I apologize for the long gap in between posts. This past Autumn quarter I took a mandatory Greek poetry survey course which took up 3-5 hours a day, and combined with my other two courses, this unsurprisingly left me little time to eat or breathe, much less consistently develop the blog! However, this next quarter is shaping up to be much easier and I expect that I will be able to post regularly. (And if you a wondering, thankfully I got an A in that class.)
What is Aether in Aristotle and Plato (and Hesiod)?
Here we have three accounts: Aristotle, Plato and Hesiod, on the etymology of aether. Despite being the non-philosopher, with typically non-rational, mythological explanations, guess who comes closest to the correct explanation as originating from aitho (αἴθω) light up, kindle and in the passive (αἴθομαι) burn, blaze? On a related and decidedly politically incorrect note, the Greek name for Ethiopians is literally “[sun]burnt face.”
We call the substance of the heaven and stars “aether,” not as some do, because it burns (aithesthai), being fire-like, although they are wrong about this ability, which is confused for fire’s, but because it is always moving (aei thein), being carried in a circular motion, being an element different than the four, unmixed and divine. (Aristotle, On the Cosmos, 392a) [1]
I construe “aether” in this way, that it is always running (aei thei), because it flows around the air (aera reon), so it would justly be called aeitheer. (Plato, Cratylus, 410b) [2]
and in turn Aether and Day came forth from Night,
whom she gave birth to after mingling in love with Erebus…
(Hesiod, Theogony, 124-125) [3]
We can see here that, although not explicit, Hediod’s account, which pairs Day and Aether together, clearly considers Aether to be something like “shining” or “brightness,” in contrast to the blackness of Night, from which every day, and its light, comes forth.
Hesiod appears to be the clear winner, although to be fair, Aristotle is usually not taken to be the author of On The Cosmos.
REFERENCES
[1] Οὐρανοῦ δὲ καὶ ἄστρων οὐσίαν μὲν αἰθέρα καλοῦμεν, οὐχ, ὥς τινες, διὰ τὸ πυρώδη οὖσαν αἴθεσθαι, πλημμελοῦντες περὶ τὴν πλεῖστον πυρὸς ἀπηλλαγμένην δύναμιν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ θεῖν κυκλοφορουμένην, στοιχεῖον οὖσαν ἕτερον τῶν τεττάρων, ἀκήρατόν τε καὶ θεῖον.
[2] τὸν δὲ αἰθέρα τῇδέ πῃ ὑπολαμβάνω, ὅτι ἀεὶ θεῖ περὶ τὸν ἀέρα ῥέων ἀειθεὴρ δικαίως ἂν καλοῖτο.
[3] Νυκτὸς δ᾿ αὖτ᾿ Αἰθήρ τε καὶ Ἡμέρη ἐξεγένοντο,
οὓς τέκε κυσαμένη Ἐρέβει φιλότητι μιγεῖσα..
The “Verbatim Standard” of Quoting Texts
You construe it exactly, Theatetus. For I say it is necessary for us to make the path in this way, as if they were present while we learn by asking them (translation mine, Sophist, 243d6-8). [1]
In the previous post I discussed the infamous critique of writing from Plato’s dialogue, the Phaedrus. Much of the gravity of Plato’s critique depends on the conviction that the written word is an inadequate representation of the language breathed by a real-life author. Of course, for this to have its proper impact, the author is, metaphorically, the master, while the text is the slave. That is, the text is fully subordinate to the designs of the author, to whom we should really or imaginatively direct our questions and critiques.
One non-obvious consequence that follows from such a view is the principle of charity. When a given text is like an envoy, limited in the expression of official policy, we will not attack vulnerable nouns and verbs to manipulate into contradiction. We are to understand, or imagine, that the author would readily refute our misunderstandings or mischaracterizations.
Yet there is another aspect in the critique of writing relating to how we do the history of philosophy. Some would claim, as I have written before, that “ancient philosophy” is not out there as a hunted animal to be found, but it must be created from a dilapidated carcass, more or less well as it turns out, if we are bad or good reconstructive taxidermists. An extreme, yet not unfamiliar version is that the text can be nothing until it is interpreted in some way–– meaning not that there is always a need for a reader, but that the reader has the freedom to call forth a privileged reading of the text exclusively, and perhaps non-critically, available only to himself.
If one is committed to this view about texts though, there is actually little to encourage him to reference an opponent’s actual words. That is, verbatim citation is superfluous and rudimentary: what is valuable is the textual chemistry that has been brought into being, the ingredients which spurred the reading are merely an intellectual curio. Nor would it seem very fruitful to excavate the means by which the reader arrived at the particular interpretation, for this would involve an impossible penetration into the workings of an idiosyncratic mind and a dynamic text. Furthermore there would be little ground to stand on to support the criticism, as there often is now, about Plato or Aristotle for instance, who seem to have loose criteria for what qualifies as quotations. If a loyal reading of Parmenides emerges for Plato, then his lack of accuracy when it comes to quotations is unproblematic. On the other hand, if Plato’s reading of Parmenides does not maintain a certain fidelity to its source, then this does not matter either, for on the view we have been considering, there is no such original entity, nor, we may assume, is there an author of something which does not exist.
REFERENCES:
[1] Κατὰ πόδα γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὑπέλαβες. λέγω γὰρ
δὴ ταύτῃ δεῖν ποιεῖσθαι τὴν μέθοδον ἡμᾶς, οἷον αὐτῶν
παρόντων ἀναπυνθανομένους ὧδε·