparently 'simple' bodies (Fire, Air, Water, and Earth) in
a manner consonant with theory. For Fire is hot and dry, whereas Air
is hot and moist (Air being a sort of aqueous vapour); and Water is
cold and moist, while Earth is cold and dry. Thus the differences
are reasonably distributed among the primary bodies, and the number
of the latter is consonant with theory. For all who make the simple
bodies 'elements' postulate either one, or two, or three, or four.
Now (i) those who assert there is one only, and then generate everything
else by condensation and rarefaction, are in effect making their 'originative
sources' two, viz. the rare and the dense, or rather the hot and the
cold: for it is these which are the moulding forces, while the 'one'
underlies them as a 'matter'. But (ii) those who postulate two from
the start-as Parmenides postulated Fire and Earth-make the intermediates
(e.g. Air and Water) blends of these. The same course is followed
(iii) by those who advocate three. (We may compare what Plato does
in Me Divisions': for he makes 'the middle' a blend.) Indeed, there
is practically no difference between those who postulate two and those
who postulate three, except that the former split the middle 'element'
into two, while the latter treat it as only one. But (iv) some advocate
four from the start, e.g. Empedocles: yet he too draws them together
so as to reduce them to the two, for he opposes all the others to
Fire.

In fact, however, fire and air, and each of the bodies we have mentioned,
are not simple, but blended. The 'simple' bodies are indeed similar
in nature to them, but not identical with them. Thus the 'simple'
body corresponding to fire is 'such-as-fire, not fire: that which
corresponds to air is 'such-as-air': and so on with the rest of them.
But fire is an excess of heat, just as ice is an excess of cold. For
freezing and boiling are excesses of heat and cold respectively. Assuming,
therefore, that ice is a freezing of moist and cold, fire analogously
will be a boiling of dry and hot: a fact, by the way, which explains
why nothing comes-to-be either out of ice or out of fire.

The 'simple' bodies, since they are four, fall into two pairs which
belong to the two regions, each to each: for Fire and Air are forms
of the body moving towards the 'limit', while Earth and Water are
forms of the body which moves towards the 'centre'. Fire and Earth,
moreover, are extremes and purest: Water and Air, on the contrary
are intermediates and more like blends. And, further, the members
of either pair are contrary to those of the other, Water being contrary
to Fire and Earth to Air; for the qualities constituting Water and
Earth are contrary to those that constitute Fire and Air. Nevertheless,
since they are four, each of them is characterized par excellence
a single quality: Earth by dry rather than by cold, Water by cold
rather than by moist, Air by moist rather than by hot, and Fire by
hot rather than by dry.

Part 4

It has been established before' that the coming-to-be of the 'simple'
bodies is reciprocal. At the same time, it is manifest, even on the
evidence of perception, that they do come-to-be: for otherwise there
would not have been 'alteration, since 'alteration' is change in respect
to the qualities of the objects of touch. Consequently, we must explain
(i) what is the manner of their reciprocal transformation, and (ii)
whether every one of them can come to-be out of every one-or whether
some can do so, but not others.

Now it is evident that all of them are by nature such as to change
into one another: for coming-to-be is a change into contraries and
out of contraries, and the 'elements' all involve a contrariety in
their mutual relations because their distinctive qualities are contrary.
For in some of them both qualities are contrary-e.g. in Fire and Water,
the first of these being dry and hot, and the second moist and cold:
while in others one of the qualities (though only one) is contrary-e.g.
in Air and Water, the first being moist and hot, and the second moist
and cold. It is evident, therefore, if we consider them in general,
that every one is by nature such as to come-to-be out of every one:
and when we come to consider them severally, it is not difficult to
see the manner in which their transformation is effected. For, though
all will result from all, both the speed and the facility of their
conversion will differ in degree.

Thus (i) the process of conversion will be quick between those which
have interchangeable 'complementary factors', but slow between those
which have none. The reason is that it is easier for a single thing
to change than for many. Air, e.g. will result from Fire if a single
quality changes: for Fire, as we saw, is hot and dry while Air is
hot and moist, so that there will be Air if the dry be overcome by
the moist. Again, Water will result from Air if the hot be overcome
by the cold: for Air, as we saw, is hot and moist while Water is cold
and moist, so that, if the hot changes, there will be Water. So too,
in the same manner, Earth will result from Water and Fire from Earth,
since the two 'elements' in both these couples have interchangeable
'complementary factors'. For Water is moist and cold while Earth is
cold and dry-so that, if the moist be overcome, there will be Earth:
and again, since Fire is dry and hot while Earth is cold and dry,
Fire will result from Earth if the cold pass-away.

It is evident, therefore, that the coming-to-be of the 'simple' bodies
will be cyclical; and that this cyclical method of transformation
is the easiest, because the consecutive 'clements' contain interchangeable
'complementary factors'. On the other hand (ii) the transformation
of Fire into Water and of Air into Earth, and again of Water and Earth
into Fire and Air respectively, though possible, is more difficult
because it involves the change of more qualities. For if Fire is to
result from Water, both the cold and the moist must pass-away: and
again, both the cold and the dry must pass-away if Air is to result
from Earth. So' too, if Water and Earth are to result from Fire and
Air respectively-both qualities must change.

This second method of coming-to-be, then, takes a longer time. But
(iii) if one quality in each of two 'elements' pass-away, the transformation,
though easier, is not reciprocal. Still, from Fire plus Water there
will result Earth and Air, and from Air plus Earth Fire and Water.
For there will be Air, when the cold of the Water and the dry of the
Fire have passed-away (since the hot of the latter and the moist of
the former are left): whereas, when the hot of the Fire and the moist
of the Water have passed-away, there will be Earth, owing to the survival
of the dry of the Fire and the cold of the Water. So, too, in the
same Way, Fire and Water will result from Air plus Earth. For there
will be Water, when the hot of the Air and the dry of the Earth have
passed-away (since the moist of the former and the cold of the latter
are left): whereas, when the moist of the Air and the cold of the
Earth have passed-away, there will be Fire, owing to the survival
of the hot of the Air and the dry of the Earth-qualities essentially
constitutive of Fire. Moreover, this mode of Fire's coming-to-be is
confirmed by perception. For flame is par excellence Fire: but flame
is burning smoke, and smoke consists of Air and Earth.

No transformation, however, into any of the 'simple' bodies can result
from the passingaway of one elementary quality in each of two 'elements'
when they are taken in their consecutive order, because either identical
or contrary qualities are left in the pair: but no 'simple' body can
be formed either out of identical, or out of contrary, qualities.
Thus no 'simple' body would result, if the dry of Fire and the moist
of Air were to pass-away: for the hot is left in both. On the other
hand, if the hot pass-away out both, the contraries-dry and moist-are
left. A similar result will occur in all the others too: for all the
consecutive 'elements' contain one identical, and one contrary, quality.
Hence, too, it clearly follows that, when one of the consecutive 'elements'
is transformed into one, the coming-to-be is effected by the passing-away
of a single quality: whereas, when two of them are transformed into
a third, more than one quality must have passedaway.

We have stated that all the 'elements' come-to-be out of any one of
them; and we have explained the manner in which their mutual conversion
takes place. Let us nevertheless supplement our theory by the following
speculations concerning them.

Part 5

If Water, Air, and the like are a 'matter' of which the natural bodies
consist, as some thinkers in fact believe, these 'clements' must be
either one, or two, or more. Now they cannot all of them be one-they
cannot, e.g. all be Air or Water or Fire or Earth-because 'Change
is into contraries'. For if they all were Air, then (assuming Air
to persist) there will be 'alteration' instead of coming-to-be. Besides,
nobody supposes a single 'element' to persist, as the basis of all,
in such a way that it is Water as well as Air (or any other 'element')
at the same time. So there will be a certain contrariety, i.e. a differentiating
quality: and the other member of this contrariety, e.g. heat, will
belong to some other 'element', e.g. to Fire. But Fire will certainly
not be 'hot Air'. For a change of that kind (a) is 'alteration', and
(b) is not what is observed. Moreover (c) if Air is again to result
out of the Fire, it will do so by the conversion of the hot into its
contrary: this contrary, therefore, will belong to Air, and Air will
be a cold something: hence it is impossible for Fire to be 'hot Air',
since in that case the same thing will be simultaneously hot and cold.
Both Fire and Air, therefore, will be something else which is the
same; i.e. there will be some 'matter', other than either, common
to both.

The same argument applies to all the 'elements', proving that there
is no single one of them out of which they all originate. But neither
is there, beside these four, some other body from which they originate-a
something intermediate, e.g. between Air and Water (coarser than Air,
but finer than Water), or between Air and Fire (coarser than Fire,
but finer than Air). For the supposed 'intermediate' will be Air and
Fire when a pair of contrasted qualities is added to it: but, since
one of every two contrary qualities is a 'privation', the 'intermediate'
never can exist-as some thinkers assert the 'Boundless' or the 'Environing'
exists-in isolation. It is, therefore, equally and indifferently any
one of the 'elements', or else it is nothing.

Since, then, there is nothing-at least, nothing perceptible-prior
to these, they must be all. That being so, either they must always
persist and not be transformable into one another: or they must undergo
transformation-either all of them, or some only (as Plato wrote in
the Timacus).' Now it has been proved before that they must undergo
reciprocal transformation. It has also been proved that the speed
with which they come-to-be, one out of another, is not uniform-since
the process of reciprocal transformation is relatively quick between
the 'elements' with a 'complementary factor', but relatively slow
between those which possess no such factor. Assuming, then, that the
contrariety, in respect to which they are transformed, is one, the
elements' will inevitably be two: for it is 'matter' that is the 'mean'
between the two contraries, and matter is imperceptible and inseparable
from them. Since, however, the 'elements' are seen to be more than
two, the contrarieties must at the least be two. But the contrarieties
being two, the 'elements' must be four (as they evidently are) and
cannot be three: for the couplings' are four, since, though six are
possible, the two in which the qualities are contrary to one another
cannot occur.

These subjects have been discussed before:' but the following arguments
will make it clear that, since the 'elements' are transformed into
one another, it is impossible for any one of them-whether it be at
the end or in the middle-to be an 'originative source' of the rest.
There can be no such 'originative element' at the ends: for all of
them would then be Fire or Earth, and this theory amounts to the assertion
that all things are made of Fire or Earth. Nor can a 'middle-element'
be such an originative source'-as some thinkers suppose that Air is
transformed both into Fire and into Water, and Water both into Air
and into Earth, while the 'end-elements' are not further transformed
into one another. For the process must come to a stop, and cannot
continue ad infinitum in a straight line in either direction, since
otherwise an infinite number of contrarieties would attach to the
single 'element'. Let E stand for Earth, W for Water, A for Air, and
F for Fire. Then (i) since A is transformed into F and W, there will
be a contrariety belonging to A F. Let these contraries be whiteness
and blackness. Again (ii) since A is transformed into W, there will
be another contrariety: for W is not the same as F. Let this second
contrariety be dryness and moistness, D being dryness and M moistness.
Now if, when A is transformed into W, the 'white' persists, Water
will be moist and white: but if it does not persist, Water will be
black since change is into contraries. Water, therefore, must be either
white or black. Let it then be the first. On similar grounds, therefore,
D (dryness) will also belong to F. Consequently F (Fire) as well as
Air will be able to be transformed into Water: for it has qualities
contrary to those of Water, since Fire was first taken to be black
and then to be dry, while Water was moist and then showed itself white.
Thus it is evident that all the 'elements' will be able to be transformed
out of one another; and that, in the instances we have taken, E (Earth)
also will contain the remaining two 'complementary factors', viz.
the black and the moist (for these have not yet been coupled).

We have dealt with this last topic before the thesis we set out to
prove. That thesis-viz. that the process cannot continue ad infinitum-will
be clear from the following considerations. If Fire (which is represented
by F) is not to revert, but is to be transformed in turn into some
other 'element' (e.g. into Q), a new contrariety, other than those
mentioned, will belong to Fire and Q: for it has been assumed that
Q is not the same as any of the four, E W A and F. Let K, then, belong
to F and Y to Q. Then K will belong to all four, E W A and F: for
they are transformed into one another. This last point, however, we
may admit, has not yet been proved: but at any rate it is clear that
if Q is to be transformed in turn into yet another 'element', yet
another contrariety will belong not only to Q but also to F (Fire).
And, similarly, every addition of a new 'element' will carry with
it the attachment of a new contrariety to the preceding elements'.
Consequently, if the 'elements' are infinitely many, there will also
belong to the single 'element' an infinite number of contrarieties.
But if that be so, it will be impossible to define any 'element':
impossible also for any to come-to-be. For if one is to result from
another, it will have to pass through such a vast number of contrarieties-and
indeed even more than any determinate number. Consequently (i) into
some 'elements' transformation will never be effected-viz. if the
intermediates are infinite in number, as they must be if the 'elements'
are infinitely many: further (ii) there will not even be a transformation
of Air into Fire, if the contrarieties are infinitely many: moreover
(iii) all the 'elements' become one. For all the contrarieties of
the 'elements' above F must belong to those below F, and vice versa:
hence they will all be one.

Part 6

As for those who agree with Empedocles that the 'elements' of body
are more than one, so that they are not transformed into one another-one
may well wonder in what sense it is open to them to maintain that
the 'elements' are comparable. Yet Empedocles says 'For these are
all not only equal...'

If it is meant that they are comparable in their amount, all the 'comparables'
must possess an identical something whereby they are measured. If,
e.g. one pint of Water yields ten of Air, both are measured by the
same unit; and therefore both were from the first an identical something.
On the other hand, suppose (ii) they are not 'comparable in their
amount' in the sense that so-much of the one yields so much of the
other, but comparable in 'power of action (a pint of Water, e.g. having
a power of cooling equal to that of ten pints of Air); even so, they
are 'comparable in their amount', though not qua 'amount' but qua
Iso-much power'. There is also (iii) a third possibility. Instead
of comparing their powers by the measure of their amount, they might
be compared as terms in a 'correspondence': e.g. 'as x is hot, so
correspondingly y is white'. But 'correspondence', though it means
equality in the quantum, means similarity in a quale. Thus it is manifestly
absurd that the 'simple' bodies, though they are not transformable,
are comparable not merely as 'corresponding', but by a measure of
their powers; i.e. that so-much Fire is comparable with many times-that-amount
of Air, as being 'equally' or 'similarly' hot. For the same thing,
if it be greater in amount, will, since it belongs to the same kind,
have its ratio correspondingly increased.

A further objection to the theory of Empedocles is that it makes even
growth impossible, unless it be increase by addition. For his Fire
increases by Fire: 'And Earth increases its own frame and Ether increases
Ether." These, however, are cases of addition: but it is not by addition
that growing things are believed to increase. And it is far more difficult
for him to account for the coming-to-be which occurs in nature. For
the things which come-to-be by natural process all exhibit, in their
coming-to-be, a uniformity either absolute or highly regular: while
any exceptions any results which are in accordance neither with the
invariable nor with the general rule are products of chance and luck.
Then what is the cause determining that man comes-to-be from man,
that wheat (instead of an olive) comes-to-be from wheat, either invariably
or generally? Are we to say 'Bone comes-to-be if the "elements" be
put together in such-and such a manner'? For, according to his own
estatements, nothing comes-to-be from their 'fortuitous consilience',
but only from their 'consilience' in a certain proportion. What, then,
is the cause of this proportional consilience? Presumably not Fire
or Earth. But neither is it Love and Strife: for the former is a cause
of 'association' only, and the latter only of 'dissociation'. No:
the cause in question is the essential nature of each thing-not merely
to quote his words) 'a mingling and a divorce of what has been mingled'.
And chance, not proportion, 'is the name given to these occurrences':
for things can be 'mingled' fortuitously.

The cause, therefore, of the coming-to-be of the things which owe
their existence to nature is that they are in such-and-such a determinate
condition: and it is this which constitutes, the 'nature' of each
thing-a 'nature' about which he says nothing. What he says, therefore,
is no explanation of 'nature'. Moreover, it is this which is both
'the excellence' of each thing and its 'good': whereas he assigns
the whole credit to the 'mingling'. (And yet the 'elements' at all
events are 'dissociated' not by Strife, but by Love: since the 'elements'
are by nature prior to the Deity, and they too are Deities.)

Again, his account of motion is vague. For it is not an adequate explanation
to say that 'Love and Strife set things moving, unless the very nature
of Love is a movement of this kind and the very nature of Strife a
movement of that kind. He ought, then, either to have defined or to
have postulated these characteristic movements, or to have demonstrated
them-whether strictly or laxly or in some other fashion. Moreover,
since (a) the 'simple' bodies appear to move 'naturally' as well as
by compulsion, i.e. in a manner contrary to nature (fire, e.g. appears
to move upwards without compulsion, though it appears to move by compulsion
downwards); and since (b) what is 'natural' is contrary to that which
is due to compulsion, and movement by compulsion actually occurs;
it follows that 'natural movement' can also occur in fact. Is this,
then, the movement that Love sets going? No: for, on the contrary,
the 'natural movement' moves Earth downwards and resembles 'dissociation',
and Strife rather than Love is its cause-so that in general, too,
Love rather than Strife would seem to be contrary to nature. And unless
Love or Strife is actually setting them in motion, the 'simple' bodies
themselves have absolutely no movement or rest. But this is paradoxical:
and what is more, they do in fact obviously move. For though Strife
'dissociated', it was not by Strife that the 'Ether' was borne upwards.
On the contrary, sometimes he attributes its movement to something
like chance ('For thus, as it ran, it happened to meet them then,
though often otherwise"), while at other times he says it is the nature
of Fire to be borne upwards, but 'the Ether' (to quote his words)
'sank down upon the Earth with long roots'. With such statements,
too, he combines the assertion that the Order of the World is the
same now, in the reign of Strife, as it was formerly in the reign
of Love. What, then, is the 'first mover' of the 'elements'? What
causes their motion? Presumably not Love and Strife: on the contrary,
these are causes of a particular motion, if at least we assume that
'first mover' to be an originative source'.

An additional paradox is that the soul should consist of the 'elements',
or that it should be one of them. How are the soul's 'alterations'
to take Place? How, e.g. is the change from being musical to being
unmusical, or how is memory or forgetting, to occur? For clearly,
if the soul be Fire, only such modifications will happen to it as
characterize Fire qua Fire: while if it be compounded out of the elements',
only the corporeal modifications will occur in it. But the changes
we have mentioned are none of them corporeal.

Part 7

The discussion of these difficulties, however, is a task appropriate
to a different investigation:' let us return to the 'elements' of
which bodies are composed. The theories that 'there is something common
to all the "elements"', and that they are reciprocally transformed',
are so related that those who accept either are bound to accept the
other as well. Those, on the other hand, who do not make their coming-to-be
reciprocal-who refuse to suppose that any one of the 'elements' comes-to-be
out of any other taken singly, except in the sense in which bricks
come-to-be out of a wall-are faced with a paradox. How, on their theory,
are flesh and bones or any of the other compounds to result from the
'elements' taken together?

Indeed, the point we have raised constitutes a problem even for those
who generate the 'elements' out of one another. In what manner does
anything other than, and beside, the 'elements' come-to-be out of
them? Let me illustrate my meaning. Water can come-to-be out of Fire
and Fire out of Water; for their substralum is something common to
them both. But flesh too, presumably, and marrow come-to-be out of
them. How, then, do such things come to-be? For (a) how is the manner
of their coming-to-be to be conceived by those who maintain a theory
like that of Empedocles? They must conceive it as composition-just
as a wall comes-to-be out of bricks and stones: and the 'Mixture',
of which they speak, will be composed of the 'elements', these being
preserved in it unaltered but with their small particles juxtaposed
each to each. That will be the manner, presumably, in which flesh
and every other compound results from the 'elements'. Consequently,
it follows that Fire and Water do not come-to-be 'out of any and every
part of flesh'. For instance, although a sphere might come-to-be out
of this part of a lump of wax and a pyramid out of some other part,
it was nevertheless possible for either figure to have come-to-be
out of either part indifferently: that is the manner of coming-to-be
when 'both Fire and Water come-to-be out of any and every part of
flesh'. Those, however, who maintain the theory in question, are not
at liberty to conceive that 'both come-to-be out of flesh' in that
manner, but only as a stone and a brick 'both come-to-be out of a
wall'-viz. each out of a different place or part. Similarly (b) even
for those who postulate a single matter of their 'elements' there
is a certain difficulty in explaining how anything is to result from
two of them taken together-e.g. from 'cold' and hot', or from Fire
and Earth. For if flesh consists of both and is neither of them, nor
again is a 'composition' of them in which they are preserved unaltered,
what alternative is left except to identify the resultant of the two
'elements' with their matter? For the passingaway of either 'element'
produces either the other or the matter.

Perhaps we may suggest the following solution. (i) There are differences
of degree in hot and cold. Although, therefore, when either is fully
real without qualification, the other will exist potentially; yet,
when neither exists in the full completeness of its being, but both
by combining destroy one another's excesses so that there exist instead
a hot which (for a 'hot') is cold and a cold which (for a 'cold')
is hot; then what results from these two contraries will be neither
their matter, nor either of them existing in its full reality without
qualification. There will result instead an 'intermediate': and this
'intermediate', according as it is potentially more hot than cold
or vice versa, will possess a power-of-heating that is double or triple
its power-of-cooling, or otherwise related thereto in some similar
ratio. Thus all the other bodies will result from the contraries,
or rather from the 'elements', in so far as these have been 'combined':
while the elements' will result from the contraries, in so far as
these 'exist potentially' in a special sense-not as matter 'exists
potentially', but in the sense explained above. And when a thing comes-to-be
in this manner, the process is cobination'; whereas what comes-to-be
in the other manner is matter. Moreover (ii) contraries also 'suffer
action', in accordance with the disjunctively-articulated definition
established in the early part of this work.' For the actually-hot
is potentially-cold and the actually cold potentially-hot; so that
hot and cold, unless they are equally balanced, are transformed into
one another (and all the other contraries behave in a similar way).
It is thus, then, that in the first place the 'elements' are transformed;
and that (in the second place) out of the 'elements' there come-to-be
flesh and bones and the like-the hot becoming cold and the cold becoming
hot when they have been brought to the 'mean'. For at the 'mean' is
neither hot nor cold. The 'mean', however, is of considerable extent
and not indivisible. Similarly, it is qua reduced to a 'mean' condition
that the dry and the moist, as well as the contraries we have used
as examples, produce flesh and bone and the remaining compounds.

Part 8

All the compound bodies-all of which exist in the region belonging
to the central body-are composed of all the 'simple' bodies. For they
all contain Earth because every 'simple' body is to be found specially
and most abundantly in its own place. And they all contain Water because
(a) the compound must possess a definite outline and Water, alone
of the 'simple' bodies, is readily adaptable in shape: moreover (b)
Earth has no power of cohesion without the moist. On the contrary,
the moist is what holds it together; for it would fall to pieces if
the moist were eliminated from it completely.

They contain Earth and Water, then, for the reasons we have given:
and they contain Air and Fire, because these are contrary to Earth
and Water (Earth being contrary to Air and Water to Fire, in so far
as one Substance can be 'contrary' to another). Now all compounds
presuppose in their coming-to-be constituents which are contrary to
one another: and in all compounds there is contained one set of the
contrasted extremes. Hence the other set must be contained in them
also, so that every compound will include all the 'simple' bodies.

Additional evidence seems to be furnished by the food each compound
takes. For all of them are fed by substances which are the same as
their constituents, and all of them are fed by more substances than
one. Indeed, even the plants, though it might be thought they are
fed by one substance only, viz. by Water, are fed by more than one:
for Earth has been mixed with the Water. That is why farmers too endeavour
to mix before watering. Although food is akin to the matter, that
which is fed is the 'figure'-i.e. the 'form' taken along with the
matter. This fact enables us to understand why, whereas all the 'simple'
bodies come-to-be out of one another, Fire is the only one of them
which (as our predecessors also assert) 'is fed'. For Fire alone-or
more than all the rest-is akin to the 'form' because it tends by nature
to be borne towards the limit. Now each of them naturally tends to
be borne towards its own place; but the 'figure'-i.e. the 'form'-Of
them all is at the limits.

Thus we have explained that all the compound bodies are composed of
all the 'simple' bodies.

Part 9

Since some things are such as to come-to-be and pass-away, and since
coming-to-be in fact occurs in the region about the centre, we must
explain the number and the nature of the 'originative sources' of
all coming-to-be alike: for a grasp of the true theory of any universal
facilitates the understanding of its specific forms.

The 'originative sources', then, of the things which come-to-be are
equal in number to, and identical in kind with, those in the sphere
of the eternal and primary things. For there is one in the sense of
'matter', and a second in the sense of 'form': and, in addition, the
third 'originative source' must be present as well. For the two first
are not sufficient to bring things into being, any more than they
are adequate to account for the primary things.

Now cause, in the sense of material origin, for the things which are
such as to come-to-be is 'that which can be-and-not-be': and this
is identical with'that which can come-to-be-and-pass-away', since
the latter, while it is at one time, at another time is not. (For
whereas some things are of necessity, viz. the eternal things, others
of necessity are not. And of these two sets of things, since they
cannot diverge from the necessity of their nature, it is impossible
for the first not to he and impossible for the second to he. Other
things, however, can both be and not he.) Hence coming-to-be and passing-away
must occur within the field of 'that which can be-and not-be'. This,
therefore, is cause in the sense of material origin for the things
which are such as to come-to-be; while cause, in the sense of their
'end', is their 'figure' or 'form'-and that is the formula expressing
the essential nature of each of them.

But the third 'originative source' must be present as well-the cause
vaguely dreamed of by all our predecessors, definitely stated by none
of them. On the contrary (a) some amongst them thought the nature
of 'the Forms' was adequate to account for coming-to-be. Thus Socrates
in the Phaedo first blames everybody else for having given no explanation;
and then lays it down; that 'some things are Forms, others Participants
in the Forms', and that 'while a thing is said to "be" in virtue of
the Form, it is said to "come-to-be" qua sharing in," to "pass-away"
qua "losing," the 'Form'. Hence he thinks that 'assuming the truth
of these theses, the Forms must be causes both of coming-to-be and
of passing-away'. On the other hand (b) there were others who thought
'the matter' was adequate by itself to account for coming-to-be, since
'the movement originates from the matter'.

Neither of these theories, however, is sound. For (a) if the Forms
are causes, why is their generating activity intermittent instead
of perpetual and continuous-since there always are Participants as
well as Forms? Besides, in some instances we see that the cause is
other than the Form. For it is the doctor who implants health and
the man of science who implants science, although 'Health itself'
and 'Science itself' are as well as the Participants: and the same
principle applies to everything else that is produced in accordance
with an art. On the other hand (b) to say that 'matter generates owing
to its movement' would be, no doubt, more scientific than to make
such statements as are made by the thinkers we have been criticizing.
For what 'alters' and transfigures plays a greater part in bringing,
things into being; and we are everywhere accustomed, in the products
of nature and of art alike, to look upon that which can initiate movement
as the producing cause. Nevertheless this second theory is not right
either.

For, to begin with, it is characteristic of matter to suffer action,
i.e. to be moved: but to move, i.e. to act, belongs to a different
'power'. This is obvious both in the things that come-to-be by art
and in those that come to-be by nature. Water does not of itself produce
out of itself an animal: and it is the art, not the wood, that makes
a bed. Nor is this their only error. They make a second mistake in
omitting the more controlling cause: for they eliminate the essential
nature, i.e. the 'form'. And what is more, since they remove the formal
cause, they invest the forces they assign to the 'simple' bodies-the
forces which enable these bodies to bring things into being-with too
instrumental a character. For 'since' (as they say) 'it is the nature
of the hot to dissociate, of the cold to bring together, and of each
remaining contrary either to act or to suffer action', it is out of
such materials and by their agency (so they maintain) that everything
else comes-to-be and passes-away. Yet (a) it is evident that even
Fire is itself moved, i.e. suffers action. Moreover (b) their procedure
is virtually the same as if one were to treat the saw (and the various
instruments of carpentry) as 'the cause' of the things that come-to-be:
for the wood must be divided if a man saws, must become smooth if
he planes, and so on with the remaining tools. Hence, however true
it may be that Fire is active, i.e. sets things moving, there is a
further point they fail to observe-viz. that Fire is inferior to the
tools or instruments in the manner in which it sets things moving.

Part 10

As to our own theory-we have given a general account of the causes
in an earlier work,' we have now explained and distinguished the 'matter'
and the 'form'. Further, since the change which is motion has been
proved' to be eternal, the continuity of the occurrence of coming-to-be
follows necessarily from what we have established: for the eternal
motion, by causing 'the generator' to approach and retire, will produce
coming-to-be uninterruptedly. At the same time it is clear that we
were right when, in an earlier work,' we called motion (not coming-to-be)
'the primary form of change'. For it is far more reasonable that what
is should cause the coming-to-be of what is not, than that what is
not should cause the being of what is. Now that which is being moved
is, but that which is coming-to-be is not: hence, also, motion is
prior to coming-to-be.

We have assumed, and have proved, that coming-to-be and passing-away
happen to things continuously; and we assert that motion causes coming-to-be.
That being so, it is evident that, if the motion be single, both processes
cannot occur since they are contrary to one another: for it is a law
of nature that the same cause, provided it remain in the same condition,
always produces the same effect, so that, from a single motion, either
coming-to-be or passing-away will always result. The movements must,
on the contrary, be more than one, and they must be contrasted with
one another either by the sense of their motion or by its irregularity:
for contrary effects demand contraries as their causes.

This explains why it is not the primary motion that causes coming-to-be
and passingaway, but the motion along the inclined circle: for this
motion not only possesses the necessary continuity, but includes a
duality of movements as well. For if coming-to-be and passing-away
are always to be continuous, there must be some body always being
moved (in order that these changes may not fail) and moved with a
duality of movements (in order that both changes, not one only, may
result). Now the continuity of this movement is caused by the motion
of the whole: but the approaching and retreating of the moving body
are caused by the inclination. For the consequence of the inclination
is that the body becomes alternately remote and near; and since its
distance is thus unequal, its movement will be irregular. Therefore,
if it generates by approaching and by its proximity, it-this very
same body-destroys by retreating and becoming remote: and if it generates
by many successive approaches, it also destroys by many successive
retirements. For contrary effects demand contraries as their causes;
and the natural processes of passing-away and coming-to-be occupy
equal periods of time. Hence, too, the times-i.e. the lives-of the
several kinds of living things have a number by which they are distinguished:
for there is an Order controlling all things, and every time (i.e.
every life) is measured by a period. Not all of them, however, are
measured by the same period, but some by a smaller and others by a
greater one: for to some of them the period, which is their measure,
is a year, while to some it is longer and to others shorter.

And there are facts of observation in manifest agreement with our
theories. Thus we see that coming-to-be occurs as the sun approaches
and decay as it retreats; and we see that the two processes occupy
equal times. For the durations of the natural processes of passing-away
and coming-to-be are equal. Nevertheless it Often happens that things
pass-away in too short a time. This is due to the 'intermingling'
by which the things that come-to-be and pass-away are implicated with
one another. For their matter is 'irregular', i.e. is not everywhere
the same: hence the processes by which they come-to-be must be 'irregular'
too, i.e. some too quick and others too slow. Consequently the phenomenon
in question occurs, because the 'irregular' coming-to-be of these
things is the passing-away of other things.

Coming-to-be and passing-away will, as we have said, always be continuous,
and will never fail owing to the cause we stated. And this continuity
has a sufficient reason on our theory. For in all things, as we affirm,
Nature always strives after 'the better'. Now 'being' (we have explained
elsewhere the exact variety of meanings we recognize in this term)
is better than 'not-being': but not all things can possess 'being',
since they are too far removed from the 'originative source. 'God
therefore adopted the remaining alternative, and fulfilled the perfection
of the universe by making coming-to-be uninterrupted: for the greatest
possible coherence would thus be secured to existence, because that
'coming-to-be should itself come-to-be perpetually' is the closest
approximation to eternal being.

The cause of this perpetuity of coming-to-be, as we have often said,
is circular motion: for that is the only motion which is continuous.
That, too, is why all the other things-the things, I mean, which are
reciprocally transformed in virtue of their 'passions' and their 'powers
of action' e.g. the 'simple' bodiesimitate circular motion. For when
Water is transformed into Air, Air into Fire, and the Fire back into
Water, we say the coming-to-be 'has completed the circle', because
it reverts again to the beginning. Hence it is by imitating circular
motion that rectilinear motion too is continuous.

These considerations serve at the same time to explain what is to
some people a baffling problem-viz. why the 'simple' bodies, since
each them is travelling towards its own place, have not become dissevered
from one another in the infinite lapse of time. The reason is their
reciprocal transformation. For, had each of them persisted in its
own place instead of being transformed by its neighbour, they would
have got dissevered long ago. They are transformed, however, owing
to the motion with its dual character: and because they are transformed,
none of them is able to persist in any place allotted to it by the
Order.

It is clear from what has been said (i) that coming-to-be and passing-away
actually occur, (ii) what causes them, and (iii) what subject undergoes
them. But (a) if there is to be movement (as we have explained elsewhere,
in an earlier work') there must be something which initiates it; if
there is to be movement always, there must always be something which
initiates it; if the movement is to be continuous, what initiates
it must be single, unmoved, ungenerated, and incapable of 'alteration';
and if the circular movements are more than one, their initiating
causes must all of them, in spite of their plurality, be in some way
subordinated to a single 'originative source'. Further (b) since time
is continuous, movement must be continuous, inasmuch as there can
be no time without movement. Time, therefore, is a 'number' of some
continuous movement-a 'number', therefore, of the circular movement,
as was established in the discussions at the beginning. But (c) is
movement continuous because of the continuity of that which is moved,
or because that in which the movement occurs (I mean, e.g. the place
or the quality) is continuous? The answer must clearly be 'because
that which is moved is continuous'. (For how can the quality be continuous
except in virtue of the continuity of the thing to which it belongs?
But if the continuity of 'that in which' contributes to make the movement
continuous, this is true only of 'the place in which'; for that has
'magnitude' in a sense.) But (d) amongst continuous bodies which are
moved, only that which is moved in a circle is 'continuous' in such
a way that it preserves its continuity with itself throughout the
movement. The conclusion therefore is that this is what produces continuous
movement, viz. the body which is being moved in a circle; and its
movement makes time continuous.

Part 11

Wherever there is continuity in any process (coming-to-be or 'alteration'
or any kind of change whatever) we observe consecutiveness', i.e.
this coming-to-be after that without any interval. Hence we must investigate
whether, amongst the consecutive members, there is any whose future
being is necessary; or whether, on the contrary, every one of them
may fail to come-to-be. For that some of them may fail to occur, is
clear. (a) We need only appeal to the distinction between the statements
'x will be' and 'x is about to which depends upon this fact. For if
it be true to say of x that it 'will be', it must at some time be
true to say of it that 'it is': whereas, though it be true to say
of x now that 'it is about to occur', it is quite possible for it
not to come-to-be-thus a man might not walk, though he is now 'about
to' walk. And (b) since (to appeal to a general principle) amongst
the things which 'are' some are capable also of 'not-being', it is
clear that the same ambiguous character will attach to them no less
when they are coming-to-be: in other words, their coming-to-be will
not be necessary.

Then are all the things that come-to-be of this contingent character?
Or, on the contrary, is it absolutely necessary for some of them to
come-to-be? Is there, in fact, a distinction in the field of 'coming-to-be'
corresponding to the distinction, within the field of 'being', between
things that cannot possibly 'not-be' and things that can 'not-be'?
For instance, is it necessary that solstices shall come-to-be, i.e.
impossible that they should fail to be able to occur?

Assuming that the antecedent must have come-to-be if the consequent
is to be (e.g. that foundations must have come-to-be if there is to
be a house: clay, if there are to be foundations), is the converse
also true? If foundations have come-to-be, must a house come-to-be?
The answer seems to be that the necessary nexus no longer holds, unless
it is 'necessary' for the consequent (as well as for the antecedent)
to come-to-be-'necessary' absolutely. If that be the case, however,
'a house must come to-be if foundations have come-to-be', as well
as vice versa. For the antecedent was assumed to be so related to
the consequent that, if the latter is to be, the antecedent must have
come-tobe before it. If, therefore, it is necessary that the consequent
should come-to-be, the antecedent also must have come-to-be: and if
the antecedent has come-to-be, then the consequent also must come-to-be-not,
however, because of the antecedent, but because the future being of
the consequent was assumed as necessary. Hence, in any sequence, when
the being of the consequent is necessary, the nexus is reciprocal-in
other words, when the antecedent has come-to-be the consequent must
always come-to-be too.

Now (i) if the sequence of occurrences is to proceed ad infinitum
'downwards', the coming to-be of any determinate 'this' amongst the
later members of the sequence will not be absolutely, but only conditionally,
necessary. For it will always be necessary that some other member
shall have come-to-be before 'this' as the presupposed condition of
the necessity that 'this' should come-to-be: consequently, since what
is 'infinite' has no 'originative source', neither will there be in
the infinite sequence any 'primary' member which will make it 'necessary'
for the remaining members to come-to-be.

Nor again (ii) will it be possible to say with truth, even in regard
to the members of a limited sequence, that it is 'absolutely necessary'
for any one of them to come-to-be. We cannot truly say, e.g. that
'it is absolutely necessary for a house to come-to-be when foundations
have been laid': for (unless it is always necessary for a house to
be coming-to-be) we should be faced with the consequence that, when
foundations have been laid, a thing, which need not always be, must
always be. No: if its coming-to-be is to be 'necessary', it must be
'always' in its coming-to-be. For what is 'of necessity' coincides
with what is 'always', since that which 'must be' cannot possibly
'not-be'. Hence a thing is eternal if its 'being' is necessary: and
if it is eternal, its 'being' is necessary. And if, therefore, the
'coming-to-be' of a thing is necessary, its 'coming-to-be' is eternal;
and if eternal, necessary.

It follows that the coming-to-be of anything, if it is absolutely
necessary, must be cyclical-i.e. must return upon itself. For coming
to-be must either be limited or not limited: and if not limited, it
must be either rectilinear or cyclical. But the first of these last
two alternatives is impossible if coming-to-be is to be eternal, because
there could not be any 'originative source' whatever in an infinite
rectilinear sequence, whether its members be taken 'downwards' (as
future events) or 'upwards' (as past events). Yet coming-to-be must
have an 'originative source' (if it is to be necessary and therefore
eternal), nor can it be eternal if it is limited. Consequently it
must be cyclical. Hence the nexus must be reciprocal. By this I mean
that the necessary occurrence of 'this' involves the necessary occurrence
of its antecedent: and conversely that, given the antecedent, it is
also necessary for the consequent to come-to-be. And this reciprocal
nexus will hold continuously throughout the sequence: for it makes
no difference whether the reciprocal nexus, of which we are speaking,
is mediated by two, or by many, members.

It is in circular movement, therefore, and in cyclical coming-to-be
that the 'absolutely necessary' is to be found. In other words, if
the coming-to-be of any things is cyclical, it is 'necessary' that
each of them is coming-to-be and has come-to-be: and if the coming-to-be
of any things is 'necessary', their coming-to-be is cyclical.

The result we have reached is logically concordant with the eternity
of circular motion, i.e. the eternity of the revolution of the heavens
(a fact which approved itself on other and independent evidence),'
since precisely those movements which belong to, and depend upon,
this eternal revolution 'come-to-be' of necessity, and of necessity
'will be'. For since the revolving body is always setting something
else in motion, the movement of the things it moves must also be circular.
Thus, from the being of the 'upper revolution' it follows that the
sun revolves in this determinate manner; and since the sun revolves
thus, the seasons in consequence come-to-be in a cycle, i.e. return
upon themselves; and since they come-to-be cyclically, so in their
turn do the things whose coming-to-be the seasons initiate.

Then why do some things manifestly come to-be in this cyclical fashion
(as, e.g. showers and air, so that it must rain if there is to be
a cloud and, conversely, there must be a cloud if it is to rain),
while men and animals do not 'return upon themselves' so that the
same individual comes-to-be a second time (for though your coming-to-be
presupposes your father's, his coming-to-be does not presuppose yours)?
Why, on the contrary, does this coming-to-be seem to constitute a
rectilinear sequence?

In discussing this new problem, we must begin by inquiring whether
all things 'return upon themselves' in a uniform manner; or whether,
on the contrary, though in some sequences what recurs is numerically
the same, in other sequences it is the same only in species. In consequence
of this distinction, it is evident that those things, whose 'substance'-that
which is undergoing the process-is imperishable, will be numerically,
as well as specifically, the same in their recurrence: for the character
of the process is determined by the character of that which undergoes
it. Those things, on the other hand, whose 'substance' is perish,
able (not imperishable) must 'return upon themselves' in the sense
that what recurs, though specifically the same, is not the same numerically.
That why, when Water comes-to-be from Air and Air from Water, the
Air is the same 'specifically', not 'numerically': and if these too
recur numerically the same, at any rate this does not happen with
things whose 'substance' comes-to-be-whose 'substance' is such that
it is essentially capable of not-being.

THE END



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Translation of "The Deeds of the Divine Augustus" by Augustus is
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