Bot-S: The Complete Works of Aristotle

Or if it is B which has a genus D, we have

all B is D,
no D is A,
therefore no B is A, by syllogism;

and the proof will be similar if both A and B have a genus. That the genus of A need not be the genus of B
and vice versa, is shown by the existence of mutually exclusive coordinate series of predication. If no term in
the series ACD...is predicable of any term in the series BEF...,and if G-a term in the former series-is the
genus of A, clearly G will not be the genus of B; since, if it were, the series would not be mutually exclusive.
So also if B has a genus, it will not be the genus of A. If, on the other hand, neither A nor B has a genus and
A does not inhere in B, this disconnexion must be atomic. If there be a middle term, one or other of them is
bound to have a genus, for the syllogism will be either in the first or the second figure. If it is in the first, B
will have a genus-for the premiss containing it must be affirmative: if in the second, either A or B
indifferently, since syllogism is possible if either is contained in a negative premiss, but not if both premisses
are negative.

Hence it is clear that one thing may be atomically disconnected from another, and we have stated when and
how this is possible.

Ignorance-defined not as the negation of knowledge but as a positive state of mind-is error produced by
inference.

(1) Let us first consider propositions asserting a predicate's immediate connexion with or disconnexion from
a subject. Here, it is true, positive error may befall one in alternative ways; for it may arise where one directly
believes a connexion or disconnexion as well as where one's belief is acquired by inference. The error,
however, that consists in a direct belief is without complication; but the error resulting from inference-which
here concerns us-takes many forms. Thus, let A be atomically disconnected from all B: then the conclusion
inferred through a middle term C, that all B is A, will be a case of error produced by syllogism. Now, two
cases are possible. Either (a) both premisses, or (b) one premiss only, may be false, (a) If neither A is an
attribute of any C nor C of any B, whereas the contrary was posited in both cases, both premisses will be
false. (C may quite well be so related to A and B that C is neither subordinate to A nor a universal attribute of

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B: for B, since A was said to be primarily disconnected from B, cannot have a genus, and A need not
necessarily be a universal attribute of all things. Consequently both premisses may be false.) On the other
hand, (b) one of the premisses may be true, though not either indifferently but only the major A-C since, B
having no genus, the premiss C-B will always be false, while A-C may be true. This is the case if, for
example, A is related atomically to both C and B; because when the same term is related atomically to more
terms than one, neither of those terms will belong to the other. It is, of course, equally the case if A-C is not
atomic.

Error of attribution, then, occurs through these causes and in this form only-for we found that no syllogism
of universal attribution was possible in any figure but the first. On the other hand, an error of non-attribution
may occur either in the first or in the second figure. Let us therefore first explain the various forms it takes in
the first figure and the character of the premisses in each case.

(c) It may occur when both premisses are false; e.g. supposing A atomically connected with both C and B, if
it be then assumed that no C is and all B is C, both premisses are false.

(d) It is also possible when one is false. This may be either premiss indifferently. A-C may be true, C-B
false-A-C true because A is not an attribute of all things, C-B false because C, which never has the attribute
A, cannot be an attribute of B; for if C-B were true, the premiss A-C would no longer be true, and besides if
both premisses were true, the conclusion would be true. Or again, C-B may be true and A-C false; e.g. if
both C and A contain B as genera, one of them must be subordinate to the other, so that if the premiss takes
the form No C is A, it will be false. This makes it clear that whether either or both premisses are false, the
conclusion will equally be false.

In the second figure the premisses cannot both be wholly false; for if all B is A, no middle term can be with
truth universally affirmed of one extreme and universally denied of the other: but premisses in which the
middle is affirmed of one extreme and denied of the other are the necessary condition if one is to get a valid
inference at all. Therefore if, taken in this way, they are wholly false, their contraries conversely should be
wholly true. But this is impossible. On the other hand, there is nothing to prevent both premisses being
partially false; e.g. if actually some A is C and some B is C, then if it is premised that all A is C and no B is
C, both premisses are false, yet partially, not wholly, false. The same is true if the major is made negative
instead of the minor. Or one premiss may be wholly false, and it may be either of them. Thus, supposing that
actually an attribute of all A must also be an attribute of all B, then if C is yet taken to be a universal attribute
of all but universally non-attributable to B, C-A will be true but C-B false. Again, actually that which is an
attribute of no B will not be an attribute of all A either; for if it be an attribute of all A, it will also be an
attribute of all B, which is contrary to supposition; but if C be nevertheless assumed to be a universal attribute
of A, but an attribute of no B, then the premiss C-B is true but the major is false. The case is similar if the
major is made the negative premiss. For in fact what is an attribute of no A will not be an attribute of any B
either; and if it be yet assumed that C is universally non- attributable to A, but a universal attribute of B, the
premiss C-A is true but the minor wholly false. Again, in fact it is false to assume that that which is an
attribute of all B is an attribute of no A, for if it be an attribute of all B, it must be an attribute of some A. If
then C is nevertheless assumed to be an attribute of all B but of no A, C-B will be true but C-A false.

It is thus clear that in the case of atomic propositions erroneous inference will be possible not only when both
premisses are false but also when only one is false.

In the case of attributes not atomically connected with or disconnected from their subjects, (a) (i) as long as
the false conclusion is inferred through the 'appropriate' middle, only the major and not both premisses can be

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false. By 'appropriate middle' I mean the middle term through which the contradictory-i.e. the
true-conclusion is inferrible. Thus, let A be attributable to B through a middle term C: then, since to produce
a conclusion the premiss C-B must be taken affirmatively, it is clear that this premiss must always be true,
for its quality is not changed. But the major A-C is false, for it is by a change in the quality of A-C that the
conclusion becomes its contradictory-i.e. true. Similarly (ii) if the middle is taken from another series of
predication; e.g. suppose D to be not only contained within A as a part within its whole but also predicable of
all B. Then the premiss D-B must remain unchanged, but the quality of A-D must be changed; so that D-B
is always true, A-D always false. Such error is practically identical with that which is inferred through the
'appropriate' middle. On the other hand, (b) if the conclusion is not inferred through the 'appropriate'
middle-(i) when the middle is subordinate to A but is predicable of no B, both premisses must be false,
because if there is to be a conclusion both must be posited as asserting the contrary of what is actually the
fact, and so posited both become false: e.g. suppose that actually all D is A but no B is D; then if these
premisses are changed in quality, a conclusion will follow and both of the new premisses will be false. When,
however, (ii) the middle D is not subordinate to A, A-D will be true, D-B false-A-D true because A was not
subordinate to D, D-B false because if it had been true, the conclusion too would have been true; but it is ex
hypothesi false.

When the erroneous inference is in the second figure, both premisses cannot be entirely false; since if B is
subordinate to A, there can be no middle predicable of all of one extreme and of none of the other, as was
stated before. One premiss, however, may be false, and it may be either of them. Thus, if C is actually an
attribute of both A and B, but is assumed to be an attribute of A only and not of B, C-A will be true, C-B
false: or again if C be assumed to be attributable to B but to no A, C-B will be true, C-A false.

We have stated when and through what kinds of premisses error will result in cases where the erroneous
conclusion is negative. If the conclusion is affirmative, (a) (i) it may be inferred through the 'appropriate'
middle term. In this case both premisses cannot be false since, as we said before, C-B must remain
unchanged if there is to be a conclusion, and consequently A-C, the quality of which is changed, will always
be false. This is equally true if (ii) the middle is taken from another series of predication, as was stated to be
the case also with regard to negative error; for D-B must remain unchanged, while the quality of A-D must
be converted, and the type of error is the same as before.

(b) The middle may be inappropriate. Then (i) if D is subordinate to A, A-D will be true, but D-B false;
since A may quite well be predicable of several terms no one of which can be subordinated to another. If,
however, (ii) D is not subordinate to A, obviously A-D, since it is affirmed, will always be false, while D-B
may be either true or false; for A may very well be an attribute of no D, whereas all B is D, e.g. no science is
animal, all music is science. Equally well A may be an attribute of no D, and D of no B. It emerges, then, that
if the middle term is not subordinate to the major, not only both premisses but either singly may be false.

Thus we have made it clear how many varieties of erroneous inference are liable to happen and through what
kinds of premisses they occur, in the case both of immediate and of demonstrable truths.

It is also clear that the loss of any one of the senses entails the loss of a corresponding portion of knowledge,
and that, since we learn either by induction or by demonstration, this knowledge cannot be acquired. Thus
demonstration develops from universals, induction from particulars; but since it is possible to familiarize the
pupil with even the so-called mathematical abstractions only through induction-i.e. only because each
subject genus possesses, in virtue of a determinate mathematical character, certain properties which can be
treated as separate even though they do not exist in isolation-it is consequently impossible to come to grasp
universals except through induction. But induction is impossible for those who have not sense-perception.

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For it is sense-perception alone which is adequate for grasping the particulars: they cannot be objects of
scientific knowledge, because neither can universals give us knowledge of them without induction, nor can
we get it through induction without sense-perception.

Every syllogism is effected by means of three terms. One kind of syllogism serves to prove that A inheres in
C by showing that A inheres in B and B in C; the other is negative and one of its premisses asserts one term
of another, while the other denies one term of another. It is clear, then, that these are the fundamentals and
so-called hypotheses of syllogism. Assume them as they have been stated, and proof is bound to
follow-proof that A inheres in C through B, and again that A inheres in B through some other middle term,
and similarly that B inheres in C. If our reasoning aims at gaining credence and so is merely dialectical, it is
obvious that we have only to see that our inference is based on premisses as credible as possible: so that if a
middle term between A and B is credible though not real, one can reason through it and complete a dialectical
syllogism. If, however, one is aiming at truth, one must be guided by the real connexions of subjects and
attributes. Thus: since there are attributes which are predicated of a subject essentially or naturally and not
coincidentally-not, that is, in the sense in which we say 'That white (thing) is a man', which is not the same
mode of predication as when we say 'The man is white': the man is white not because he is something else but
because he is man, but the white is man because 'being white' coincides with 'humanity' within one
substratum-therefore there are terms such as are naturally subjects of predicates. Suppose, then, C such a
term not itself attributable to anything else as to a subject, but the proximate subject of the attribute B — i.e.
so that B-C is immediate; suppose further E related immediately to F, and F to B. The first question is, must
this series terminate, or can it proceed to infinity? The second question is as follows: Suppose nothing is
essentially predicated of A, but A is predicated primarily of H and of no intermediate prior term, and suppose
H similarly related to G and G to B; then must this series also terminate, or can it too proceed to infinity?
There is this much difference between the questions: the first is, is it possible to start from that which is not
itself attributable to anything else but is the subject of attributes, and ascend to infinity? The second is the
problem whether one can start from that which is a predicate but not itself a subject of predicates, and
descend to infinity? A third question is, if the extreme terms are fixed, can there be an infinity of middles? I
mean this: suppose for example that A inheres in C and B is intermediate between them, but between B and A
there are other middles, and between these again fresh middles; can these proceed to infinity or can they not?
This is the equivalent of inquiring, do demonstrations proceed to infinity, i.e. is everything demonstrable? Or
do ultimate subject and primary attribute limit one another?

I hold that the same questions arise with regard to negative conclusions and premisses: viz. if A is attributable
to no B, then either this predication will be primary, or there will be an intermediate term prior to B to which
a is not attributable-G, let us say, which is attributable to all B-and there may still be another term H prior to
G, which is attributable to all G. The same questions arise, I say, because in these cases too either the series
of prior terms to which a is not attributable is infinite or it terminates.

One cannot ask the same questions in the case of reciprocating terms, since when subject and predicate are
convertible there is neither primary nor ultimate subject, seeing that all the reciprocals qua subjects stand in
the same relation to one another, whether we say that the subject has an infinity of attributes or that both
subjects and attributes-and we raised the question in both cases-are infinite in number. These questions then
cannot be asked-unless, indeed, the terms can reciprocate by two different modes, by accidental predication
in one relation and natural predication in the other.

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Now, it is clear that if the predications terminate in both the upward and the downward direction (by 'upward'
I mean the ascent to the more universal, by 'downward' the descent to the more particular), the middle terms
cannot be infinite in number. For suppose that A is predicated of F, and that the intermediates-call them
BB'B"...-are infinite, then clearly you might descend from and find one term predicated of another ad
infinitum, since you have an infinity of terms between you and F; and equally, if you ascend from F, there are
infinite terms between you and A. It follows that if these processes are impossible there cannot be an infinity
of intermediates between A and F. Nor is it of any effect to urge that some terms of the series AB...Fare
contiguous so as to exclude intermediates, while others cannot be taken into the argument at all: whichever
terms of the series B...I take, the number of intermediates in the direction either of A or of F must be finite or
infinite: where the infinite series starts, whether from the first term or from a later one, is of no moment, for
the succeeding terms in any case are infinite in number.

Further, if in affirmative demonstration the series terminates in both directions, clearly it will terminate too in
negative demonstration. Let us assume that we cannot proceed to infinity either by ascending from the
ultimate term (by 'ultimate term' I mean a term such as was, not itself attributable to a subject but itself the
subject of attributes), or by descending towards an ultimate from the primary term (by 'primary term' I mean a
term predicable of a subject but not itself a subject). If this assumption is justified, the series will also
terminate in the case of negation. For a negative conclusion can be proved in all three figures. In the first
figure it is proved thus: no B is A, all C is B. In packing the interval B-C we must reach immediate
propositions — as is always the case with the minor premiss — since B-C is affirmative. As regards the other
premiss it is plain that if the major term is denied of a term D prior to B, D will have to be predicable of all B,
and if the major is denied of yet another term prior to D, this term must be predicable of all D. Consequently,
since the ascending series is finite, the descent will also terminate and there will be a subject of which A is
primarily non-predicable. In the second figure the syllogism is, all A is B, no C is B,..no C is A. If proof of
this is required, plainly it may be shown either in the first figure as above, in the second as here, or in the
third. The first figure has been discussed, and we will proceed to display the second, proof by which will be
as follows: all B is D, no C is D..., since it is required that B should be a subject of which a predicate is
affirmed. Next, since D is to be proved not to belong to C, then D has a further predicate which is denied of
C. Therefore, since the succession of predicates affirmed of an ever higher universal terminates, the
succession of predicates denied terminates too.

The third figure shows it as follows: all B is A, some B is not C. Therefore some A is not C. This premiss, i.e.
C-B, will be proved either in the same figure or in one of the two figures discussed above. In the first and
second figures the series terminates. If we use the third figure, we shall take as premisses, all E is B, some E
is not C, and this premiss again will be proved by a similar prosyllogism. But since it is assumed that the
series of descending subjects also terminates, plainly the series of more universal non-predicables will
terminate also. Even supposing that the proof is not confined to one method, but employs them all and is now
in the first figure, now in the second or third-even so the regress will terminate, for the methods are finite in
number, and if finite things are combined in a finite number of ways, the result must be finite.

Thus it is plain that the regress of middles terminates in the case of negative demonstration, if it does so also
in the case of affirmative demonstration. That in fact the regress terminates in both these cases may be made
clear by the following dialectical considerations.

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In the case of predicates constituting the essential nature of a thing, it clearly terminates, seeing that if
definition is possible, or in other words, if essential form is knowable, and an infinite series cannot be
traversed, predicates constituting a thing's essential nature must be finite in number. But as regards predicates
generally we have the following prefatory remarks to make. (1) We can affirm without falsehood 'the white
(thing) is walking', and that big (thing) is a log'; or again, 'the log is big', and 'the man walks'. But the
affirmation differs in the two cases. When I affirm 'the white is a log', I mean that something which happens
to be white is a log-not that white is the substratum in which log inheres, for it was not qua white or qua a
species of white that the white (thing) came to be a log, and the white (thing) is consequently not a log except
incidentally. On the other hand, when I affirm 'the log is white', I do not mean that something else, which
happens also to be a log, is white (as I should if I said 'the musician is white,' which would mean 'the man
who happens also to be a musician is white'); on the contrary, log is here the substratum-the substratum
which actually came to be white, and did so qua wood or qua a species of wood and qua nothing else.

If we must lay down a rule, let us entitle the latter kind of statement predication, and the former not
predication at all, or not strict but accidental predication. 'White' and 'log' will thus serve as types respectively
of predicate and subject.

We shall assume, then, that the predicate is invariably predicated strictly and not accidentally of the subject,
for on such predication demonstrations depend for their force. It follows from this that when a single attribute
is predicated of a single subject, the predicate must affirm of the subject either some element constituting its
essential nature, or that it is in some way qualified, quantified, essentially related, active, passive, placed, or
dated.

(2) Predicates which signify substance signify that the subject is identical with the predicate or with a species
of the predicate. Predicates not signifying substance which are predicated of a subject not identical with
themselves or with a species of themselves are accidental or coincidental; e.g. white is a coincident of man,
seeing that man is not identical with white or a species of white, but rather with animal, since man is identical
with a species of animal. These predicates which do not signify substance must be predicates of some other
subject, and nothing can be white which is not also other than white. The Forms we can dispense with, for
they are mere sound without sense; and even if there are such things, they are not relevant to our discussion,
since demonstrations are concerned with predicates such as we have defined.

(3) If A is a quality of B, B cannot be a quality of A-a quality of a quality. Therefore A and B cannot be
predicated reciprocally of one another in strict predication: they can be affirmed without falsehood of one
another, but not genuinely predicated of each other. For one alternative is that they should be substantially
predicated of one another, i.e. B would become the genus or differentia of A-the predicate now become
subject. But it has been shown that in these substantial predications neither the ascending predicates nor the
descending subjects form an infinite series; e.g. neither the series, man is biped, biped is animal, nor the
series predicating animal of man, man of Callias, Callias of a further, subject as an element of its essential
nature, is infinite. For all such substance is definable, and an infinite series cannot be traversed in thought:
consequently neither the ascent nor the descent is infinite, since a substance whose predicates were infinite
would not be definable. Hence they will not be predicated each as the genus of the other; for this would
equate a genus with one of its own species. Nor (the other alternative) can a quale be reciprocally predicated
of a quale, nor any term belonging to an adjectival category of another such term, except by accidental
predication; for all such predicates are coincidents and are predicated of substances. On the other hand-in
proof of the impossibility of an infinite ascending series-every predication displays the subject as somehow
qualified or quantified or as characterized under one of the other adjectival categories, or else is an element in
its substantial nature: these latter are limited in number, and the number of the widest kinds under which

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predications fall is also limited, for every predication must exhibit its subject as somehow qualified,
quantified, essentially related, acting or suffering, or in some place or at some time.

I assume first that predication implies a single subject and a single attribute, and secondly that predicates
which are not substantial are not predicated of one another. We assume this because such predicates are all
coincidents, and though some are essential coincidents, others of a different type, yet we maintain that all of
them alike are predicated of some substratum and that a coincident is never a substratum-since we do not
class as a coincident anything which does not owe its designation to its being something other than itself, but
always hold that any coincident is predicated of some substratum other than itself, and that another group of
coincidents may have a different substratum. Subject to these assumptions then, neither the ascending nor the
descending series of predication in which a single attribute is predicated of a single subject is infinite. For the
subjects of which coincidents are predicated are as many as the constitutive elements of each individual
substance, and these we have seen are not infinite in number, while in the ascending series are contained
those constitutive elements with their coincidents-both of which are finite. We conclude that there is a given
subject (D) of which some attribute (C) is primarily predicable; that there must be an attribute (B) primarily
predicable of the first attribute, and that the series must end with a term (A) not predicable of any term prior
to the last subject of which it was predicated (B), and of which no term prior to it is predicable.

The argument we have given is one of the so-called proofs; an alternative proof follows. Predicates so related
to their subjects that there are other predicates prior to them predicable of those subjects are demonstrable;
but of demonstrable propositions one cannot have something better than knowledge, nor can one know them
without demonstration. Secondly, if a consequent is only known through an antecedent (viz. premisses prior
to it) and we neither know this antecedent nor have something better than knowledge of it, then we shall not
have scientific knowledge of the consequent. Therefore, if it is possible through demonstration to know
anything without qualification and not merely as dependent on the acceptance of certain premisses-i.e.
hypothetically-the series of intermediate predications must terminate. If it does not terminate, and beyond
any predicate taken as higher than another there remains another still higher, then every predicate is
demonstrable. Consequently, since these demonstrable predicates are infinite in number and therefore cannot
be traversed, we shall not know them by demonstration. If, therefore, we have not something better than
knowledge of them, we cannot through demonstration have unqualified but only hypothetical science of
anything.

As dialectical proofs of our contention these may carry conviction, but an analytic process will show more
briefly that neither the ascent nor the descent of predication can be infinite in the demonstrative sciences
which are the object of our investigation. Demonstration proves the inherence of essential attributes in things.
Now attributes may be essential for two reasons: either because they are elements in the essential nature of
their subjects, or because their subjects are elements in their essential nature. An example of the latter is odd
as an attribute of number-though it is number's attribute, yet number itself is an element in the definition of
odd; of the former, multiplicity or the indivisible, which are elements in the definition of number. In neither
kind of attribution can the terms be infinite. They are not infinite where each is related to the term below it as
odd is to number, for this would mean the inherence in odd of another attribute of odd in whose nature odd
was an essential element: but then number will be an ultimate subject of the whole infinite chain of attributes,
and be an element in the definition of each of them. Hence, since an infinity of attributes such as contain their
subject in their definition cannot inhere in a single thing, the ascending series is equally finite. Note,
moreover, that all such attributes must so inhere in the ultimate subject-e.g. its attributes in number and
number in them-as to be commensurate with the subject and not of wider extent. Attributes which are
essential elements in the nature of their subjects are equally finite: otherwise definition would be impossible.
Hence, if all the attributes predicated are essential and these cannot be infinite, the ascending series will
terminate, and consequently the descending series too.

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If this is so, it follows that the intermediates between any two terms are also always limited in number. An
immediately obvious consequence of this is that demonstrations necessarily involve basic truths, and that the
contention of some-referred to at the outset-that all truths are demonstrable is mistaken. For if there are basic
truths, (a) not all truths are demonstrable, and (b) an infinite regress is impossible; since if either (a) or (b)
were not a fact, it would mean that no interval was immediate and indivisible, but that all intervals were
divisible. This is true because a conclusion is demonstrated by the interposition, not the apposition, of a fresh
term. If such interposition could continue to infinity there might be an infinite number of terms between any
two terms; but this is impossible if both the ascending and descending series of predication terminate; and of
this fact, which before was shown dialectically, analytic proof has now been given.

It is an evident corollary of these conclusions that if the same attribute A inheres in two terms C and D
predicable either not at all, or not of all instances, of one another, it does not always belong to them in virtue
of a common middle term. Isosceles and scalene possess the attribute of having their angles equal to two right
angles in virtue of a common middle; for they possess it in so far as they are both a certain kind of figure, and
not in so far as they differ from one another. But this is not always the case: for, were it so, if we take B as the
common middle in virtue of which A inheres in C and D, clearly B would inhere in C and D through a second
common middle, and this in turn would inhere in C and D through a third, so that between two terms an
infinity of intermediates would fall-an impossibility. Thus it need not always be in virtue of a common
middle term that a single attribute inheres in several subjects, since there must be immediate intervals. Yet if
the attribute to be proved common to two subjects is to be one of their essential attributes, the middle terms
involved must be within one subject genus and be derived from the same group of immediate premisses; for
we have seen that processes of proof cannot pass from one genus to another.

It is also clear that when A inheres in B, this can be demonstrated if there is a middle term. Further, the
'elements' of such a conclusion are the premisses containing the middle in question, and they are identical in
number with the middle terms, seeing that the immediate propositions-or at least such immediate
propositions as are universal-are the 'elements'. If, on the other hand, there is no middle term, demonstration
ceases to be possible: we are on the way to the basic truths. Similarly if A does not inhere in B, this can be
demonstrated if there is a middle term or a term prior to B in which A does not inhere: otherwise there is no
demonstration and a basic truth is reached. There are, moreover, as many 'elements' of the demonstrated
conclusion as there are middle terms, since it is propositions containing these middle terms that are the basic
premisses on which the demonstration rests; and as there are some indemonstrable basic truths asserting that
'this is that' or that 'this inheres in that', so there are others denying that 'this is that' or that 'this inheres in
that' -in fact some basic truths will affirm and some will deny being.

When we are to prove a conclusion, we must take a primary essential predicate-suppose it C-of the subject
B, and then suppose A similarly predicable of C. If we proceed in this manner, no proposition or attribute
which falls beyond A is admitted in the proof: the interval is constantly condensed until subject and predicate
become indivisible, i.e. one. We have our unit when the premiss becomes immediate, since the immediate
premiss alone is a single premiss in the unqualified sense of 'single'. And as in other spheres the basic element
is simple but not identical in all-in a system of weight it is the mina, in music the quarter-tone, and so
on — so in syllogism the unit is an immediate premiss, and in the knowledge that demonstration gives it is an
intuition. In syllogisms, then, which prove the inherence of an attribute, nothing falls outside the major term.
In the case of negative syllogisms on the other hand, (1) in the first figure nothing falls outside the major term
whose inherence is in question; e.g. to prove through a middle C that A does not inhere in B the premisses
required are, all B is C, no C is A. Then if it has to be proved that no C is A, a middle must be found between
and C; and this procedure will never vary.

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(2) If we have to show that E is not D by means of the premisses, all D is C; no E, or not all E, is C; then the
middle will never fall beyond E, and E is the subject of which D is to be denied in the conclusion.

(3) In the third figure the middle will never fall beyond the limits of the subject and the attribute denied of it.

Since demonstrations may be either commensurately universal or particular, and either affirmative or
negative; the question arises, which form is the better? And the same question may be put in regard to
so-called 'direct' demonstration and reductio ad impossibile. Let us first examine the commensurately
universal and the particular forms, and when we have cleared up this problem proceed to discuss 'direct'
demonstration and reductio ad impossibile.

The following considerations might lead some minds to prefer particular demonstration.

(1) The superior demonstration is the demonstration which gives us greater knowledge (for this is the ideal of
demonstration), and we have greater knowledge of a particular individual when we know it in itself than
when we know it through something else; e.g. we know Coriscus the musician better when we know that
Coriscus is musical than when we know only that man is musical, and a like argument holds in all other
cases. But commensurately universal demonstration, instead of proving that the subject itself actually is x,
proves only that something else is x- e.g. in attempting to prove that isosceles is x, it proves not that isosceles
but only that triangle is x- whereas particular demonstration proves that the subject itself is x. The
demonstration, then, that a subject, as such, possesses an attribute is superior. If this is so, and if the particular
rather than the commensurately universal forms demonstrates, particular demonstration is superior.

(2) The universal has not a separate being over against groups of singulars. Demonstration nevertheless
creates the opinion that its function is conditioned by something like this-some separate entity belonging to
the real world; that, for instance, of triangle or of figure or number, over against particular triangles, figures,
and numbers. But demonstration which touches the real and will not mislead is superior to that which moves
among unrealities and is delusory. Now commensurately universal demonstration is of the latter kind: if we
engage in it we find ourselves reasoning after a fashion well illustrated by the argument that the proportionate
is what answers to the definition of some entity which is neither line, number, solid, nor plane, but a
proportionate apart from all these. Since, then, such a proof is characteristically commensurate and universal,
and less touches reality than does particular demonstration, and creates a false opinion, it will follow that
commensurate and universal is inferior to particular demonstration.

We may retort thus. (1) The first argument applies no more to commensurate and universal than to particular
demonstration. If equality to two right angles is attributable to its subject not qua isosceles but qua triangle,
he who knows that isosceles possesses that attribute knows the subject as qua itself possessing the attribute,
to a less degree than he who knows that triangle has that attribute. To sum up the whole matter: if a subject is
proved to possess qua triangle an attribute which it does not in fact possess qua triangle, that is not
demonstration: but if it does possess it qua triangle the rule applies that the greater knowledge is his who
knows the subject as possessing its attribute qua that in virtue of which it actually does possess it. Since, then,
triangle is the wider term, and there is one identical definition of triangle-i.e. the term is not equivocal-and
since equality to two right angles belongs to all triangles, it is isosceles qua triangle and not triangle qua
isosceles which has its angles so related. It follows that he who knows a connexion universally has greater
knowledge of it as it in fact is than he who knows the particular; and the inference is that commensurate and
universal is superior to particular demonstration.

(2) If there is a single identical definition i.e. if the commensurate universal is unequivocal-then the universal
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will possess being not less but more than some of the particulars, inasmuch as it is universals which comprise
the imperishable, particulars that tend to perish.

(3) Because the universal has a single meaning, we are not therefore compelled to suppose that in these
examples it has being as a substance apart from its particulars-any more than we need make a similar
supposition in the other cases of unequivocal universal predication, viz. where the predicate signifies not
substance but quality, essential relatedness, or action. If such a supposition is entertained, the blame rests not
with the demonstration but with the hearer.

(4) Demonstration is syllogism that proves the cause, i.e. the reasoned fact, and it is rather the commensurate
universal than the particular which is causative (as may be shown thus: that which possesses an attribute
through its own essential nature is itself the cause of the inherence, and the commensurate universal is
primary; hence the commensurate universal is the cause). Consequently commensurately universal
demonstration is superior as more especially proving the cause, that is the reasoned fact.

(5) Our search for the reason ceases, and we think that we know, when the coming to be or existence of the
fact before us is not due to the coming to be or existence of some other fact, for the last step of a search thus
conducted is eo ipso the end and limit of the problem. Thus: 'Why did he come?' 'To get the
money-wherewith to pay a debt-that he might thereby do what was right.' When in this regress we can no
longer find an efficient or final cause, we regard the last step of it as the end of the coming-or being or
coming to be-and we regard ourselves as then only having full knowledge of the reason why he came.

If, then, all causes and reasons are alike in this respect, and if this is the means to full knowledge in the case
of final causes such as we have exemplified, it follows that in the case of the other causes also full knowledge
is attained when an attribute no longer inheres because of something else. Thus, when we learn that exterior
angles are equal to four right angles because they are the exterior angles of an isosceles, there still remains
the question 'Why has isosceles this attribute?' and its answer 'Because it is a triangle, and a triangle has it
because a triangle is a rectilinear figure.' If rectilinear figure possesses the property for no further reason, at
this point we have full knowledge-but at this point our knowledge has become commensurately universal,
and so we conclude that commensurately universal demonstration is superior.

(6) The more demonstration becomes particular the more it sinks into an indeterminate manifold, while
universal demonstration tends to the simple and determinate. But objects so far as they are an indeterminate
manifold are unintelligible, so far as they are determinate, intelligible: they are therefore intelligible rather in
so far as they are universal than in so far as they are particular. From this it follows that universals are more
demonstrable: but since relative and correlative increase concomitantly, of the more demonstrable there will
be fuller demonstration. Hence the commensurate and universal form, being more truly demonstration, is the
superior.

(7) Demonstration which teaches two things is preferable to demonstration which teaches only one. He who
possesses commensurately universal demonstration knows the particular as well, but he who possesses
particular demonstration does not know the universal. So that this is an additional reason for preferring
commensurately universal demonstration. And there is yet this further argument:

(8) Proof becomes more and more proof of the commensurate universal as its middle term approaches nearer
to the basic truth, and nothing is so near as the immediate premiss which is itself the basic truth. If, then,
proof from the basic truth is more accurate than proof not so derived, demonstration which depends more
closely on it is more accurate than demonstration which is less closely dependent. But commensurately
universal demonstration is characterized by this closer dependence, and is therefore superior. Thus, if A had
to be proved to inhere in D, and the middles were B and C, B being the higher term would render the
demonstration which it mediated the more universal.

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Some of these arguments, however, are dialectical. The clearest indication of the precedence of
commensurately universal demonstration is as follows: if of two propositions, a prior and a posterior, we
have a grasp of the prior, we have a kind of knowledge-a potential grasp-of the posterior as well. For
example, if one knows that the angles of all triangles are equal to two right angles, one knows in a
sense-potentially-that the isosceles' angles also are equal to two right angles, even if one does not know that
the isosceles is a triangle; but to grasp this posterior proposition is by no means to know the commensurate
universal either potentially or actually. Moreover, commensurately universal demonstration is through and
through intelligible; particular demonstration issues in sense-perception.

The preceding arguments constitute our defence of the superiority of commensurately universal to particular
demonstration. That affirmative demonstration excels negative may be shown as follows.

(1) We may assume the superiority ceteris paribus of the demonstration which derives from fewer postulates
or hypotheses-in short from fewer premisses; for, given that all these are equally well known, where they are
fewer knowledge will be more speedily acquired, and that is a desideratum. The argument implied in our
contention that demonstration from fewer assumptions is superior may be set out in universal form as
follows. Assuming that in both cases alike the middle terms are known, and that middles which are prior are
better known than such as are posterior, we may suppose two demonstrations of the inherence of A in E, the
one proving it through the middles B, C and D, the other through F and G. Then A-D is known to the same
degree as A-E (in the second proof), but A-D is better known than and prior to A-E (in the first proof); since
A-E is proved through A-D, and the ground is more certain than the conclusion.

Hence demonstration by fewer premisses is ceteris paribus superior. Now both affirmative and negative
demonstration operate through three terms and two premisses, but whereas the former assumes only that
something is, the latter assumes both that something is and that something else is not, and thus operating
through more kinds of premiss is inferior.

(2) It has been proved that no conclusion follows if both premisses are negative, but that one must be
negative, the other affirmative. So we are compelled to lay down the following additional rule: as the
demonstration expands, the affirmative premisses must increase in number, but there cannot be more than one
negative premiss in each complete proof. Thus, suppose no B is A, and all C is B. Then if both the premisses
are to be again expanded, a middle must be interposed. Let us interpose D between A and B, and E between
B and C. Then clearly E is affirmatively related to B and C, while D is affirmatively related to B but
negatively to A; for all B is D, but there must be no D which is A. Thus there proves to be a single negative
premiss, A-D. In the further prosyllogisms too it is the same, because in the terms of an affirmative
syllogism the middle is always related affirmatively to both extremes; in a negative syllogism it must be
negatively related only to one of them, and so this negation comes to be a single negative premiss, the other
premisses being affirmative. If, then, that through which a truth is proved is a better known and more certain
truth, and if the negative proposition is proved through the affirmative and not vice versa, affirmative
demonstration, being prior and better known and more certain, will be superior.

(3) The basic truth of demonstrative syllogism is the universal immediate premiss, and the universal premiss
asserts in affirmative demonstration and in negative denies: and the affirmative proposition is prior to and
better known than the negative (since affirmation explains denial and is prior to denial, just as being is prior
to not-being). It follows that the basic premiss of affirmative demonstration is superior to that of negative
demonstration, and the demonstration which uses superior basic premisses is superior.

(4) Affirmative demonstration is more of the nature of a basic form of proof, because it is a sine qua non of
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negative demonstration.

Since affirmative demonstration is superior to negative, it is clearly superior also to reductio ad impossibile.
We must first make certain what is the difference between negative demonstration and reductio ad
impossibile. Let us suppose that no B is A, and that all C is B: the conclusion necessarily follows that no C is

A. If these premisses are assumed, therefore, the negative demonstration that no C is A is direct. Reductio ad
impossibile, on the other hand, proceeds as follows. Supposing we are to prove that does not inhere in B, we
have to assume that it does inhere, and further that B inheres in C, with the resulting inference that A inheres
in C. This we have to suppose a known and admitted impossibility; and we then infer that A cannot inhere in

B. Thus if the inherence of B in C is not questioned, A's inherence in B is impossible.

The order of the terms is the same in both proofs: they differ according to which of the negative propositions
is the better known, the one denying A of B or the one denying A of C. When the falsity of the conclusion is
the better known, we use reductio ad impossible; when the major premiss of the syllogism is the more
obvious, we use direct demonstration. All the same the proposition denying A of B is, in the order of being,
prior to that denying A of C; for premisses are prior to the conclusion which follows from them, and 'no C is
A' is the conclusion, 'no B is A' one of its premisses. For the destructive result of reductio ad impossibile is
not a proper conclusion, nor are its antecedents proper premisses. On the contrary: the constituents of
syllogism are premisses related to one another as whole to part or part to whole, whereas the premisses A-C
and A-B are not thus related to one another. Now the superior demonstration is that which proceeds from
better known and prior premisses, and while both these forms depend for credence on the not-being of
something, yet the source of the one is prior to that of the other. Therefore negative demonstration will have
an unqualified superiority to reductio ad impossibile, and affirmative demonstration, being superior to
negative, will consequently be superior also to reductio ad impossibile.

The science which is knowledge at once of the fact and of the reasoned fact, not of the fact by itself without
the reasoned fact, is the more exact and the prior science.

A science such as arithmetic, which is not a science of properties qua inhering in a substratum, is more exact
than and prior to a science like harmonics, which is a science of properties inhering in a substratum; and
similarly a science like arithmetic, which is constituted of fewer basic elements, is more exact than and prior
to geometry, which requires additional elements. What I mean by 'additional elements' is this: a unit is
substance without position, while a point is substance with position; the latter contains an additional element.

A single science is one whose domain is a single genus, viz. all the subjects constituted out of the primary
entities of the genus-i.e. the parts of this total subject-and their essential properties.

One science differs from another when their basic truths have neither a common source nor are derived those
of the one science from those the other. This is verified when we reach the indemonstrable premisses of a
science, for they must be within one genus with its conclusions: and this again is verified if the conclusions
proved by means of them fall within one genus-i.e. are homogeneous.

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One can have several demonstrations of the same connexion not only by taking from the same series of
predication middles which are other than the immediately cohering term e.g. by taking C, D, and F severally
to prove A-B — but also by taking a middle from another series. Thus let A be change, D alteration of a
property, B feeling pleasure, and G relaxation. We can then without falsehood predicate D of B and A of D,
for he who is pleased suffers alteration of a property, and that which alters a property changes. Again, we can
predicate A of G without falsehood, and G of B; for to feel pleasure is to relax, and to relax is to change. So
the conclusion can be drawn through middles which are different, i.e. not in the same series-yet not so that
neither of these middles is predicable of the other, for they must both be attributable to some one subject.

A further point worth investigating is how many ways of proving the same conclusion can be obtained by
varying the figure,

There is no knowledge by demonstration of chance conjunctions; for chance conjunctions exist neither by
necessity nor as general connexions but comprise what comes to be as something distinct from these. Now
demonstration is concerned only with one or other of these two; for all reasoning proceeds from necessary or
general premisses, the conclusion being necessary if the premisses are necessary and general if the premisses
are general. Consequently, if chance conjunctions are neither general nor necessary, they are not
demonstrable.

Scientific knowledge is not possible through the act of perception. Even if perception as a faculty is of 'the
such' and not merely of a 'this somewhat', yet one must at any rate actually perceive a 'this somewhat', and at
a definite present place and time: but that which is commensurately universal and true in all cases one cannot
perceive, since it is not 'this' and it is not 'now'; if it were, it would not be commensurately universal-the term
we apply to what is always and everywhere. Seeing, therefore, that demonstrations are commensurately
universal and universals imperceptible, we clearly cannot obtain scientific knowledge by the act of
perception: nay, it is obvious that even if it were possible to perceive that a triangle has its angles equal to
two right angles, we should still be looking for a demonstration-we should not (as some say) possess
knowledge of it; for perception must be of a particular, whereas scientific knowledge involves the recognition
of the commensurate universal. So if we were on the moon, and saw the earth shutting out the sun's light, we
should not know the cause of the eclipse: we should perceive the present fact of the eclipse, but not the
reasoned fact at all, since the act of perception is not of the commensurate universal. I do not, of course, deny
that by watching the frequent recurrence of this event we might, after tracking the commensurate universal,
possess a demonstration, for the commensurate universal is elicited from the several groups of singulars.

The commensurate universal is precious because it makes clear the cause; so that in the case of facts like
these which have a cause other than themselves universal knowledge is more precious than sense-perceptions
and than intuition. (As regards primary truths there is of course a different account to be given.) Hence it is
clear that knowledge of things demonstrable cannot be acquired by perception, unless the term perception is
applied to the possession of scientific knowledge through demonstration. Nevertheless certain points do arise
with regard to connexions to be proved which are referred for their explanation to a failure in
sense-perception: there are cases when an act of vision would terminate our inquiry, not because in seeing
we should be knowing, but because we should have elicited the universal from seeing; if, for example, we
saw the pores in the glass and the light passing through, the reason of the kindling would be clear to us
because we should at the same time see it in each instance and intuit that it must be so in all instances.

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All syllogisms cannot have the same basic truths. This may be shown first of all by the following dialectical
considerations. (1) Some syllogisms are true and some false: for though a true inference is possible from false
premisses, yet this occurs once only-I mean if A for instance, is truly predicable of C, but B, the middle, is
false, both A-B and B-C being false; nevertheless, if middles are taken to prove these premisses, they will be
false because every conclusion which is a falsehood has false premisses, while true conclusions have true
premisses, and false and true differ in kind. Then again, (2) falsehoods are not all derived from a single
identical set of principles: there are falsehoods which are the contraries of one another and cannot coexist,
e.g. 'justice is injustice', and justice is cowardice'; 'man is horse', and 'man is ox'; 'the equal is greater', and
'the equal is less.' From established principles we may argue the case as follows, confining-ourselves
therefore to true conclusions. Not even all these are inferred from the same basic truths; many of them in fact
have basic truths which differ generically and are not transferable; units, for instance, which are without
position, cannot take the place of points, which have position. The transferred terms could only fit in as
middle terms or as major or minor terms, or else have some of the other terms between them, others outside
them.

Nor can any of the common axioms-such, I mean, as the law of excluded middle-serve as premisses for the
proof of all conclusions. For the kinds of being are different, and some attributes attach to quanta and some to
qualia only; and proof is achieved by means of the common axioms taken in conjunction with these several
kinds and their attributes.

Again, it is not true that the basic truths are much fewer than the conclusions, for the basic truths are the
premisses, and the premisses are formed by the apposition of a fresh extreme term or the interposition of a
fresh middle. Moreover, the number of conclusions is indefinite, though the number of middle terms is finite;
and lastly some of the basic truths are necessary, others variable.

Looking at it in this way we see that, since the number of conclusions is indefinite, the basic truths cannot be
identical or limited in number. If, on the other hand, identity is used in another sense, and it is said, e.g. 'these
and no other are the fundamental truths of geometry, these the fundamentals of calculation, these again of
medicine'; would the statement mean anything except that the sciences have basic truths? To call them
identical because they are self-identical is absurd, since everything can be identified with everything in that
sense of identity. Nor again can the contention that all conclusions have the same basic truths mean that from
the mass of all possible premisses any conclusion may be drawn. That would be exceedingly naive, for it is
not the case in the clearly evident mathematical sciences, nor is it possible in analysis, since it is the
immediate premisses which are the basic truths, and a fresh conclusion is only formed by the addition of a
new immediate premiss: but if it be admitted that it is these primary immediate premisses which are basic
truths, each subject-genus will provide one basic truth. If, however, it is not argued that from the mass of all
possible premisses any conclusion may be proved, nor yet admitted that basic truths differ so as to be
generically different for each science, it remains to consider the possibility that, while the basic truths of all
knowledge are within one genus, special premisses are required to prove special conclusions. But that this
cannot be the case has been shown by our proof that the basic truths of things generically different
themselves differ generically. For fundamental truths are of two kinds, those which are premisses of
demonstration and the subject-genus; and though the former are common, the latter-number, for instance,
and magnitude-are peculiar.

Scientific knowledge and its object differ from opinion and the object of opinion in that scientific knowledge
is commensurately universal and proceeds by necessary connexions, and that which is necessary cannot be

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otherwise. So though there are things which are true and real and yet can be otherwise, scientific knowledge
clearly does not concern them: if it did, things which can be otherwise would be incapable of being
otherwise. Nor are they any concern of rational intuition-by rational intuition I mean an originative source of
scientific knowledge-nor of indemonstrable knowledge, which is the grasping of the immediate premiss.
Since then rational intuition, science, and opinion, and what is revealed by these terms, are the only things
that can be 'true', it follows that it is opinion that is concerned with that which may be true or false, and can
be otherwise: opinion in fact is the grasp of a premiss which is immediate but not necessary. This view also
fits the observed facts, for opinion is unstable, and so is the kind of being we have described as its object.
Besides, when a man thinks a truth incapable of being otherwise he always thinks that he knows it, never that
he opines it. He thinks that he opines when he thinks that a connexion, though actually so, may quite easily
be otherwise; for he believes that such is the proper object of opinion, while the necessary is the object of
knowledge.

In what sense, then, can the same thing be the object of both opinion and knowledge? And if any one chooses
to maintain that all that he knows he can also opine, why should not opinion be knowledge? For he that
knows and he that opines will follow the same train of thought through the same middle terms until the
immediate premisses are reached; because it is possible to opine not only the fact but also the reasoned fact,
and the reason is the middle term; so that, since the former knows, he that opines also has knowledge.

The truth perhaps is that if a man grasp truths that cannot be other than they are, in the way in which he
grasps the definitions through which demonstrations take place, he will have not opinion but knowledge: if
on the other hand he apprehends these attributes as inhering in their subjects, but not in virtue of the subjects'
substance and essential nature possesses opinion and not genuine knowledge; and his opinion, if obtained
through immediate premisses, will be both of the fact and of the reasoned fact; if not so obtained, of the fact
alone. The object of opinion and knowledge is not quite identical; it is only in a sense identical, just as the
object of true and false opinion is in a sense identical. The sense in which some maintain that true and false
opinion can have the same object leads them to embrace many strange doctrines, particularly the doctrine that
what a man opines falsely he does not opine at all. There are really many senses of 'identical', and in one
sense the object of true and false opinion can be the same, in another it cannot. Thus, to have a true opinion
that the diagonal is commensurate with the side would be absurd: but because the diagonal with which they
are both concerned is the same, the two opinions have objects so far the same: on the other hand, as regards
their essential definable nature these objects differ. The identity of the objects of knowledge and opinion is
similar. Knowledge is the apprehension of, e.g. the attribute 'animal' as incapable of being otherwise, opinion
the apprehension of 'animal' as capable of being otherwise-e.g. the apprehension that animal is an element in
the essential nature of man is knowledge; the apprehension of animal as predicable of man but not as an
element in man's essential nature is opinion: man is the subject in both judgements, but the mode of inherence
differs.

This also shows that one cannot opine and know the same thing simultaneously; for then one would
apprehend the same thing as both capable and incapable of being otherwise-an impossibility. Knowledge and
opinion of the same thing can co-exist in two different people in the sense we have explained, but not
simultaneously in the same person. That would involve a man's simultaneously apprehending, e.g. (1) that
man is essentially animal-i.e. cannot be other than animal-and (2) that man is not essentially animal, that is,
we may assume, may be other than animal.

Further consideration of modes of thinking and their distribution under the heads of discursive thought,
intuition, science, art, practical wisdom, and metaphysical thinking, belongs rather partly to natural science,
partly to moral philosophy.

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Quick wit is a faculty of hitting upon the middle term instantaneously. It would be exemplified by a man who
saw that the moon has her bright side always turned towards the sun, and quickly grasped the cause of this,
namely that she borrows her light from him; or observed somebody in conversation with a man of wealth and
divined that he was borrowing money, or that the friendship of these people sprang from a common enmity.
In all these instances he has seen the major and minor terms and then grasped the causes, the middle terms.

Let A represent 'bright side turned sunward', B 'lighted from the sun', C the moon. Then B, 'lighted from the
sun' is predicable of C, the moon, and A, 'having her bright side towards the source of her light', is predicable
of B. So A is predicable of C through B.

Book II

THE kinds of question we ask are as many as the kinds of things which we know. They are in fact four:-(l)
whether the connexion of an attribute with a thing is a fact, (2) what is the reason of the connexion, (3)
whether a thing exists, (4) What is the nature of the thing. Thus, when our question concerns a complex of
thing and attribute and we ask whether the thing is thus or otherwise qualified-whether, e.g. the sun suffers
eclipse or not-then we are asking as to the fact of a connexion. That our inquiry ceases with the discovery
that the sun does suffer eclipse is an indication of this; and if we know from the start that the sun suffers
eclipse, we do not inquire whether it does so or not. On the other hand, when we know the fact we ask the
reason; as, for example, when we know that the sun is being eclipsed and that an earthquake is in progress, it
is the reason of eclipse or earthquake into which we inquire.

Where a complex is concerned, then, those are the two questions we ask; but for some objects of inquiry we
have a different kind of question to ask, such as whether there is or is not a centaur or a God. (By 'is or is not'
I mean 'is or is not, without further qualification'; as opposed to 'is or is not [e.g.] white'.) On the other hand,
when we have ascertained the thing's existence, we inquire as to its nature, asking, for instance, 'what, then, is
God?' or 'what is man?'.

These, then, are the four kinds of question we ask, and it is in the answers to these questions that our
knowledge consists.

Now when we ask whether a connexion is a fact, or whether a thing without qualification is, we are really
asking whether the connexion or the thing has a 'middle'; and when we have ascertained either that the
connexion is a fact or that the thing is-i.e. ascertained either the partial or the unqualified being of the
thing-and are proceeding to ask the reason of the connexion or the nature of the thing, then we are asking
what the 'middle' is.

(By distinguishing the fact of the connexion and the existence of the thing as respectively the partial and the
unqualified being of the thing, I mean that if we ask 'does the moon suffer eclipse?', or 'does the moon wax?',
the question concerns a part of the thing's being; for what we are asking in such questions is whether a thing
is this or that, i.e. has or has not this or that attribute: whereas, if we ask whether the moon or night exists, the
question concerns the unqualified being of a thing.)

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We conclude that in all our inquiries we are asking either whether there is a 'middle' or what the 'middle' is:
for the 'middle' here is precisely the cause, and it is the cause that we seek in all our inquiries. Thus, 'Does the
moon suffer eclipse?' means 'Is there or is there not a cause producing eclipse of the moon?', and when we
have learnt that there is, our next question is, 'What, then, is this cause? for the cause through which a thing
is-not is this or that, i.e. has this or that attribute, but without qualification is-and the cause through which it
is-not is without qualification, but is this or that as having some essential attribute or some accident-are both
alike the middle'. By that which is without qualification I mean the subject, e.g. moon or earth or sun or
triangle; by that which a subject is (in the partial sense) I mean a property, e.g. eclipse, equality or inequality,
interposition or non-interposition. For in all these examples it is clear that the nature of the thing and the
reason of the fact are identical: the question 'What is eclipse?' and its answer 'The privation of the moon's
light by the interposition of the earth' are identical with the question 'What is the reason of eclipse?' or 'Why
does the moon suffer eclipse?' and the reply 'Because of the failure of light through the earth's shutting it out'.
Again, for 'What is a concord? A commensurate numerical ratio of a high and a low note', we may substitute
'What ratio makes a high and a low note concordant? Their relation according to a commensurate numerical
ratio.' Are the high and the low note concordant?' is equivalent to 'Is their ratio commensurate?'; and when
we find that it is commensurate, we ask 'What, then, is their ratio?'.

Cases in which the 'middle' is sensible show that the object of our inquiry is always the 'middle': we inquire,
because we have not perceived it, whether there is or is not a 'middle' causing, e.g. an eclipse. On the other
hand, if we were on the moon we should not be inquiring either as to the fact or the reason, but both fact and
reason would be obvious simultaneously. For the act of perception would have enabled us to know the
universal too; since, the present fact of an eclipse being evident, perception would then at the same time give
us the present fact of the earth's screening the sun's light, and from this would arise the universal.

Thus, as we maintain, to know a thing's nature is to know the reason why it is; and this is equally true of
things in so far as they are said without qualification to he as opposed to being possessed of some attribute,
and in so far as they are said to be possessed of some attribute such as equal to right angles, or greater or less.

It is clear, then, that all questions are a search for a 'middle'. Let us now state how essential nature is revealed
and in what way it can be reduced to demonstration; what definition is, and what things are definable. And let
us first discuss certain difficulties which these questions raise, beginning what we have to say with a point
most intimately connected with our immediately preceding remarks, namely the doubt that might be felt as to
whether or not it is possible to know the same thing in the same relation, both by definition and by
demonstration. It might, I mean, be urged that definition is held to concern essential nature and is in every
case universal and affirmative; whereas, on the other hand, some conclusions are negative and some are not
universal; e.g. all in the second figure are negative, none in the third are universal. And again, not even all
affirmative conclusions in the first figure are definable, e.g. 'every triangle has its angles equal to two right
angles'. An argument proving this difference between demonstration and definition is that to have scientific
knowledge of the demonstrable is identical with possessing a demonstration of it: hence if demonstration of
such conclusions as these is possible, there clearly cannot also be definition of them. If there could, one might
know such a conclusion also in virtue of its definition without possessing the demonstration of it; for there is
nothing to stop our having the one without the other.

Induction too will sufficiently convince us of this difference; for never yet by defining anything-essential
attribute or accident-did we get knowledge of it. Again, if to define is to acquire knowledge of a substance, at
any rate such attributes are not substances.

It is evident, then, that not everything demonstrable can be defined. What then? Can everything definable be
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demonstrated, or not? There is one of our previous arguments which covers this too. Of a single thing qua
single there is a single scientific knowledge. Hence, since to know the demonstrable scientifically is to
possess the demonstration of it, an impossible consequence will follow:-possession of its definition without
its demonstration will give knowledge of the demonstrable.

Moreover, the basic premisses of demonstrations are definitions, and it has already been shown that these will
be found indemonstrable; either the basic premisses will be demonstrable and will depend on prior premisses,
and the regress will be endless; or the primary truths will be indemonstrable definitions.

But if the definable and the demonstrable are not wholly the same, may they yet be partially the same? Or is
that impossible, because there can be no demonstration of the definable? There can be none, because
definition is of the essential nature or being of something, and all demonstrations evidently posit and assume
the essential nature-mathematical demonstrations, for example, the nature of unity and the odd, and all the
other sciences likewise. Moreover, every demonstration proves a predicate of a subject as attaching or as not
attaching to it, but in definition one thing is not predicated of another; we do not, e.g. predicate animal of
biped nor biped of animal, nor yet figure of plane-plane not being figure nor figure plane. Again, to prove
essential nature is not the same as to prove the fact of a connexion. Now definition reveals essential nature,
demonstration reveals that a given attribute attaches or does not attach to a given subject; but different things
require different demonstrations-unless the one demonstration is related to the other as part to whole. I add
this because if all triangles have been proved to possess angles equal to two right angles, then this attribute
has been proved to attach to isosceles; for isosceles is a part of which all triangles constitute the whole. But in
the case before us the fact and the essential nature are not so related to one another, since the one is not a part
of the other.

So it emerges that not all the definable is demonstrable nor all the demonstrable definable; and we may draw
the general conclusion that there is no identical object of which it is possible to possess both a definition and
a demonstration. It follows obviously that definition and demonstration are neither identical nor contained
either within the other: if they were, their objects would be related either as identical or as whole and part.

So much, then, for the first stage of our problem. The next step is to raise the question whether syllogism-i.e.
demonstration-of the definable nature is possible or, as our recent argument assumed, impossible.

We might argue it impossible on the following grounds:-(a) syllogism proves an attribute of a subject
through the middle term; on the other hand (b) its definable nature is both 'peculiar' to a subject and
predicated of it as belonging to its essence. But in that case (1) the subject, its definition, and the middle term
connecting them must be reciprocally predicable of one another; for if A is to C, obviously A is 'peculiar' to B
and B to C-in fact all three terms are 'peculiar' to one another: and further (2) if A inheres in the essence of
all B and B is predicated universally of all C as belonging to C's essence, A also must be predicated of C as
belonging to its essence.

If one does not take this relation as thus duplicated-if, that is, A is predicated as being of the essence of B,
but B is not of the essence of the subjects of which it is predicated-A will not necessarily be predicated of C
as belonging to its essence. So both premisses will predicate essence, and consequently B also will be
predicated of C as its essence. Since, therefore, both premisses do predicate essence-i.e. definable form-C's
definable form will appear in the middle term before the conclusion is drawn.

We may generalize by supposing that it is possible to prove the essential nature of man. Let C be man, A
man's essential nature — two-footed animal, or aught else it may be. Then, if we are to syllogize, A must be

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predicated of all B. But this premiss will be mediated by a fresh definition, which consequently will also be
the essential nature of man. Therefore the argument assumes what it has to prove, since B too is the essential
nature of man. It is, however, the case in which there are only the two premisses-i.e. in which the premisses
are primary and immediate-which we ought to investigate, because it best illustrates the point under
discussion.

Thus they who prove the essential nature of soul or man or anything else through reciprocating terms beg the
question. It would be begging the question, for example, to contend that the soul is that which causes its own
life, and that what causes its own life is a self-moving number; for one would have to postulate that the soul
is a self-moving number in the sense of being identical with it. For if A is predicable as a mere consequent of
B and B of C, A will not on that account be the definable form of C: A will merely be what it was true to say
of C. Even if A is predicated of all B inasmuch as B is identical with a species of A, still it will not follow:
being an animal is predicated of being a man-since it is true that in all instances to be human is to be animal,
just as it is also true that every man is an animal-but not as identical with being man.

We conclude, then, that unless one takes both the premisses as predicating essence, one cannot infer that A is
the definable form and essence of C: but if one does so take them, in assuming B one will have assumed,
before drawing the conclusion, what the definable form of C is; so that there has been no inference, for one
has begged the question.

Nor, as was said in my formal logic, is the method of division a process of inference at all, since at no point
does the characterization of the subject follow necessarily from the premising of certain other facts: division
demonstrates as little as does induction. For in a genuine demonstration the conclusion must not be put as a
question nor depend on a concession, but must follow necessarily from its premisses, even if the respondent
deny it. The definer asks 'Is man animal or inanimate?' and then assumes-he has not inferred-that man is
animal. Next, when presented with an exhaustive division of animal into terrestrial and aquatic, he assumes
that man is terrestrial. Moreover, that man is the complete formula, terrestrial-animal, does not follow
necessarily from the premisses: this too is an assumption, and equally an assumption whether the division
comprises many differentiae or few. (Indeed as this method of division is used by those who proceed by it,
even truths that can be inferred actually fail to appear as such.) For why should not the whole of this formula
be true of man, and yet not exhibit his essential nature or definable form? Again, what guarantee is there
against an unessential addition, or against the omission of the final or of an intermediate determinant of the
substantial being?

The champion of division might here urge that though these lapses do occur, yet we can solve that difficulty
if all the attributes we assume are constituents of the definable form, and if, postulating the genus, we
produce by division the requisite uninterrupted sequence of terms, and omit nothing; and that indeed we
cannot fail to fulfil these conditions if what is to be divided falls whole into the division at each stage, and
none of it is omitted; and that this-the dividendum-must without further question be (ultimately) incapable
of fresh specific division. Nevertheless, we reply, division does not involve inference; if it gives knowledge,
it gives it in another way. Nor is there any absurdity in this: induction, perhaps, is not demonstration any
more than is division, et it does make evident some truth. Yet to state a definition reached by division is not
to state a conclusion: as, when conclusions are drawn without their appropriate middles, the alleged necessity
by which the inference follows from the premisses is open to a question as to the reason for it, so definitions
reached by division invite the same question.

Thus to the question 'What is the essential nature of man?' the divider replies 'Animal, mortal, footed, biped,
wingless'; and when at each step he is asked 'Why?', he will say, and, as he thinks, proves by division, that all

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animal is mortal or immortal: but such a formula taken in its entirety is not definition; so that even if division
does demonstrate its formula, definition at any rate does not turn out to be a conclusion of inference.

Can we nevertheless actually demonstrate what a thing essentially and substantially is, but hypothetically, i.e.
by premising (1) that its definable form is constituted by the 'peculiar' attributes of its essential nature; (2) that
such and such are the only attributes of its essential nature, and that the complete synthesis of them is peculiar
to the thing; and thus-since in this synthesis consists the being of the thing-obtaining our conclusion? Or is
the truth that, since proof must be through the middle term, the definable form is once more assumed in this
minor premiss too?

Further, just as in syllogizing we do not premise what syllogistic inference is (since the premisses from which
we conclude must be related as whole and part), so the definable form must not fall within the syllogism but
remain outside the premisses posited. It is only against a doubt as to its having been a syllogistic inference at
all that we have to defend our argument as conforming to the definition of syllogism. It is only when some
one doubts whether the conclusion proved is the definable form that we have to defend it as conforming to
the definition of definable form which we assumed. Hence syllogistic inference must be possible even
without the express statement of what syllogism is or what definable form is.

The following type of hypothetical proof also begs the question. If evil is definable as the divisible, and the
definition of a thing's contrary-if it has one the contrary of the thing's definition; then, if good is the contrary
of evil and the indivisible of the divisible, we conclude that to be good is essentially to be indivisible. The
question is begged because definable form is assumed as a premiss, and as a premiss which is to prove
definable form. 'But not the same definable form', you may object. That I admit, for in demonstrations also
we premise that 'this' is predicable of 'that'; but in this premiss the term we assert of the minor is neither the
major itself nor a term identical in definition, or convertible, with the major.

Again, both proof by division and the syllogism just described are open to the question why man should be
animal-biped-terrestrial and not merely animal and terrestrial, since what they premise does not ensure that
the predicates shall constitute a genuine unity and not merely belong to a single subject as do musical and
grammatical when predicated of the same man.

How then by definition shall we prove substance or essential nature? We cannot show it as a fresh fact
necessarily following from the assumption of premisses admitted to be facts-the method of demonstration:
we may not proceed as by induction to establish a universal on the evidence of groups of particulars which
offer no exception, because induction proves not what the essential nature of a thing is but that it has or has
not some attribute. Therefore, since presumably one cannot prove essential nature by an appeal to sense
perception or by pointing with the finger, what other method remains?

To put it another way: how shall we by definition prove essential nature? He who knows what human-or any
other-nature is, must know also that man exists; for no one knows the nature of what does not exist-one can
know the meaning of the phrase or name 'goat-stag' but not what the essential nature of a goat-stag is. But
further, if definition can prove what is the essential nature of a thing, can it also prove that it exists? And how
will it prove them both by the same process, since definition exhibits one single thing and demonstration
another single thing, and what human nature is and the fact that man exists are not the same thing? Then too
we hold that it is by demonstration that the being of everything must be proved-unless indeed to be were its
essence; and, since being is not a genus, it is not the essence of anything. Hence the being of anything as fact

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is matter for demonstration; and this is the actual procedure of the sciences, for the geometer assumes the
meaning of the word triangle, but that it is possessed of some attribute he proves. What is it, then, that we
shall prove in defining essential nature? Triangle? In that case a man will know by definition what a thing's
nature is without knowing whether it exists. But that is impossible.

Moreover it is clear, if we consider the methods of defining actually in use, that definition does not prove that
the thing defined exists: since even if there does actually exist something which is equidistant from a centre,
yet why should the thing named in the definition exist? Why, in other words, should this be the formula
defining circle? One might equally well call it the definition of mountain copper. For definitions do not carry
a further guarantee that the thing defined can exist or that it is what they claim to define: one can always ask
why.

Since, therefore, to define is to prove either a thing's essential nature or the meaning of its name, we may
conclude that definition, if it in no sense proves essential nature, is a set of words signifying precisely what a
name signifies. But that were a strange consequence; for (1) both what is not substance and what does not
exist at all would be definable, since even non-existents can be signified by a name: (2) all sets of words or
sentences would be definitions, since any kind of sentence could be given a name; so that we should all be
talking in definitions, and even the Iliad would be a definition: (3) no demonstration can prove that any
particular name means any particular thing: neither, therefore, do definitions, in addition to revealing the
meaning of a name, also reveal that the name has this meaning. It appears then from these considerations that
neither definition and syllogism nor their objects are identical, and further that definition neither demonstrates
nor proves anything, and that knowledge of essential nature is not to be obtained either by definition or by
demonstration.

We must now start afresh and consider which of these conclusions are sound and which are not, and what is
the nature of definition, and whether essential nature is in any sense demonstrable and definable or in none.

Now to know its essential nature is, as we said, the same as to know the cause of a thing's existence, and the
proof of this depends on the fact that a thing must have a cause. Moreover, this cause is either identical with
the essential nature of the thing or distinct from it; and if its cause is distinct from it, the essential nature of
the thing is either demonstrable or indemonstrable. Consequently, if the cause is distinct from the thing's
essential nature and demonstration is possible, the cause must be the middle term, and, the conclusion proved
being universal and affirmative, the proof is in the first figure. So the method just examined of proving it
through another essential nature would be one way of proving essential nature, because a conclusion
containing essential nature must be inferred through a middle which is an essential nature just as a 'peculiar'
property must be inferred through a middle which is a 'peculiar' property; so that of the two definable natures
of a single thing this method will prove one and not the other.

Now it was said before that this method could not amount to demonstration of essential nature-it is actually a
dialectical proof of it-so let us begin again and explain by what method it can be demonstrated. When we are
aware of a fact we seek its reason, and though sometimes the fact and the reason dawn on us simultaneously,
yet we cannot apprehend the reason a moment sooner than the fact; and clearly in just the same way we
cannot apprehend a thing's definable form without apprehending that it exists, since while we are ignorant
whether it exists we cannot know its essential nature. Moreover we are aware whether a thing exists or not
sometimes through apprehending an element in its character, and sometimes accidentally, as, for example,
when we are aware of thunder as a noise in the clouds, of eclipse as a privation of light, or of man as some
species of animal, or of the soul as a self-moving thing. As often as we have accidental knowledge that the
thing exists, we must be in a wholly negative state as regards awareness of its essential nature; for we have

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not got genuine knowledge even of its existence, and to search for a thing's essential nature when we are
unaware that it exists is to search for nothing. On the other hand, whenever we apprehend an element in the
thing's character there is less difficulty. Thus it follows that the degree of our knowledge of a thing's essential
nature is determined by the sense in which we are aware that it exists. Let us then take the following as our
first instance of being aware of an element in the essential nature. Let A be eclipse, C the moon, B the earth's
acting as a screen. Now to ask whether the moon is eclipsed or not is to ask whether or not B has occurred.
But that is precisely the same as asking whether A has a defining condition; and if this condition actually
exists, we assert that A also actually exists. Or again we may ask which side of a contradiction the defining
condition necessitates: does it make the angles of a triangle equal or not equal to two right angles? When we
have found the answer, if the premisses are immediate, we know fact and reason together; if they are not
immediate, we know the fact without the reason, as in the following example: let C be the moon, A eclipse, B
the fact that the moon fails to produce shadows though she is full and though no visible body intervenes
between us and her. Then if B, failure to produce shadows in spite of the absence of an intervening body, is
attributable A to C, and eclipse, is attributable to B, it is clear that the moon is eclipsed, but the reason why is
not yet clear, and we know that eclipse exists, but we do not know what its essential nature is. But when it is
clear that A is attributable to C and we proceed to ask the reason of this fact, we are inquiring what is the
nature of B: is it the earth's acting as a screen, or the moon's rotation or her extinction? But B is the definition
of the other term, viz. in these examples, of the major term A; for eclipse is constituted by the earth acting as
a screen. Thus, (1) 'What is thunder?' 'The quenching of fire in cloud', and (2) 'Why does it thunder?' 'Because
fire is quenched in the cloud', are equivalent. Let C be cloud, A thunder, B the quenching of fire. Then B is
attributable to C, cloud, since fire is quenched in it; and A, noise, is attributable to B; and B is assuredly the
definition of the major term A. If there be a further mediating cause of B, it will be one of the remaining
partial definitions of A.

We have stated then how essential nature is discovered and becomes known, and we see that, while there is
no syllogism-i.e. no demonstrative syllogism-of essential nature, yet it is through syllogism, viz.
demonstrative syllogism, that essential nature is exhibited. So we conclude that neither can the essential
nature of anything which has a cause distinct from itself be known without demonstration, nor can it be
demonstrated; and this is what we contended in our preliminary discussions.

Now while some things have a cause distinct from themselves, others have not. Hence it is evident that there
are essential natures which are immediate, that is are basic premisses; and of these not only that they are but
also what they are must be assumed or revealed in some other way. This too is the actual procedure of the
arithmetician, who assumes both the nature and the existence of unit. On the other hand, it is possible (in the
manner explained) to exhibit through demonstration the essential nature of things which have a 'middle', i.e. a
cause of their substantial being other than that being itself; but we do not thereby demonstrate it.

Since definition is said to be the statement of a thing's nature, obviously one kind of definition will be a
statement of the meaning of the name, or of an equivalent nominal formula. A definition in this sense tells
you, e.g. the meaning of the phrase 'triangular character'. When we are aware that triangle exists, we inquire
the reason why it exists. But it is difficult thus to learn the definition of things the existence of which we do
not genuinely know-the cause of this difficulty being, as we said before, that we only know accidentally
whether or not the thing exists. Moreover, a statement may be a unity in either of two ways, by conjunction,
like the Iliad, or because it exhibits a single predicate as inhering not accidentally in a single subject.

POSTERIOR ANALYTICS

That then is one way of defining definition. Another kind of definition is a formula exhibiting the cause of a
thing's existence. Thus the former signifies without proving, but the latter will clearly be a
quasi-demonstration of essential nature, differing from demonstration in the arrangement of its terms. For
there is a difference between stating why it thunders, and stating what is the essential nature of thunder; since
the first statement will be 'Because fire is quenched in the clouds', while the statement of what the nature of
thunder is will be 'The noise of fire being quenched in the clouds'. Thus the same statement takes a different
form: in one form it is continuous demonstration, in the other definition. Again, thunder can be defined as
noise in the clouds, which is the conclusion of the demonstration embodying essential nature. On the other
hand the definition of immediates is an indemonstrable positing of essential nature.

We conclude then that definition is (a) an indemonstrable statement of essential nature, or (b) a syllogism of
essential nature differing from demonstration in grammatical form, or (c) the conclusion of a demonstration
giving essential nature.

Our discussion has therefore made plain (1) in what sense and of what things the essential nature is
demonstrable, and in what sense and of what things it is not; (2) what are the various meanings of the term
definition, and in what sense and of what things it proves the essential nature, and in what sense and of what
things it does not; (3) what is the relation of definition to demonstration, and how far the same thing is both
definable and demonstrable and how far it is not.

We think we have scientific knowledge when we know the cause, and there are four causes: (1) the definable
form, (2) an antecedent which necessitates a consequent, (3) the efficient cause, (4) the final cause. Hence
each of these can be the middle term of a proof, for (a) though the inference from antecedent to necessary
consequent does not hold if only one premiss is assumed-two is the minimum-still when there are two it
holds on condition that they have a single common middle term. So it is from the assumption of this single
middle term that the conclusion follows necessarily. The following example will also show this. Why is the
angle in a semicircle a right angle?-or from what assumption does it follow that it is a right angle? Thus, let
A be right angle, B the half of two right angles, C the angle in a semicircle. Then B is the cause in virtue of
which A, right angle, is attributable to C, the angle in a semicircle, since B=A and the other, viz. C,=B, for C
is half of two right angles. Therefore it is the assumption of B, the half of two right angles, from which it
follows that A is attributable to C, i.e. that the angle in a semicircle is a right angle. Moreover, B is identical
with (b) the defining form of A, since it is what A's definition signifies. Moreover, the formal cause has
already been shown to be the middle, (c) 'Why did the Athenians become involved in the Persian war?' means
What cause originated the waging of war against the Athenians?' and the answer is, 'Because they raided
Sardis with the Eretrians', since this originated the war. Let A be war, B unprovoked raiding, C the
Athenians. Then B, unprovoked raiding, is true of C, the Athenians, and A is true of B, since men make war
on the unjust aggressor. So A, having war waged upon them, is true of B, the initial aggressors, and B is true
of C, the Athenians, who were the aggressors. Hence here too the cause-in this case the efficient cause-is the
middle term, (d) This is no less true where the cause is the final cause. E.g. why does one take a walk after
supper? For the sake of one's health. Why does a house exist? For the preservation of one's goods. The end in
view is in the one case health, in the other preservation. To ask the reason why one must walk after supper is
precisely to ask to what end one must do it. Let C be walking after supper, B the non-regurgitation of food, A
health. Then let walking after supper possess the property of preventing food from rising to the orifice of the
stomach, and let this condition be healthy; since it seems that B, the non-regurgitation of food, is attributable
to C, taking a walk, and that A, health, is attributable to B. What, then, is the cause through which A, the final
cause, inheres in C? It is B, the non-regurgitation of food; but B is a kind of definition of A, for A will be
explained by it. Why is B the cause of A's belonging to C? Because to be in a condition such as B is to be in
health. The definitions must be transposed, and then the detail will become clearer. Incidentally, here the

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order of coming to be is the reverse of what it is in proof through the efficient cause: in the efficient order the
middle term must come to be first, whereas in the teleological order the minor, C, must first take place, and
the end in view comes last in time.

The same thing may exist for an end and be necessitated as well. For example, light shines through a lantern
(1) because that which consists of relatively small particles necessarily passes through pores larger than those
particles-assuming that light does issue by penetration- and (2) for an end, namely to save us from
stumbling. If then, a thing can exist through two causes, can it come to be through two causes-as for instance
if thunder be a hiss and a roar necessarily produced by the quenching of fire, and also designed, as the
Pythagoreans say, for a threat to terrify those that lie in Tartarus? Indeed, there are very many such cases,
mostly among the processes and products of the natural world; for nature, in different senses of the term
'nature', produces now for an end, now by necessity.

Necessity too is of two kinds. It may work in accordance with a thing's natural tendency, or by constraint and
in opposition to it; as, for instance, by necessity a stone is borne both upwards and downwards, but not by the
same necessity.

Of the products of man's intelligence some are never due to chance or necessity but always to an end, as for
example a house or a statue; others, such as health or safety, may result from chance as well.

It is mostly in cases where the issue is indeterminate (though only where the production does not originate in
chance, and the end is consequently good), that a result is due to an end, and this is true alike in nature or in
art. By chance, on the other hand, nothing comes to be for an end.

The effect may be still coming to be, or its occurrence may be past or future, yet the cause will be the same as
when it is actually existent-for it is the middle which is the cause-except that if the effect actually exists the
cause is actually existent, if it is coming to be so is the cause, if its occurrence is past the cause is past, if
future the cause is future. For example, the moon was eclipsed because the earth intervened, is becoming
eclipsed because the earth is in process of intervening, will be eclipsed because the earth will intervene, is
eclipsed because the earth intervenes.

To take a second example: assuming that the definition of ice is solidified water, let C be water, A solidified,
B the middle, which is the cause, namely total failure of heat. Then B is attributed to C, and A, solidification,
to B: ice when B is occurring, has formed when B has occurred, and will form when B shall occur.

This sort of cause, then, and its effect come to be simultaneously when they are in process of becoming, and
exist simultaneously when they actually exist; and the same holds good when they are past and when they are
future. But what of cases where they are not simultaneous? Can causes and effects different from one another
form, as they seem to us to form, a continuous succession, a past effect resulting from a past cause different
from itself, a future effect from a future cause different from it, and an effect which is coming-to-be from a
cause different from and prior to it? Now on this theory it is from the posterior event that we reason (and this
though these later events actually have their source of origin in previous events — a fact which shows that
also when the effect is coming-to-be we still reason from the posterior event), and from the event we cannot
reason (we cannot argue that because an event A has occurred, therefore an event B has occurred
subsequently to A but still in the past-and the same holds good if the occurrence is future)-cannot reason
because, be the time interval definite or indefinite, it will never be possible to infer that because it is true to
say that A occurred, therefore it is true to say that B, the subsequent event, occurred; for in the interval
between the events, though A has already occurred, the latter statement will be false. And the same argument

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applies also to future events; i.e. one cannot infer from an event which occurred in the past that a future event
will occur. The reason of this is that the middle must be homogeneous, past when the extremes are past,
future when they are future, coming to be when they are coming-to-be, actually existent when they are
actually existent; and there cannot be a middle term homogeneous with extremes respectively past and future.
And it is a further difficulty in this theory that the time interval can be neither indefinite nor definite, since
during it the inference will be false. We have also to inquire what it is that holds events together so that the
coming-to-be now occurring in actual things follows upon a past event. It is evident, we may suggest, that a
past event and a present process cannot be 'contiguous', for not even two past events can be 'contiguous'. For
past events are limits and atomic; so just as points are not 'contiguous' neither are past events, since both are
indivisible. For the same reason a past event and a present process cannot be 'contiguous', for the process is
divisible, the event indivisible. Thus the relation of present process to past event is analogous to that of line to
point, since a process contains an infinity of past events. These questions, however, must receive a more
explicit treatment in our general theory of change.

The following must suffice as an account of the manner in which the middle would be identical with the
cause on the supposition that coming-to-be is a series of consecutive events: for in the terms of such a series
too the middle and major terms must form an immediate premiss; e.g. we argue that, since C has occurred,
therefore A occurred: and C's occurrence was posterior, A's prior; but C is the source of the inference because
it is nearer to the present moment, and the starting-point of time is the present. We next argue that, since D
has occurred, therefore C occurred. Then we conclude that, since D has occurred, therefore A must have
occurred; and the cause is C, for since D has occurred C must have occurred, and since C has occurred A
must previously have occurred.

If we get our middle term in this way, will the series terminate in an immediate premiss, or since, as we said,
no two events are 'contiguous', will a fresh middle term always intervene because there is an infinity of
middles? No: though no two events are 'contiguous', yet we must start from a premiss consisting of a middle
and the present event as major. The like is true of future events too, since if it is true to say that D will exist, it
must be a prior truth to say that A will exist, and the cause of this conclusion is C; for if D will exist, C will
exist prior to D, and if C will exist, A will exist prior to it. And here too the same infinite divisibility might be
urged, since future events are not 'contiguous'. But here too an immediate basic premiss must be assumed.
And in the world of fact this is so: if a house has been built, then blocks must have been quarried and shaped.
The reason is that a house having been built necessitates a foundation having been laid, and if a foundation
has been laid blocks must have been shaped beforehand. Again, if a house will be built, blocks will similarly
be shaped beforehand; and proof is through the middle in the same way, for the foundation will exist before
the house.

Now we observe in Nature a certain kind of circular process of coming-to-be; and this is possible only if the
middle and extreme terms are reciprocal, since conversion is conditioned by reciprocity in the terms of the
proof. This-the convertibility of conclusions and premisses-has been proved in our early chapters, and the
circular process is an instance of this. In actual fact it is exemplified thus: when the earth had been moistened
an exhalation was bound to rise, and when an exhalation had risen cloud was bound to form, and from the
formation of cloud rain necessarily resulted and by the fall of rain the earth was necessarily moistened: but
this was the starting-point, so that a circle is completed; for posit any one of the terms and another follows
from it, and from that another, and from that again the first.

Some occurrences are universal (for they are, or come-to-be what they are, always and in ever case); others
again are not always what they are but only as a general rule: for instance, not every man can grow a beard,
but it is the general rule. In the case of such connexions the middle term too must be a general rule. For if A
is predicated universally of B and B of C, A too must be predicated always and in every instance of C, since
to hold in every instance and always is of the nature of the universal. But we have assumed a connexion
which is a general rule; consequently the middle term B must also be a general rule. So connexions which

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embody a general rule-i.e. which exist or come to be as a general rule-will also derive from immediate basic
premisses.

We have already explained how essential nature is set out in the terms of a demonstration, and the sense in
which it is or is not demonstrable or definable; so let us now discuss the method to be adopted in tracing the
elements predicated as constituting the definable form.

Now of the attributes which inhere always in each several thing there are some which are wider in extent than
it but not wider than its genus (by attributes of wider extent mean all such as are universal attributes of each
several subject, but in their application are not confined to that subject), while an attribute may inhere in
every triad, yet also in a subject not a triad-as being inheres in triad but also in subjects not numbers at
all-odd on the other hand is an attribute inhering in every triad and of wider application (inhering as it does
also in pentad), but which does not extend beyond the genus of triad; for pentad is a number, but nothing
outside number is odd. It is such attributes which we have to select, up to the exact point at which they are
severally of wider extent than the subject but collectively coextensive with it; for this synthesis must be the
substance of the thing. For example every triad possesses the attributes number, odd, and prime in both
senses, i.e. not only as possessing no divisors, but also as not being a sum of numbers. This, then, is precisely
what triad is, viz. a number, odd, and prime in the former and also the latter sense of the term: for these
attributes taken severally apply, the first two to all odd numbers, the last to the dyad also as well as to the
triad, but, taken collectively, to no other subject. Now since we have shown above' that attributes predicated
as belonging to the essential nature are necessary and that universals are necessary, and since the attributes
which we select as inhering in triad, or in any other subject whose attributes we select in this way, are
predicated as belonging to its essential nature, triad will thus possess these attributes necessarily. Further, that
the synthesis of them constitutes the substance of triad is shown by the following argument. If it is not
identical with the being of triad, it must be related to triad as a genus named or nameless. It will then be of
wider extent than triad-assuming that wider potential extent is the character of a genus. If on the other hand
this synthesis is applicable to no subject other than the individual triads, it will be identical with the being of
triad, because we make the further assumption that the substance of each subject is the predication of
elements in its essential nature down to the last differentia characterizing the individuals. It follows that any
other synthesis thus exhibited will likewise be identical with the being of the subject.

The author of a hand-book on a subject that is a generic whole should divide the genus into its first infimae
species-number e.g. into triad and dyad-and then endeavour to seize their definitions by the method we have
described-the definition, for example, of straight line or circle or right angle. After that, having established
what the category is to which the subaltern genus belongs-quantity or quality, for instance-he should
examine the properties 'peculiar' to the species, working through the proximate common differentiae. He
should proceed thus because the attributes of the genera compounded of the infimae species will be clearly
given by the definitions of the species; since the basic element of them all is the definition, i.e. the simple
infirma species, and the attributes inhere essentially in the simple infimae species, in the genera only in virtue
of these.

Divisions according to differentiae are a useful accessory to this method. What force they have as proofs we
did, indeed, explain above, but that merely towards collecting the essential nature they may be of use we will
proceed to show. They might, indeed, seem to be of no use at all, but rather to assume everything at the start
and to be no better than an initial assumption made without division. But, in fact, the order in which the
attributes are predicated does make a difference — it matters whether we say animal-tame-biped, or
biped-animal-tame. For if every definable thing consists of two elements and 'animal-tame' forms a unity,
and again out of this and the further differentia man (or whatever else is the unity under construction) is

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constituted, then the elements we assume have necessarily been reached by division. Again, division is the
only possible method of avoiding the omission of any element of the essential nature. Thus, if the primary
genus is assumed and we then take one of the lower divisions, the dividendum will not fall whole into this
division: e.g. it is not all animal which is either whole-winged or split-winged but all winged animal, for it is
winged animal to which this differentiation belongs. The primary differentiation of animal is that within
which all animal falls. The like is true of every other genus, whether outside animal or a subaltern genus of
animal; e.g. the primary differentiation of bird is that within which falls every bird, of fish that within which
falls every fish. So, if we proceed in this way, we can be sure that nothing has been omitted: by any other
method one is bound to omit something without knowing it.

To define and divide one need not know the whole of existence. Yet some hold it impossible to know the
differentiae distinguishing each thing from every single other thing without knowing every single other thing;
and one cannot, they say, know each thing without knowing its differentiae, since everything is identical with
that from which it does not differ, and other than that from which it differs. Now first of all this is a fallacy:
not every differentia precludes identity, since many differentiae inhere in things specifically identical, though
not in the substance of these nor essentially. Secondly, when one has taken one's differing pair of opposites
and assumed that the two sides exhaust the genus, and that the subject one seeks to define is present in one or
other of them, and one has further verified its presence in one of them; then it does not matter whether or not
one knows all the other subjects of which the differentiae are also predicated. For it is obvious that when by
this process one reaches subjects incapable of further differentiation one will possess the formula defining the
substance. Moreover, to postulate that the division exhausts the genus is not illegitimate if the opposites
exclude a middle; since if it is the differentia of that genus, anything contained in the genus must lie on one of
the two sides.

In establishing a definition by division one should keep three objects in view: (1) the admission only of
elements in the definable form, (2) the arrangement of these in the right order, (3) the omission of no such
elements. The first is feasible because one can establish genus and differentia through the topic of the genus,
just as one can conclude the inherence of an accident through the topic of the accident. The right order will be
achieved if the right term is assumed as primary, and this will be ensured if the term selected is predicable of
all the others but not all they of it; since there must be one such term. Having assumed this we at once
proceed in the same way with the lower terms; for our second term will be the first of the remainder, our third
the first of those which follow the second in a 'contiguous' series, since when the higher term is excluded, that
term of the remainder which is 'contiguous' to it will be primary, and so on. Our procedure makes it clear that
no elements in the definable form have been omitted: we have taken the differentia that comes first in the
order of division, pointing out that animal, e.g. is divisible exhaustively into A and B, and that the subject
accepts one of the two as its predicate. Next we have taken the differentia of the whole thus reached, and
shown that the whole we finally reach is not further divisible-i.e. that as soon as we have taken the last
differentia to form the concrete totality, this totality admits of no division into species. For it is clear that
there is no superfluous addition, since all these terms we have selected are elements in the definable form;
and nothing lacking, since any omission would have to be a genus or a differentia. Now the primary term is a
genus, and this term taken in conjunction with its differentiae is a genus: moreover the differentiae are all
included, because there is now no further differentia; if there were, the final concrete would admit of division
into species, which, we said, is not the case.

To resume our account of the right method of investigation: We must start by observing a set of similar-i.e.
specifically identical-individuals, and consider what element they have in common. We must then apply the
same process to another set of individuals which belong to one species and are generically but not specifically
identical with the former set. When we have established what the common element is in all members of this
second species, and likewise in members of further species, we should again consider whether the results
established possess any identity, and persevere until we reach a single formula, since this will be the
definition of the thing. But if we reach not one formula but two or more, evidently the definiendum cannot be

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one thing but must be more than one. I may illustrate my meaning as follows. If we were inquiring what the
essential nature of pride is, we should examine instances of proud men we know of to see what, as such, they
have in common; e.g. if Alcibiades was proud, or Achilles and Ajax were proud, we should find on inquiring
what they all had in common, that it was intolerance of insult; it was this which drove Alcibiades to war,
Achilles wrath, and Ajax to suicide. We should next examine other cases, Lysander, for example, or Socrates,
and then if these have in common indifference alike to good and ill fortune, I take these two results and
inquire what common element have equanimity amid the vicissitudes of life and impatience of dishonour. If
they have none, there will be two genera of pride. Besides, every definition is always universal and
commensurate: the physician does not prescribe what is healthy for a single eye, but for all eyes or for a
determinate species of eye. It is also easier by this method to define the single species than the universal, and
that is why our procedure should be from the several species to the universal genera-this for the further
reason too that equivocation is less readily detected in genera than in infimae species. Indeed, perspicuity is
essential in definitions, just as inferential movement is the minimum required in demonstrations; and we shall
attain perspicuity if we can collect separately the definition of each species through the group of singulars
which we have established e.g. the definition of similarity not unqualified but restricted to colours and to
figures; the definition of acuteness, but only of sound-and so proceed to the common universal with a careful
avoidance of equivocation. We may add that if dialectical disputation must not employ metaphors, clearly
metaphors and metaphorical expressions are precluded in definition: otherwise dialectic would involve
metaphors.

In order to formulate the connexions we wish to prove we have to select our analyses and divisions. The
method of selection consists in laying down the common genus of all our subjects of investigation-if e.g.
they are animals, we lay down what the properties are which inhere in every animal. These established, we
next lay down the properties essentially connected with the first of the remaining classes-e.g. if this first
subgenus is bird, the essential properties of every bird-and so on, always characterizing the proximate
subgenus. This will clearly at once enable us to say in virtue of what character the subgenera-man, e.g. or
horse-possess their properties. Let A be animal, B the properties of every animal, C D E various species of
animal. Then it is clear in virtue of what character B inheres in D-namely A-and that it inheres in C and E
for the same reason: and throughout the remaining subgenera always the same rule applies.

We are now taking our examples from the traditional class-names, but we must not confine ourselves to
considering these. We must collect any other common character which we observe, and then consider with
what species it is connected and what.properties belong to it. For example, as the common properties of
horned animals we collect the possession of a third stomach and only one row of teeth. Then since it is clear
in virtue of what character they possess these attributes-namely their horned character-the next question is,
to what species does the possession of horns attach?

Yet a further method of selection is by analogy: for we cannot find a single identical name to give to a squid's
pounce, a fish's spine, and an animal's bone, although these too possess common properties as if there were a
single osseous nature.

Some connexions that require proof are identical in that they possess an identical 'middle' e.g. a whole group
might be proved through 'reciprocal replacement'-and of these one class are identical in genus, namely all
those whose difference consists in their concerning different subjects or in their mode of manifestation. This
latter class may be exemplified by the questions as to the causes respectively of echo, of reflection, and of the
rainbow: the connexions to be proved which these questions embody are identical generically, because all

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three are forms of repercussion; but specifically they are different.

Other connexions that require proof only differ in that the 'middle' of the one is subordinate to the 'middle' of
the other. For example: Why does the Nile rise towards the end of the month? Because towards its close the
month is more stormy. Why is the month more stormy towards its close? Because the moon is waning. Here
the one cause is subordinate to the other.

The question might be raised with regard to cause and effect whether when the effect is present the cause also
is present; whether, for instance, if a plant sheds its leaves or the moon is eclipsed, there is present also the
cause of the eclipse or of the fall of the leaves-the possession of broad leaves, let us say, in the latter case, in
the former the earth's interposition. For, one might argue, if this cause is not present, these phenomena will
have some other cause: if it is present, its effect will be at once implied by it-the eclipse by the earth's
interposition, the fall of the leaves by the possession of broad leaves; but if so, they will be logically
coincident and each capable of proof through the other. Let me illustrate: Let A be deciduous character, B the
possession of broad leaves, C vine. Now if A inheres in B (for every broad-leaved plant is deciduous), and B
in C (every vine possessing broad leaves); then A inheres in C (every vine is deciduous), and the middle term
B is the cause. But we can also demonstrate that the vine has broad leaves because it is deciduous. Thus, let D
be broad-leaved, E deciduous, F vine. Then E inheres in F (since every vine is deciduous), and D in E (for
every deciduous plant has broad leaves): therefore every vine has broad leaves, and the cause is its deciduous
character. If, however, they cannot each be the cause of the other (for cause is prior to effect, and the earth's
interposition is the cause of the moon's eclipse and not the eclipse of the interposition)-if, then,
demonstration through the cause is of the reasoned fact and demonstration not through the cause is of the bare
fact, one who knows it through the eclipse knows the fact of the earth's interposition but not the reasoned
fact. Moreover, that the eclipse is not the cause of the interposition, but the interposition of the eclipse, is
obvious because the interposition is an element in the definition of eclipse, which shows that the eclipse is
known through the interposition and not vice versa.

On the other hand, can a single effect have more than one cause? One might argue as follows: if the same
attribute is predicable of more than one thing as its primary subject, let B be a primary subject in which A
inheres, and C another primary subject of A, and D and E primary subjects of B and C respectively. A will
then inhere in D and E, and B will be the cause of A's inherence in D, C of A's inherence in E. The presence
of the cause thus necessitates that of the effect, but the presence of the effect necessitates the presence not of
all that may cause it but only of a cause which yet need not be the whole cause. We may, however, suggest
that if the connexion to be proved is always universal and commensurate, not only will the cause be a whole
but also the effect will be universal and commensurate. For instance, deciduous character will belong
exclusively to a subject which is a whole, and, if this whole has species, universally and commensurately to
those species-i.e. either to all species of plant or to a single species. So in these universal and commensurate
connexions the 'middle' and its effect must reciprocate, i.e. be convertible. Supposing, for example, that the
reason why trees are deciduous is the coagulation of sap, then if a tree is deciduous, coagulation must be
present, and if coagulation is present-not in any subject but in a tree-then that tree must be deciduous.

Can the cause of an identical effect be not identical in every instance of the effect but different? Or is that
impossible? Perhaps it is impossible if the effect is demonstrated as essential and not as inhering in virtue of a
symptom or an accident-because the middle is then the definition of the major term-though possible if the
demonstration is not essential. Now it is possible to consider the effect and its subject as an accidental
conjunction, though such conjunctions would not be regarded as connexions demanding scientific proof. But

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if they are accepted as such, the middle will correspond to the extremes, and be equivocal if they are
equivocal, generically one if they are generically one. Take the question why proportionals alternate. The
cause when they are lines, and when they are numbers, is both different and identical; different in so far as
lines are lines and not numbers, identical as involving a given determinate increment. In all proportionals this
is so. Again, the cause of likeness between colour and colour is other than that between figure and figure; for
likeness here is equivocal, meaning perhaps in the latter case equality of the ratios of the sides and equality of
the angles, in the case of colours identity of the act of perceiving them, or something else of the sort. Again,
connexions requiring proof which are identical by analogy middles also analogous.

The truth is that cause, effect, and subject are reciprocally predicable in the following way. If the species are
taken severally, the effect is wider than the subject (e.g. the possession of external angles equal to four right
angles is an attribute wider than triangle or are), but it is coextensive with the species taken collectively (in
this instance with all figures whose external angles are equal to four right angles). And the middle likewise
reciprocates, for the middle is a definition of the major; which is incidentally the reason why all the sciences
are built up through definition.

We may illustrate as follows. Deciduous is a universal attribute of vine, and is at the same time of wider
extent than vine; and of fig, and is of wider extent than fig: but it is not wider than but coextensive with the
totality of the species. Then if you take the middle which is proximate, it is a definition of deciduous. I say
that, because you will first reach a middle next the subject, and a premiss asserting it of the whole subject,
and after that a middle-the coagulation of sap or something of the sort-proving the connexion of the first
middle with the major: but it is the coagulation of sap at the junction of leaf-stalk and stem which defines
deciduous.

If an explanation in formal terms of the inter-relation of cause and effect is demanded, we shall offer the
following. Let A be an attribute of all B, and B of every species of D, but so that both A and B are wider than
their respective subjects. Then B will be a universal attribute of each species of D (since I call such an
attribute universal even if it is not commensurate, and I call an attribute primary universal if it is
commensurate, not with each species severally but with their totality), and it extends beyond each of them
taken separately.

Thus, B is the cause of A's inherence in the species of D: consequently A must be of wider extent than B;
otherwise why should B be the cause of A's inherence in D any more than A the cause of B's inherence in D?
Now if A is an attribute of all the species of E, all the species of E will be united by possessing some
common cause other than B: otherwise how shall we be able to say that A is predicable of all of which E is
predicable, while E is not predicable of all of which A can be predicated? I mean how can there fail to be
some special cause of A's inherence in E, as there was of A's inherence in all the species of D? Then are the
species of E, too, united by possessing some common cause? This cause we must look for. Let us call itC.

We conclude, then, that the same effect may have more than one cause, but not in subjects specifically
identical. For instance, the cause of longevity in quadrupeds is lack of bile, in birds a dry constitution-or
certainly something different.

If immediate premisses are not reached at once, and there is not merely one middle but several middles, i.e.
several causes; is the cause of the property's inherence in the several species the middle which is proximate to
the primary universal, or the middle which is proximate to the species? Clearly the cause is that nearest to
each species severally in which it is manifested, for that is the cause of the subject's falling under the
universal. To illustrate formally: C is the cause of B's inherence in D; hence C is the cause of A's inherence in

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D, B of A's inherence in C, while the cause of A's inherence in B is B itself.

As regards syllogism and demonstration, the definition of, and the conditions required to produce each of
them, are now clear, and with that also the definition of, and the conditions required to produce,
demonstrative knowledge, since it is the same as demonstration. As to the basic premisses, how they become
known and what is the developed state of knowledge of them is made clear by raising some preliminary
problems.

We have already said that scientific knowledge through demonstration is impossible unless a man knows the
primary immediate premisses. But there are questions which might be raised in respect of the apprehension of
these immediate premisses: one might not only ask whether it is of the same kind as the apprehension of the
conclusions, but also whether there is or is not scientific knowledge of both; or scientific knowledge of the
latter, and of the former a different kind of knowledge; and, further, whether the developed states of
knowledge are not innate but come to be in us, or are innate but at first unnoticed. Now it is strange if we
possess them from birth; for it means that we possess apprehensions more accurate than demonstration and
fail to notice them. If on the other hand we acquire them and do not previously possess them, how could we
apprehend and learn without a basis of pre-existent knowledge? For that is impossible, as we used to find in
the case of demonstration. So it emerges that neither can we possess them from birth, nor can they come to be
in us if we are without knowledge of them to the extent of having no such developed state at all. Therefore
we must possess a capacity of some sort, but not such as to rank higher in accuracy than these developed
states. And this at least is an obvious characteristic of all animals, for they possess a congenital discriminative
capacity which is called sense-perception. But though sense-perception is innate in all animals, in some the
sense-impression comes to persist, in others it does not. So animals in which this persistence does not come
to be have either no knowledge at all outside the act of perceiving, or no knowledge of objects of which no
impression persists; animals in which it does come into being have perception and can continue to retain the
sense-impression in the soul: and when such persistence is frequently repeated a further distinction at once
arises between those which out of the persistence of such sense-impressions develop a power of
systematizing them and those which do not. So out of sense-perception comes to be what we call memory,
and out of frequently repeated memories of the same thing develops experience; for a number of memories
constitute a single experience. From experience again-i.e. from the universal now stabilized in its entirety
within the soul, the one beside the many which is a single identity within them all-originate the skill of the
craftsman and the knowledge of the man of science, skill in the sphere of coming to be and science in the
sphere of being.

We conclude that these states of knowledge are neither innate in a determinate form, nor developed from
other higher states of knowledge, but from sense-perception. It is like a rout in battle stopped by first one
man making a stand and then another, until the original formation has been restored. The soul is so
constituted as to be capable of this process.

Let us now restate the account given already, though with insufficient clearness. When one of a number of
logically indiscriminable particulars has made a stand, the earliest universal is present in the soul: for though
the act of sense-perception is of the particular, its content is universal-is man, for example, not the man
Callias. A fresh stand is made among these rudimentary universals, and the process does not cease until the
indivisible concepts, the true universals, are established: e.g. such and such a species of animal is a step
towards the genus animal, which by the same process is a step towards a further generalization.

Thus it is clear that we must get to know the primary premisses by induction; for the method by which even
sense-perception implants the universal is inductive. Now of the thinking states by which we grasp truth,

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some are unfailingly true, others admit of error-opinion, for instance, and calculation, whereas scientific
knowing and intuition are always true: further, no other kind of thought except intuition is more accurate than
scientific knowledge, whereas primary premisses are more knowable than demonstrations, and all scientific
knowledge is discursive. From these considerations it follows that there will be no scientific knowledge of
the primary premisses, and since except intuition nothing can be truer than scientific knowledge, it will be
intuition that apprehends the primary premisses-a result which also follows from the fact that demonstration
cannot be the originative source of demonstration, nor, consequently, scientific knowledge of scientific
knowledge.If, therefore, it is the only other kind of true thinking except scientific knowing, intuition will be
the originative source of scientific knowledge. And the originative source of science grasps the original basic
premiss, while science as a whole is similarly related as originative source to the whole body of fact.

-THE END-

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by Aristotle

PRIOR ANALYTICS

Table of Contents

PRIOR ANALYTICS. 1

by Aristotle 1

Book 1 2

_1 2

2 3

_3 4

A 4

_5 6

6 7

J 9

1 9

_9 10

JO 10

11 11

12 12

J3 12

H 13

15 14

\6 16

H 18

J8 19

19 19

2$ 20

21 21

22 21

21 22

2A 23

^5 24

26 25

2J_ 25

^8 26

29 28

JO 29

M 29

22 30

22 31

21 31

J5 32

26 32

21 33

.38 33

29 34

40 34

11 34

42 34

43 34

44 35

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PRIOR ANALYTICS

Table of Contents

16 36

Book II . 38

1 38

2 39

3. 41

1 42

_5 44

_6 45

1_ 45

_8 46

_9 46

10 47

H 48

12 49

13 50

U 50

15 51

16 52

11 53

18 54

19 54

10 55

12 56

23 57

14 58

25 58

16 58

27 59

PRIOR ANALYTICS

by Aristotle

translated by A. J. Jenkinson

• Book I

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PRIOR ANALYTICS

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• Book II

Book I

WE must first state the subject of our inquiry and the faculty to which it belongs: its subject is demonstration
and the faculty that carries it out demonstrative science. We must next define a premiss, a term, and a
syllogism, and the nature of a perfect and of an imperfect syllogism; and after that, the inclusion or
noninclusion of one term in another as in a whole, and what we mean by predicating one term of all, or none,
of another.

Book I

PRIOR ANALYTICS

A premiss then is a sentence affirming or denying one thing of another. This is either universal or particular
or indefinite. By universal I mean the statement that something belongs to all or none of something else; by
particular that it belongs to some or not to some or not to all; by indefinite that it does or does not belong,
without any mark to show whether it is universal or particular, e.g. 'contraries are subjects of the same
science', or 'pleasure is not good'. The demonstrative premiss differs from the dialectical, because the
demonstrative premiss is the assertion of one of two contradictory statements (the demonstrator does not ask
for his premiss, but lays it down), whereas the dialectical premiss depends on the adversary's choice between
two contradictories. But this will make no difference to the production of a syllogism in either case; for both
the demonstrator and the dialectician argue syllogistically after stating that something does or does not
belong to something else. Therefore a syllogistic premiss without qualification will be an affirmation or
denial of something concerning something else in the way we have described; it will be demonstrative, if it is
true and obtained through the first principles of its science; while a dialectical premiss is the giving of a
choice between two contradictories, when a man is proceeding by question, but when he is syllogizing it is
the assertion of that which is apparent and generally admitted, as has been said in the Topics. The nature then
of a premiss and the difference between syllogistic, demonstrative, and dialectical premisses, may be taken as
sufficiently defined by us in relation to our present need, but will be stated accurately in the sequel.

I call that a term into which the premiss is resolved, i.e. both the predicate and that of which it is predicated,
'being' being added and 'not being' removed, or vice versa.

A syllogism is discourse in which, certain things being stated, something other than what is stated follows of
necessity from their being so. I mean by the last phrase that they produce the consequence, and by this, that
no further term is required from without in order to make the consequence necessary.

I call that a perfect syllogism which needs nothing other than what has been stated to make plain what
necessarily follows; a syllogism is imperfect, if it needs either one or more propositions, which are indeed the
necessary consequences of the terms set down, but have not been expressly stated as premisses.

That one term should be included in another as in a whole is the same as for the other to be predicated of all
of the first. And we say that one term is predicated of all of another, whenever no instance of the subject can
be found of which the other term cannot be asserted: 'to be predicated of none' must be understood in the
same way.

Every premiss states that something either is or must be or may be the attribute of something else; of
premisses of these three kinds some are affirmative, others negative, in respect of each of the three modes of
attribution; again some affirmative and negative premisses are universal, others particular, others indefinite. It
is necessary then that in universal attribution the terms of the negative premiss should be convertible, e.g. if
no pleasure is good, then no good will be pleasure; the terms of the affirmative must be convertible, not
however, universally, but in part, e.g. if every pleasure,is good, some good must be pleasure; the particular
affirmative must convert in part (for if some pleasure is good, then some good will be pleasure); but the
particular negative need not convert, for if some animal is not man, it does not follow that some man is not
animal.

First then take a universal negative with the terms A and B. If no B is A, neither can any A be B. For if some
A (say C) were B, it would not be true that no B is A; for C is a B. But if every B is A then some A is B. For
if no A were B, then no B could be A. But we assumed that every B is A. Similarly too, if the premiss is
particular. For if some B is A, then some of the As must be B. For if none were, then no B would be A. But if
some B is not A, there is no necessity that some of the As should not be B; e.g. let B stand for animal and A

PRIOR ANALYTICS
for man. Not every animal is a man; but every man is an animal.

The same manner of conversion will hold good also in respect of necessary premisses. The universal negative
converts universally; each of the affirmatives converts into a particular. If it is necessary that no B is A, it is
necessary also that no A is B. For if it is possible that some A is B, it would be possible also that some B is
A. If all or some B is A of necessity, it is necessary also that some A is B: for if there were no necessity,
neither would some of the Bs be A necessarily. But the particular negative does not convert, for the same
reason which we have already stated.

In respect of possible premisses, since possibility is used in several senses (for we say that what is necessary
and what is not necessary and what is potential is possible), affirmative statements will all convert in a
manner similar to those described. For if it is possible that all or some B is A, it will be possible that some A
is B. For if that were not possible, then no B could possibly be A. This has been already proved. But in
negative statements the case is different. Whatever is said to be possible, either because B necessarily is A, or
because B is not necessarily A, admits of conversion like other negative statements, e.g. if one should say, it
is possible that man is not horse, or that no garment is white. For in the former case the one term necessarily
does not belong to the other; in the latter there is no necessity that it should: and the premiss converts like
other negative statements. For if it is possible for no man to be a horse, it is also admissible for no horse to be
a man; and if it is admissible for no garment to be white, it is also admissible for nothing white to be a
garment. For if any white thing must be a garment, then some garment will necessarily be white. This has
been already proved. The particular negative also must be treated like those dealt with above. But if anything
is said to be possible because it is the general rule and natural (and it is in this way we define the possible),
the negative premisses can no longer be converted like the simple negatives; the universal negative premiss
does not convert, and the particular does. This will be plain when we speak about the possible. At present we
may take this much as clear in addition to what has been said: the statement that it is possible that no B is A
or some B is not A is affirmative in form: for the expression 'is possible' ranks along with 'is', and 'is' makes
an affirmation always and in every case, whatever the terms to which it is added, in predication, e.g. 'it is
not-good' or 'it is not-white' or in a word 'it is not-this'. But this also will be proved in the sequel. In
conversion these premisses will behave like the other affirmative propositions.

After these distinctions we now state by what means, when, and how every syllogism is produced;
subsequently we must speak of demonstration. Syllogism should be discussed before demonstration because
syllogism is the general: the demonstration is a sort of syllogism, but not every syllogism is a demonstration.

Whenever three terms are so related to one another that the last is contained in the middle as in a whole, and
the middle is either contained in, or excluded from, the first as in or from a whole, the extremes must be
related by a perfect syllogism. I call that term middle which is itself contained in another and contains another
in itself: in position also this comes in the middle. By extremes I mean both that term which is itself
contained in another and that in which another is contained. If A is predicated of all B, and B of all C, A must
be predicated of all C: we have already explained what we mean by 'predicated of all'. Similarly also, if A is
predicated of no B, and B of all C, it is necessary that no C will be A.

But if the first term belongs to all the middle, but the middle to none of the last term, there will be no
syllogism in respect of the extremes; for nothing necessary follows from the terms being so related; for it is
possible that the first should belong either to all or to none of the last, so that neither a particular nor a
universal conclusion is necessary. But if there is no necessary consequence, there cannot be a syllogism by

PRIOR ANALYTICS

means of these premisses. As an example of a universal affirmative relation between the extremes we may
take the terms animal, man, horse; of a universal negative relation, the terms animal, man, stone. Nor again
can syllogism be formed when neither the first term belongs to any of the middle, nor the middle to any of the
last. As an example of a positive relation between the extremes take the terms science, line, medicine: of a
negative relation science, line, unit.

If then the terms are universally related, it is clear in this figure when a syllogism will be possible and when
not, and that if a syllogism is possible the terms must be related as described, and if they are so related there
will be a syllogism.

But if one term is related universally, the other in part only, to its subject, there must be a perfect syllogism
whenever universality is posited with reference to the major term either affirmatively or negatively, and
particularity with reference to the minor term affirmatively: but whenever the universality is posited in
relation to the minor term, or the terms are related in any other way, a syllogism is impossible. I call that term
the major in which the middle is contained and that term the minor which comes under the middle. Let all B
be A and some C be B. Then if 'predicated of all' means what was said above, it is necessary that some C is
A. And if no B is A but some C is B, it is necessary that some C is not A. The meaning of 'predicated of none'
has also been defined. So there will be a perfect syllogism. This holds good also if the premiss BC should be
indefinite, provided that it is affirmative: for we shall have the same syllogism whether the premiss is
indefinite or particular.

But if the universality is posited with respect to the minor term either affirmatively or negatively, a syllogism
will not be possible, whether the major premiss is positive or negative, indefinite or particular: e.g. if some B
is or is not A, and all C is B. As an example of a positive relation between the extremes take the terms good,
state, wisdom: of a negative relation, good, state, ignorance. Again if no C is B, but some B is or is not A or
not every B is A, there cannot be a syllogism. Take the terms white, horse, swan: white, horse, raven. The
same terms may be taken also if the premiss BA is indefinite.

Nor when the major premiss is universal, whether affirmative or negative, and the minor premiss is negative
and particular, can there be a syllogism, whether the minor premiss be indefinite or particular: e.g. if all B is
A and some C is not B, or if not all C is B. For the major term may be predicable both of all and of none of
the minor, to some of which the middle term cannot be attributed. Suppose the terms are animal, man, white:
next take some of the white things of which man is not predicated-swan and snow: animal is predicated of all
of the one, but of none of the other. Consequently there cannot be a syllogism. Again let no B be A, but let
some C not be B. Take the terms inanimate, man, white: then take some white things of which man is not
predicated-swan and snow: the term inanimate is predicated of all of the one, of none of the other.

Further since it is indefinite to say some C is not B, and it is true that some C is not B, whether no C is B, or
not all C is B, and since if terms are assumed such that no C is B, no syllogism follows (this has already been
stated) it is clear that this arrangement of terms will not afford a syllogism: otherwise one would have been
possible with a universal negative minor premiss. A similar proof may also be given if the universal premiss
is negative.

Nor can there in any way be a syllogism if both the relations of subject and predicate are particular, either
positively or negatively, or the one negative and the other affirmative, or one indefinite and the other definite,
or both indefinite. Terms common to all the above are animal, white, horse: animal, white, stone.

It is clear then from what has been said that if there is a syllogism in this figure with a particular conclusion,
the terms must be related as we have stated: if they are related otherwise, no syllogism is possible anyhow. It
is evident also that all the syllogisms in this figure are perfect (for they are all completed by means of the
premisses originally taken) and that all conclusions are proved by this figure, viz. universal and particular,

PRIOR ANALYTICS
affirmative and negative. Such a figure I call the first.

Whenever the same thing belongs to all of one subject, and to none of another, or to all of each subject or to
none of either, I call such a figure the second; by middle term in it I mean that which is predicated of both
subjects, by extremes the terms of which this is said, by major extreme that which lies near the middle, by
minor that which is further away from the middle. The middle term stands outside the extremes, and is first in
position. A syllogism cannot be perfect anyhow in this figure, but it may be valid whether the terms are
related universally or not.

If then the terms are related universally a syllogism will be possible, whenever the middle belongs to all of
one subject and to none of another (it does not matter which has the negative relation), but in no other way.
Let M be predicated of no N, but of all O. Since, then, the negative relation is convertible, N will belong to no
M: but M was assumed to belong to all O: consequently N will belong to no O. This has already been proved.
Again if M belongs to all N, but to no O, then N will belong to no O. For if M belongs to no O, O belongs to
no M: but M (as was said) belongs to all N: O then will belong to no N: for the first figure has again been
formed. But since the negative relation is convertible, N will belong to no O. Thus it will be the same
syllogism that proves both conclusions.

It is possible to prove these results also by reductio ad impossibile.

It is clear then that a syllogism is formed when the terms are so related, but not a perfect syllogism; for
necessity is not perfectly established merely from the original premisses; others also are needed.

But if M is predicated of every N and O, there cannot be a syllogism. Terms to illustrate a positive relation
between the extremes are substance, animal, man; a negative relation, substance, animal, number-substance
being the middle term.

Nor is a syllogism possible when M is predicated neither of any N nor of any O. Terms to illustrate a positive
relation are line, animal, man: a negative relation, line, animal, stone.

It is clear then that if a syllogism is formed when the terms are universally related, the terms must be related
as we stated at the outset: for if they are otherwise related no necessary consequence follows.

If the middle term is related universally to one of the extremes, a particular negative syllogism must result
whenever the middle term is related universally to the major whether positively or negatively, and
particularly to the minor and in a manner opposite to that of the universal statement: by 'an opposite manner' I
mean, if the universal statement is negative, the particular is affirmative: if the universal is affirmative, the
particular is negative. For if M belongs to no N, but to some O, it is necessary that N does not belong to some
O. For since the negative statement is convertible, N will belong to no M: but M was admitted to belong to
some O: therefore N will not belong to some O: for the result is reached by means of the first figure. Again if
M belongs to all N, but not to some O, it is necessary that N does not belong to some O: for if N belongs to
all O, and M is predicated also of all N, M must belong to all O: but we assumed that M does not belong to
some O. And if M belongs to all N but not to all O, we shall conclude that N does not belong to all O: the
proof is the same as the above. But if M is predicated of all O, but not of all N, there will be no syllogism.
Take the terms animal, substance, raven; animal, white, raven. Nor will there be a conclusion when M is
predicated of no O, but of some N. Terms to illustrate a positive relation between the extremes are animal,
substance, unit: a negative relation, animal, substance, science.

PRIOR ANALYTICS

If then the universal statement is opposed to the particular, we have stated when a syllogism will be possible
and when not: but if the premisses are similar in form, I mean both negative or both affirmative, a syllogism
will not be possible anyhow. First let them be negative, and let the major premiss be universal, e.g. let M
belong to no N, and not to some O. It is possible then for N to belong either to all O or to no O. Terms to
illustrate the negative relation are black, snow, animal. But it is not possible to find terms of which the
extremes are related positively and universally, if M belongs to some O, and does not belong to some O. For
if N belonged to all O, but M to no N, then M would belong to no O: but we assumed that it belongs to some
O. In this way then it is not admissible to take terms: our point must be proved from the indefinite nature of
the particular statement. For since it is true that M does not belong to some O, even if it belongs to no O, and
since if it belongs to no O a syllogism is (as we have seen) not possible, clearly it will not be possible now
either.

Again let the premisses be affirmative, and let the major premiss as before be universal, e.g. let M belong to
all N and to some O. It is possible then for N to belong to all O or to no O. Terms to illustrate the negative
relation are white, swan, stone. But it is not possible to take terms to illustrate the universal affirmative
relation, for the reason already stated: the point must be proved from the indefinite nature of the particular
statement. But if the minor premiss is universal, and M belongs to no O, and not to some N, it is possible for
N to belong either to all O or to no O. Terms for the positive relation are white, animal, raven: for the
negative relation, white, stone, raven. If the premisses are affirmative, terms for the negative relation are
white, animal, snow; for the positive relation, white, animal, swan. Evidently then, whenever the premisses
are similar in form, and one is universal, the other particular, a syllogism can, not be formed anyhow. Nor is
one possible if the middle term belongs to some of each of the extremes, or does not belong to some of either,
or belongs to some of the one, not to some of the other, or belongs to neither universally, or is related to them
indefinitely. Common terms for all the above are white, animal, man: white, animal, inanimate. It is clear
then from what has been said that if the terms are related to one another in the way stated, a syllogism results
of necessity; and if there is a syllogism, the terms must be so related. But it is evident also that all the
syllogisms in this figure are imperfect: for all are made perfect by certain supplementary statements, which
either are contained in the terms of necessity or are assumed as hypotheses, i.e. when we prove per
impossibile. And it is evident that an affirmative conclusion is not attained by means of this figure, but all are
negative, whether universal or particular.

But if one term belongs to all, and another to none, of a third, or if both belong to all, or to none, of it, I call
such a figure the third; by middle term in it I mean that of which both the predicates are predicated, by
extremes I mean the predicates, by the major extreme that which is further from the middle, by the minor that
which is nearer to it. The middle term stands outside the extremes, and is last in position. A syllogism cannot
be perfect in this figure either, but it may be valid whether the terms are related universally or not to the
middle term.

If they are universal, whenever both P and R belong to S, it follows that P will necessarily belong to some R.
For, since the affirmative statement is convertible, S will belong to some R: consequently since P belongs to
all S, and S to some R, P must belong to some R: for a syllogism in the first figure is produced. It is possible
to demonstrate this also per impossibile and by exposition. For if both P and R belong to all S, should one of
the Ss, e.g. N, be taken, both P and R will belong to this, and thus P will belong to some R.

If R belongs to all S, and P to no S, there will be a syllogism to prove that P will necessarily not belong to
some R. This may be demonstrated in the same way as before by converting the premiss RS. It might be
proved also per impossibile, as in the former cases. But if R belongs to no S, P to all S, there will be no
syllogism. Terms for the positive relation are animal, horse, man: for the negative relation animal, inanimate,

PRIOR ANALYTICS

man.

Nor can there be a syllogism when both terms are asserted of no S. Terms for the positive relation are animal,
horse, inanimate; for the negative relation man, horse, inanimate-inanimate being the middle term.

It is clear then in this figure also when a syllogism will be possible and when not, if the terms are related
universally. For whenever both the terms are affirmative, there will be a syllogism to prove that one extreme
belongs to some of the other; but when they are negative, no syllogism will be possible. But when one is
negative, the other affirmative, if the major is negative, the minor affirmative, there will be a syllogism to
prove that the one extreme does not belong to some of the other: but if the relation is reversed, no syllogism
will be possible. If one term is related universally to the middle, the other in part only, when both are
affirmative there must be a syllogism, no matter which of the premisses is universal. For if R belongs to all S,
P to some S, P must belong to some R. For since the affirmative statement is convertible S will belong to
some P: consequently since R belongs to all S, and S to some P, R must also belong to some P: therefore P
must belong to some R.

Again if R belongs to some S, and P to all S, P must belong to some R. This may be demonstrated in the
same way as the preceding. And it is possible to demonstrate it also per impossibile and by exposition, as in
the former cases. But if one term is affirmative, the other negative, and if the affirmative is universal, a
syllogism will be possible whenever the minor term is affirmative. For if R belongs to all S, but P does not
belong to some S, it is necessary that P does not belong to some R. For if P belongs to all R, and R belongs to
all S, then P will belong to all S: but we assumed that it did not. Proof is possible also without reduction ad
impossibile, if one of the Ss be taken to which P does not belong.

But whenever the major is affirmative, no syllogism will be possible, e.g. if P belongs to all S and R does not
belong to some S. Terms for the universal affirmative relation are animate, man, animal. For the universal
negative relation it is not possible to get terms, if R belongs to some S, and does not belong to some S. For if
P belongs to all S, and R to some S, then P will belong to some R: but we assumed that it belongs to no R.
We must put the matter as before.' Since the expression 'it does not belong to some' is indefinite, it may be
used truly of that also which belongs to none. But if R belongs to no S, no syllogism is possible, as has been
shown. Clearly then no syllogism will be possible here.

But if the negative term is universal, whenever the major is negative and the minor affirmative there will be a
syllogism. For if P belongs to no S, and R belongs to some S, P will not belong to some R: for we shall have
the first figure again, if the premiss RS is converted.

But when the minor is negative, there will be no syllogism. Terms for the positive relation are animal, man,
wild: for the negative relation, animal, science, wild-the middle in both being the term wild.

Nor is a syllogism possible when both are stated in the negative, but one is universal, the other particular.
When the minor is related universally to the middle, take the terms animal, science, wild; animal, man, wild.
When the major is related universally to the middle, take as terms for a negative relation raven, snow, white.
For a positive relation terms cannot be found, if R belongs to some S, and does not belong to some S. For if P
belongs to all R, and R to some S, then P belongs to some S: but we assumed that it belongs to no S. Our
point, then, must be proved from the indefinite nature of the particular statement.

Nor is a syllogism possible anyhow, if each of the extremes belongs to some of the middle or does not
belong, or one belongs and the other does not to some of the middle, or one belongs to some of the middle,
the other not to all, or if the premisses are indefinite. Common terms for all are animal, man, white: animal,
inanimate, white.

PRIOR ANALYTICS

It is clear then in this figure also when a syllogism will be possible, and when not; and that if the terms are as
stated, a syllogism results of necessity, and if there is a syllogism, the terms must be so related. It is clear also
that all the syllogisms in this figure are imperfect (for all are made perfect by certain supplementary
assumptions), and that it will not be possible to reach a universal conclusion by means of this figure, whether
negative or affirmative.

It is evident also that in all the figures, whenever a proper syllogism does not result, if both the terms are
affirmative or negative nothing necessary follows at all, but if one is affirmative, the other negative, and if the
negative is stated universally, a syllogism always results relating the minor to the major term, e.g. if A
belongs to all or some B, and B belongs to no C: for if the premisses are converted it is necessary that C does
not belong to some A. Similarly also in the other figures: a syllogism always results by means of conversion.
It is evident also that the substitution of an indefinite for a particular affirmative will effect the same
syllogism in all the figures.

It is clear too that all the imperfect syllogisms are made perfect by means of the first figure. For all are
brought to a conclusion either ostensively or per impossibile. In both ways the first figure is formed: if they
are made perfect ostensively, because (as we saw) all are brought to a conclusion by means of conversion,
and conversion produces the first figure: if they are proved per impossibile, because on the assumption of the
false statement the syllogism comes about by means of the first figure, e.g. in the last figure, if A and B
belong to all C, it follows that A belongs to some B: for if A belonged to no B, and B belongs to all C, A
would belong to no C: but (as we stated) it belongs to all C. Similarly also with the rest.

It is possible also to reduce all syllogisms to the universal syllogisms in the first figure. Those in the second
figure are clearly made perfect by these, though not all in the same way; the universal syllogisms are made
perfect by converting the negative premiss, each of the particular syllogisms by reductio ad impossibile. In
the first figure particular syllogisms are indeed made perfect by themselves, but it is possible also to prove
them by means of the second figure, reducing them ad impossibile, e.g. if A belongs to all B, and B to some
C, it follows that A belongs to some C. For if it belonged to no C, and belongs to all B, then B will belong to
no C: this we know by means of the second figure. Similarly also demonstration will be possible in the case
of the negative. For if A belongs to no B, and B belongs to some C, A will not belong to some C: for if it
belonged to all C, and belongs to no B, then B will belong to no C: and this (as we saw) is the middle figure.
Consequently, since all syllogisms in the middle figure can be reduced to universal syllogisms in the first
figure, and since particular syllogisms in the first figure can be reduced to syllogisms in the middle figure, it
is clear that particular syllogisms can be reduced to universal syllogisms in the first figure. Syllogisms in the
third figure, if the terms are universal, are directly made perfect by means of those syllogisms; but, when one
of the premisses is particular, by means of the particular syllogisms in the first figure: and these (we have
seen) may be reduced to the universal syllogisms in the first figure: consequently also the particular
syllogisms in the third figure may be so reduced. It is clear then that all syllogisms may be reduced to the
universal syllogisms in the first figure.

We have stated then how syllogisms which prove that something belongs or does not belong to something
else are constituted, both how syllogisms of the same figure are constituted in themselves, and how
syllogisms of different figures are related to one another.

Since there is a difference according as something belongs, necessarily belongs, or may belong to something
else (for many things belong indeed, but not necessarily, others neither necessarily nor indeed at all, but it is

PRIOR ANALYTICS

possible for them to belong), it is clear that there will be different syllogisms to prove each of these relations,
and syllogisms with differently related terms, one syllogism concluding from what is necessary, another from
what is, a third from what is possible.

There is hardly any difference between syllogisms from necessary premisses and syllogisms from premisses
which merely assert. When the terms are put in the same way, then, whether something belongs or
necessarily belongs (or does not belong) to something else, a syllogism will or will not result alike in both
cases, the only difference being the addition of the expression 'necessarily' to the terms. For the negative
statement is convertible alike in both cases, and we should give the same account of the expressions 'to be
contained in something as in a whole' and 'to be predicated of all of something'. With the exceptions to be
made below, the conclusion will be proved to be necessary by means of conversion, in the same manner as in
the case of simple predication. But in the middle figure when the universal statement is affirmative, and the
particular negative, and again in the third figure when the universal is affirmative and the particular negative,
the demonstration will not take the same form, but it is necessary by the 'exposition' of a part of the subject of
the particular negative proposition, to which the predicate does not belong, to make the syllogism in reference
to this: with terms so chosen the conclusion will necessarily follow. But if the relation is necessary in respect
of the part taken, it must hold of some of that term in which this part is included: for the part taken is just
some of that. And each of the resulting syllogisms is in the appropriate figure.

It happens sometimes also that when one premiss is necessary the conclusion is necessary, not however when
either premiss is necessary, but only when the major is, e.g. if A is taken as necessarily belonging or not
belonging to B, but B is taken as simply belonging to C: for if the premisses are taken in this way, A will
necessarily belong or not belong to C. For since necessarily belongs, or does not belong, to every B, and since
C is one of the Bs, it is clear that for C also the positive or the negative relation to A will hold necessarily.
But if the major premiss is not necessary, but the minor is necessary, the conclusion will not be necessary.
For if it were, it would result both through the first figure and through the third that A belongs necessarily to
some B. But this is false; for B may be such that it is possible that A should belong to none of it. Further, an
example also makes it clear that the conclusion not be necessary, e.g. if A were movement, B animal, C man:
man is an animal necessarily, but an animal does not move necessarily, nor does man. Similarly also if the
major premiss is negative; for the proof is the same.

In particular syllogisms, if the universal premiss is necessary, then the conclusion will be necessary; but if the
particular, the conclusion will not be necessary, whether the universal premiss is negative or affirmative. First
let the universal be necessary, and let A belong to all B necessarily, but let B simply belong to some C: it is
necessary then that A belongs to some C necessarily: for C falls under B, and A was assumed to belong
necessarily to all B. Similarly also if the syllogism should be negative: for the proof will be the same. But if
the particular premiss is necessary, the conclusion will not be necessary: for from the denial of such a
conclusion nothing impossible results, just as it does not in the universal syllogisms. The same is true of
negative syllogisms. Try the terms movement, animal, white.

In the second figure, if the negative premiss is necessary, then the conclusion will be necessary, but if the
affirmative, not necessary. First let the negative be necessary; let A be possible of no B, and simply belong to
C. Since then the negative statement is convertible, B is possible of no A. But A belongs to all C;
consequently B is possible of no C. For C falls under A. The same result would be obtained if the minor
premiss were negative: for if A is possible be of no C, C is possible of no A: but A belongs to all B,
consequently C is possible of none of the Bs: for again we have obtained the first figure. Neither then is B

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possible of C: for conversion is possible without modifying the relation.

But if the affirmative premiss is necessary, the conclusion will not be necessary. Let A belong to all B
necessarily, but to no C simply. If then the negative premiss is converted, the first figure results. But it has
been proved in the case of the first figure that if the negative major premiss is not necessary the conclusion
will not be necessary either. Therefore the same result will obtain here. Further, if the conclusion is
necessary, it follows that C necessarily does not belong to some A. For if B necessarily belongs to no C, C
will necessarily belong to no B. But B at any rate must belong to some A, if it is true (as was assumed) that A
necessarily belongs to all B. Consequently it is necessary that C does not belong to some A. But nothing
prevents such an A being taken that it is possible for C to belong to all of it. Further one might show by an
exposition of terms that the conclusion is not necessary without qualification, though it is a necessary
conclusion from the premisses. For example let A be animal, B man, C white, and let the premisses be
assumed to correspond to what we had before: it is possible that animal should belong to nothing white. Man
then will not belong to anything white, but not necessarily: for it is possible for man to be born white, not
however so long as animal belongs to nothing white. Consequently under these conditions the conclusion will
be necessary, but it is not necessary without qualification.

Similar results will obtain also in particular syllogisms. For whenever the negative premiss is both universal
and necessary, then the conclusion will be necessary: but whenever the affirmative premiss is universal, the
negative particular, the conclusion will not be necessary. First then let the negative premiss be both universal
and necessary: let it be possible for no B that A should belong to it, and let A simply belong to some C. Since
the negative statement is convertible, it will be possible for no A that B should belong to it: but A belongs to
some C; consequently B necessarily does not belong to some of the Cs. Again let the affirmative premiss be
both universal and necessary, and let the major premiss be affirmative. If then A necessarily belongs to all B,
but does not belong to some C, it is clear that B will not belong to some C, but not necessarily. For the same
terms can be used to demonstrate the point, which were used in the universal syllogisms. Nor again, if the
negative statement is necessary but particular, will the conclusion be necessary. The point can be
demonstrated by means of the same terms.

In the last figure when the terms are related universally to the middle, and both premisses are affirmative, if
one of the two is necessary, then the conclusion will be necessary. But if one is negative, the other
affirmative, whenever the negative is necessary the conclusion also will be necessary, but whenever the
affirmative is necessary the conclusion will not be necessary. First let both the premisses be affirmative, and
let A and B belong to all C, and let AC be necessary. Since then B belongs to all C, C also will belong to
some B, because the universal is convertible into the particular: consequently if A belongs necessarily to all
C, and C belongs to some B, it is necessary that A should belong to some B also. For B is under C. The first
figure then is formed. A similar proof will be given also if BC is necessary. For C is convertible with some
A: consequently if B belongs necessarily to all C, it will belong necessarily also to some A.

Again let AC be negative, BC affirmative, and let the negative premiss be necessary. Since then C is
convertible with some B, but A necessarily belongs to no C, A will necessarily not belong to some B either:
for B is under C. But if the affirmative is necessary, the conclusion will not be necessary. For suppose BC is
affirmative and necessary, while AC is negative and not necessary. Since then the affirmative is convertible,
C also will belong to some B necessarily: consequently if A belongs to none of the Cs, while C belongs to
some of the Bs, A will not belong to some of the Bs-but not of necessity; for it has been proved, in the case
of the first figure, that if the negative premiss is not necessary, neither will the conclusion be necessary.
Further, the point may be made clear by considering the terms. Let the term A be 'good', let that which B
signifies be 'animal', let the term C be 'horse'. It is possible then that the term good should belong to no horse,

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and it is necessary that the term animal should belong to every horse: but it is not necessary that some animal
should not be good, since it is possible for every animal to be good. Or if that is not possible, take as the term
'awake' or 'asleep': for every animal can accept these.

If, then, the premisses are universal, we have stated when the conclusion will be necessary. But if one
premiss is universal, the other particular, and if both are affirmative, whenever the universal is necessary the
conclusion also must be necessary. The demonstration is the same as before; for the particular affirmative
also is convertible. If then it is necessary that B should belong to all C, and A falls under C, it is necessary
that B should belong to some A. But if B must belong to some A, then A must belong to some B: for
conversion is possible. Similarly also if AC should be necessary and universal: for B falls under C. But if the
particular premiss is necessary, the conclusion will not be necessary. Let the premiss BC be both particular
and necessary, and let A belong to all C, not however necessarily. If the proposition BC is converted the first
figure is formed, and the universal premiss is not necessary, but the particular is necessary. But when the
premisses were thus, the conclusion (as we proved was not necessary: consequently it is not here either.
Further, the point is clear if we look at the terms. Let A be waking, B biped, and C animal. It is necessary that
B should belong to some C, but it is possible for A to belong to C, and that A should belong to B is not
necessary. For there is no necessity that some biped should be asleep or awake. Similarly and by means of the
same terms proof can be made, should the proposition AC be both particular and necessary.

But if one premiss is affirmative, the other negative, whenever the universal is both negative and necessary
the conclusion also will be necessary. For if it is not possible that A should belong to any C, but B belongs to
some C, it is necessary that A should not belong to some B. But whenever the affirmative proposition is
necessary, whether universal or particular, or the negative is particular, the conclusion will not be necessary.
The proof of this by reduction will be the same as before; but if terms are wanted, when the universal
affirmative is necessary, take the terms 'waking'-'animal'-'man', 'man' being middle, and when the
affirmative is particular and necessary, take the terms 'waking'-'animal'-'white': for it is necessary that animal
should belong to some white thing, but it is possible that waking should belong to none, and it is not
necessary that waking should not belong to some animal. But when the negative proposition being particular
is necessary, take the terms 'biped', 'moving', 'animal', 'animal' being middle.

It is clear then that a simple conclusion is not reached unless both premisses are simple assertions, but a
necessary conclusion is possible although one only of the premisses is necessary. But in both cases, whether
the syllogisms are affirmative or negative, it is necessary that one premiss should be similar to the
conclusion. I mean by 'similar', if the conclusion is a simple assertion, the premiss must be simple; if the
conclusion is necessary, the premiss must be necessary. Consequently this also is clear, that the conclusion
will be neither necessary nor simple unless a necessary or simple premiss is assumed.

Perhaps enough has been said about the proof of necessity, how it comes about and how it differs from the
proof of a simple statement. We proceed to discuss that which is possible, when and how and by what means
it can be proved. I use the terms 'to be possible' and 'the possible' of that which is not necessary but, being
assumed, results in nothing impossible. We say indeed ambiguously of the necessary that it is possible. But
that my definition of the possible is correct is clear from the phrases by which we deny or on the contrary
affirm possibility. For the expressions 'it is not possible to belong', 'it is impossible to belong', and 'it is
necessary not to belong' are either identical or follow from one another; consequently their opposites also, 'it
is possible to belong', 'it is not impossible to belong', and 'it is not necessary not to belong', will either be
identical or follow from one another. For of everything the affirmation or the denial holds good. That which

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is possible then will be not necessary and that which is not necessary will be possible. It results that all
premisses in the mode of possibility are convertible into one another. I mean not that the affirmative are
convertible into the negative, but that those which are affirmative in form admit of conversion by opposition,
e.g. 'it is possible to belong' may be converted into 'it is possible not to belong', and 'it is possible for A to
belong to all B' into 'it is possible for A to belong to no B' or 'not to all B', and 'it is possible for A to belong
to some B' into 'it is possible for A not to belong to some B'. And similarly the other propositions in this
mode can be converted. For since that which is possible is not necessary, and that which is not necessary may
possibly not belong, it is clear that if it is possible that A should belong to B, it is possible also that it should
not belong to B: and if it is possible that it should belong to all, it is also possible that it should not belong to
all. The same holds good in the case of particular affirmations: for the proof is identical. And such premisses
are affirmative and not negative; for 'to be possible' is in the same rank as 'to be', as was said above.

Having made these distinctions we next point out that the expression 'to be possible' is used in two ways. In
one it means to happen generally and fall short of necessity, e.g. man's turning grey or growing or decaying,
or generally what naturally belongs to a thing (for this has not its necessity unbroken, since man's existence is
not continuous for ever, although if a man does exist, it comes about either necessarily or generally). In
another sense the expression means the indefinite, which can be both thus and not thus, e.g. an animal's
walking or an earthquake's taking place while it is walking, or generally what happens by chance: for none of
these inclines by nature in the one way more than in the opposite.

That which is possible in each of its two senses is convertible into its opposite, not however in the same way:
but what is natural is convertible because it does not necessarily belong (for in this sense it is possible that a
man should not grow grey) and what is indefinite is convertible because it inclines this way no more than
that. Science and demonstrative syllogism are not concerned with things which are indefinite, because the
middle term is uncertain; but they are concerned with things that are natural, and as a rule arguments and
inquiries are made about things which are possible in this sense. Syllogisms indeed can be made about the
former, but it is unusual at any rate to inquire about them.

These matters will be treated more definitely in the sequel; our business at present is to state the moods and
nature of the syllogism made from possible premisses. The expression 'it is possible for this to belong to that'
may be understood in two senses: 'that' may mean either that to which 'that' belongs or that to which it may
belong; for the expression A is possible of the subject of B' means that it is possible either of that of which B
is stated or of that of which B may possibly be stated. It makes no difference whether we say, A is possible of
the subject of B, or all B admits of A. It is clear then that the expression A may possibly belong to all B'
might be used in two senses. First then we must state the nature and characteristics of the syllogism which
arises if B is possible of the subject of C, and A is possible of the subject of B. For thus both premisses are
assumed in the mode of possibility; but whenever A is possible of that of which B is true, one premiss is a
simple assertion, the other a problematic. Consequently we must start from premisses which are similar in
form, as in the other cases.

Whenever A may possibly belong to all B, and B to all C, there will be a perfect syllogism to prove that A
may possibly belong to all C. This is clear from the definition: for it was in this way that we explained 'to be
possible for one term to belong to all of another'. Similarly if it is possible for A to belong no B, and for B to
belong to all C, then it is possible for A to belong to no C. For the statement that it is possible for A not to
belong to that of which B may be true means (as we saw) that none of those things which can possibly fall
under the term B is left out of account. But whenever A may belong to all B, and B may belong to no C, then
indeed no syllogism results from the premisses assumed, but if the premiss BC is converted after the manner
of problematic propositions, the same syllogism results as before. For since it is possible that B should belong

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to no C, it is possible also that it should belong to all C. This has been stated above. Consequently if B is
possible for all C, and A is possible for all B, the same syllogism again results. Similarly if in both the
premisses the negative is joined with 'it is possible': e.g. if A may belong to none of the Bs, and B to none of
the Cs. No syllogism results from the assumed premisses, but if they are converted we shall have the same
syllogism as before. It is clear then that if the minor premiss is negative, or if both premisses are negative,
either no syllogism results, or if one it is not perfect. For the necessity results from the conversion.

But if one of the premisses is universal, the other particular, when the major premiss is universal there will be
a perfect syllogism. For if A is possible for all B, and B for some C, then A is possible for some C. This is
clear from the definition of being possible. Again if A may belong to no B, and B may belong to some of the
Cs, it is necessary that A may possibly not belong to some of the Cs. The proof is the same as above. But if
the particular premiss is negative, and the universal is affirmative, the major still being universal and the
minor particular, e.g. A is possible for all B, B may possibly not belong to some C, then a clear syllogism
does not result from the assumed premisses, but if the particular premiss is converted and it is laid down that
B possibly may belong to some C, we shall have the same conclusion as before, as in the cases given at the
beginning.

But if the major premiss is the minor universal, whether both are affirmative, or negative, or different in
quality, or if both are indefinite or particular, in no way will a syllogism be possible. For nothing prevents B
from reaching beyond A, so that as predicates cover unequal areas. Let C be that by which B extends beyond
A. To C it is not possible that A should belong-either to all or to none or to some or not to some, since
premisses in the mode of possibility are convertible and it is possible for B to belong to more things than A
can. Further, this is obvious if we take terms; for if the premisses are as assumed, the major term is both
possible for none of the minor and must belong to all of it. Take as terms common to all the cases under
consideration 'animal'-'white'-'man', where the major belongs necessarily to the minor;
'animal'-'white'-'garment', where it is not possible that the major should belong to the minor. It is clear then
that if the terms are related in this manner, no syllogism results. For every syllogism proves that something
belongs either simply or necessarily or possibly. It is clear that there is no proof of the first or of the second.
For the affirmative is destroyed by the negative, and the negative by the affirmative. There remains the proof
of possibility. But this is impossible. For it has been proved that if the terms are related in this manner it is
both necessary that the major should belong to all the minor and not possible that it should belong to any.
Consequently there cannot be a syllogism to prove the possibility; for the necessary (as we stated) is not
possible.

It is clear that if the terms are universal in possible premisses a syllogism always results in the first figure,
whether they are affirmative or negative, only a perfect syllogism results in the first case, an imperfect in the
second. But possibility must be understood according to the definition laid down, not as covering necessity.
This is sometimes forgotten.

If one premiss is a simple proposition, the other a problematic, whenever the major premiss indicates
possibility all the syllogisms will be perfect and establish possibility in the sense defined; but whenever the
minor premiss indicates possibility all the syllogisms will be imperfect, and those which are negative will
establish not possibility according to the definition, but that the major does not necessarily belong to any, or
to all, of the minor. For if this is so, we say it is possible that it should belong to none or not to all. Let A be
possible for all B, and let B belong to all C. Since C falls under B, and A is possible for all B, clearly it is
possible for all C also. So a perfect syllogism results. Likewise if the premiss AB is negative, and the premiss
BC is affirmative, the former stating possible, the latter simple attribution, a perfect syllogism results proving
that A possibly belongs to no C.

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It is clear that perfect syllogisms result if the minor premiss states simple belonging: but that syllogisms will
result if the modality of the premisses is reversed, must be proved per impossibile. At the same time it will be
evident that they are imperfect: for the proof proceeds not from the premisses assumed. First we must state
that if B's being follows necessarily from A's being, B's possibility will follow necessarily from A's
possibility. Suppose, the terms being so related, that A is possible, and B is impossible. If then that which is
possible, when it is possible for it to be, might happen, and if that which is impossible, when it is impossible,
could not happen, and if at the same time A is possible and B impossible, it would be possible for A to
happen without B, and if to happen, then to be. For that which has happened, when it has happened, is. But
we must take the impossible and the possible not only in the sphere of becoming, but also in the spheres of
truth and predicability, and the various other spheres in which we speak of the possible: for it will be alike in
all. Further we must understand the statement that B's being depends on A's being, not as meaning that if
some single thing A is, B will be: for nothing follows of necessity from the being of some one thing, but from
two at least, i.e. when the premisses are related in the manner stated to be that of the syllogism. For if C is
predicated of D, and D of F, then C is necessarily predicated of F. And if each is possible, the conclusion also
is possible. If then, for example, one should indicate the premisses by A, and the conclusion by B, it would
not only result that if A is necessary B is necessary, but also that if A is possible, B is possible.

Since this is proved it is evident that if a false and not impossible assumption is made, the consequence of the
assumption will also be false and not impossible: e.g. if A is false, but not impossible, and if B is the
consequence of A, B also will be false but not impossible. For since it has been proved that if B's being is the
consequence of A's being, then B's possibility will follow from A's possibility (and A is assumed to be
possible), consequently B will be possible: for if it were impossible, the same thing would at the same time
be possible and impossible.

Since we have defined these points, let A belong to all B, and B be possible for all C: it is necessary then that
should be a possible attribute for all C. Suppose that it is not possible, but assume that B belongs to all C: this
is false but not impossible. If then A is not possible for C but B belongs to all C, then A is not possible for all
B: for a syllogism is formed in the third degree. But it was assumed that A is a possible attribute for all B. It
is necessary then that A is possible for all C. For though the assumption we made is false and not impossible,
the conclusion is impossible. It is possible also in the first figure to bring about the impossibility, by
assuming that B belongs to C. For if B belongs to all C, and A is possible for all B, then A would be possible
for all C. But the assumption was made that A is not possible for all C.

We must understand 'that which belongs to all' with no limitation in respect of time, e.g. to the present or to a
particular period, but simply without qualification. For it is by the help of such premisses that we make
syllogisms, since if the premiss is understood with reference to the present moment, there cannot be a
syllogism. For nothing perhaps prevents 'man' belonging at a particular time to everything that is moving, i.e.
if nothing else were moving: but 'moving' is possible for every horse; yet 'man' is possible for no horse.
Further let the major term be 'animal', the middle 'moving', the the minor 'man'. The premisses then will be as
before, but the conclusion necessary, not possible. For man is necessarily animal. It is clear then that the
universal must be understood simply, without limitation in respect of time.

Again let the premiss AB be universal and negative, and assume that A belongs to no B, but B possibly
belongs to all C. These propositions being laid down, it is necessary that A possibly belongs to no C. Suppose
that it cannot belong, and that B belongs to C, as above. It is necessary then that A belongs to some B: for we
have a syllogism in the third figure: but this is impossible. Thus it will be possible for A to belong to no C;
for if at is supposed false, the consequence is an impossible one. This syllogism then does not establish that
which is possible according to the definition, but that which does not necessarily belong to any part of the
subject (for this is the contradictory of the assumption which was made: for it was supposed that A
necessarily belongs to some C, but the syllogism per impossibile establishes the contradictory which is
opposed to this). Further, it is clear also from an example that the conclusion will not establish possibility.

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Let A be 'raven', B 'intelligent', and C 'man'. A then belongs to no B: for no intelligent thing is a raven. But B
is possible for all C: for every man may possibly be intelligent. But A necessarily belongs to no C: so the
conclusion does not establish possibility. But neither is it always necessary. Let A be 'moving', B 'science', C
'man'. A then will belong to no B; but B is possible for all C. And the conclusion will not be necessary. For it
is not necessary that no man should move; rather it is not necessary that any man should move. Clearly then
the conclusion establishes that one term does not necessarily belong to any instance of another term. But we
must take our terms better.

If the minor premiss is negative and indicates possibility, from the actual premisses taken there can be no
syllogism, but if the problematic premiss is converted, a syllogism will be possible, as before. Let A belong
to all B, and let B possibly belong to no C. If the terms are arranged thus, nothing necessarily follows: but if
the proposition BC is converted and it is assumed that B is possible for all C, a syllogism results as before:
for the terms are in the same relative positions. Likewise if both the relations are negative, if the major
premiss states that A does not belong to B, and the minor premiss indicates that B may possibly belong to no
C. Through the premisses actually taken nothing necessary results in any way; but if the problematic premiss
is converted, we shall have a syllogism. Suppose that A belongs to no B, and B may possibly belong to no C.
Through these comes nothing necessary. But if B is assumed to be possible for all C (and this is true) and if
the premiss AB remains as before, we shall again have the same syllogism. But if it be assumed that B does
not belong to any C, instead of possibly not belonging, there cannot be a syllogism anyhow, whether the
premiss AB is negative or affirmative. As common instances of a necessary and positive relation we may take
the terms white- animal-snow: of a necessary and negative relation, white- animal-pitch. Clearly then if the
terms are universal, and one of the premisses is assertoric, the other problematic, whenever the minor premiss
is problematic a syllogism always results, only sometimes it results from the premisses that are taken,
sometimes it requires the conversion of one premiss. We have stated when each of these happens and the
reason why. But if one of the relations is universal, the other particular, then whenever the major premiss is
universal and problematic, whether affirmative or negative, and the particular is affirmative and assertoric,
there will be a perfect syllogism, just as when the terms are universal. The demonstration is the same as
before. But whenever the major premiss is universal, but assertoric, not problematic, and the minor is
particular and problematic, whether both premisses are negative or affirmative, or one is negative, the other
affirmative, in all cases there will be an imperfect syllogism. Only some of them will be proved per
impossibile, others by the conversion of the problematic premiss, as has been shown above. And a syllogism
will be possible by means of conversion when the major premiss is universal and assertoric, whether positive
or negative, and the minor particular, negative, and problematic, e.g. if A belongs to all B or to no B, and B
may possibly not belong to some C. For if the premiss BC is converted in respect of possibility, a syllogism
results. But whenever the particular premiss is assertoric and negative, there cannot be a syllogism. As
instances of the positive relation we may take the terms white-animal-snow; of the negative,
white-animal-pitch. For the demonstration must be made through the indefinite nature of the particular
premiss. But if the minor premiss is universal, and the major particular, whether either premiss is negative or
affirmative, problematic or assertoric, nohow is a syllogism possible. Nor is a syllogism possible when the
premisses are particular or indefinite, whether problematic or assertoric, or the one problematic, the other
assertoric. The demonstration is the same as above. As instances of the necessary and positive relation we
may take the terms animal- white-man; of the necessary and negative relation, animal-white-garment. It is
evident then that if the major premiss is universal, a syllogism always results, but if the minor is universal
nothing at all can ever be proved.

Whenever one premiss is necessary, the other problematic, there will be a syllogism when the terms are
related as before; and a perfect syllogism when the minor premiss is necessary. If the premisses are
affirmative the conclusion will be problematic, not assertoric, whether the premisses are universal or not: but

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if one is affirmative, the other negative, when the affirmative is necessary the conclusion will be problematic,
not negative assertoric; but when the negative is necessary the conclusion will be problematic negative, and
assertoric negative, whether the premisses are universal or not. Possibility in the conclusion must be
understood in the same manner as before. There cannot be an inference to the necessary negative proposition:
for 'not necessarily to belong' is different from 'necessarily not to belong'.

If the premisses are affirmative, clearly the conclusion which follows is not necessary. Suppose A necessarily
belongs to all B, and let B be possible for all C. We shall have an imperfect syllogism to prove that A may
belong to all C. That it is imperfect is clear from the proof: for it will be proved in the same manner as above.
Again, let A be possible for all B, and let B necessarily belong to all C. We shall then have a syllogism to
prove that A may belong to all C, not that A does belong to all C: and it is perfect, not imperfect: for it is
completed directly through the original premisses.

But if the premisses are not similar in quality, suppose first that the negative premiss is necessary, and let
necessarily A not be possible for any B, but let B be possible for all C. It is necessary then that A belongs to
no C. For suppose A to belong to all C or to some C. Now we assumed that A is not possible for any B. Since
then the negative proposition is convertible, B is not possible for any A. But A is supposed to belong to all C
or to some C. Consequently B will not be possible for any C or for all C. But it was originally laid down that
B is possible for all C. And it is clear that the possibility of belonging can be inferred, since the fact of not
belonging is inferred. Again, let the affirmative premiss be necessary, and let A possibly not belong to any B,
and let B necessarily belong to all C. The syllogism will be perfect, but it will establish a problematic
negative, not an assertoric negative. For the major premiss was problematic, and further it is not possible to
prove the assertoric conclusion per impossibile. For if it were supposed that A belongs to some C, and it is
laid down that A possibly does not belong to any B, no impossible relation between B and C follows from
these premisses. But if the minor premiss is negative, when it is problematic a syllogism is possible by
conversion, as above; but when it is necessary no syllogism can be formed. Nor again when both premisses
are negative, and the minor is necessary. The same terms as before serve both for the positive
relation-white-animal-snow, and for the negative relation-white-animal-pitch.

The same relation will obtain in particular syllogisms. Whenever the negative proposition is necessary, the
conclusion will be negative assertoric: e.g. if it is not possible that A should belong to any B, but B may
belong to some of the Cs, it is necessary that A should not belong to some of the Cs. For if A belongs to all C,
but cannot belong to any B, neither can B belong to any A. So if A belongs to all C, to none of the Cs can B
belong. But it was laid down that B may belong to some C. But when the particular affirmative in the
negative syllogism, e.g. BC the minor premiss, or the universal proposition in the affirmative syllogism, e.g.
AB the major premiss, is necessary, there will not be an assertoric conclusion. The demonstration is the same
as before. But if the minor premiss is universal, and problematic, whether affirmative or negative, and the
major premiss is particular and necessary, there cannot be a syllogism. Premisses of this kind are possible
both where the relation is positive and necessary, e.g. animal-white-man, and where it is necessary and
negative, e.g. animal-white-garment. But when the universal is necessary, the particular problematic, if the
universal is negative we may take the terms animal-white-raven to illustrate the positive relation, or
animal-white-pitch to illustrate the negative; and if the universal is affirmative we may take the terms
animal-white-swan to illustrate the positive relation, and animal-white-snow to illustrate the negative and
necessary relation. Nor again is a syllogism possible when the premisses are indefinite, or both particular.
Terms applicable in either case to illustrate the positive relation are animal- white-man: to illustrate the
negative, animal- white-inanimate. For the relation of animal to some white, and of white to some inanimate,
is both necessary and positive and necessary and negative. Similarly if the relation is problematic: so the
terms may be used for all cases.

Clearly then from what has been said a syllogism results or not from similar relations of the terms whether we
are dealing with simple existence or necessity, with this exception, that if the negative premiss is assertoric

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the conclusion is problematic, but if the negative premiss is necessary the conclusion is both problematic and
negative assertoric. [It is clear also that all the syllogisms are imperfect and are perfected by means of the
figures above mentioned.]

In the second figure whenever both premisses are problematic, no syllogism is possible, whether the
premisses are affirmative or negative, universal or particular. But when one premiss is assertoric, the other
problematic, if the affirmative is assertoric no syllogism is possible, but if the universal negative is assertoric
a conclusion can always be drawn. Similarly when one premiss is necessary, the other problematic. Here also
we must understand the term 'possible' in the conclusion, in the same sense as before.

First we must point out that the negative problematic proposition is not convertible, e.g. if A may belong to
no B, it does not follow that B may belong to no A. For suppose it to follow and assume that B may belong to
no A. Since then problematic affirmations are convertible with negations, whether they are contraries or
contradictories, and since B may belong to no A, it is clear that B may belong to all A. But this is false: for if
all this can be that, it does not follow that all that can be this: consequently the negative proposition is not
convertible. Further, these propositions are not incompatible, A may belong to no B', 'B necessarily does not
belong to some of the As'; e.g. it is possible that no man should be white (for it is also possible that every
man should be white), but it is not true to say that it is possible that no white thing should be a man: for many
white things are necessarily not men, and the necessary (as we saw) other than the possible.

Moreover it is not possible to prove the convertibility of these propositions by a reductio ad absurdum, i.e. by
claiming assent to the following argument: 'since it is false that B may belong to no A, it is true that it cannot
belong to no A, for the one statement is the contradictory of the other. But if this is so, it is true that B
necessarily belongs to some of the As: consequently A necessarily belongs to some of the Bs. But this is
impossible.' The argument cannot be admitted, for it does not follow that some A is necessarily B, if it is not
possible that no A should be B. For the latter expression is used in two senses, one if A some is necessarily B,
another if some A is necessarily not B. For it is not true to say that that which necessarily does not belong to
some of the As may possibly not belong to any A, just as it is not true to say that what necessarily belongs to
some A may possibly belong to all A. If any one then should claim that because it is not possible for C to
belong to all D, it necessarily does not belong to some D, he would make a false assumption: for it does
belong to all D, but because in some cases it belongs necessarily, therefore we say that it is not possible for it
to belong to all. Hence both the propositions A necessarily belongs to some B' and A necessarily does not
belong to some B' are opposed to the proposition A belongs to all B'. Similarly also they are opposed to the
proposition A may belong to no B'. It is clear then that in relation to what is possible and not possible, in the
sense originally defined, we must assume, not that A necessarily belongs to some B, but that A necessarily
does not belong to some B. But if this is assumed, no absurdity results: consequently no syllogism. It is clear
from what has been said that the negative proposition is not convertible.

This being proved, suppose it possible that A may belong to no B and to all C. By means of conversion no
syllogism will result: for the major premiss, as has been said, is not convertible. Nor can a proof be obtained
by a reductio ad absurdum: for if it is assumed that B can belong to all C, no false consequence results: for A
may belong both to all C and to no C. In general, if there is a syllogism, it is clear that its conclusion will be
problematic because neither of the premisses is assertoric; and this must be either affirmative or negative. But
neither is possible. Suppose the conclusion is affirmative: it will be proved by an example that the predicate
cannot belong to the subject. Suppose the conclusion is negative: it will be proved that it is not problematic
but necessary. Let A be white, B man, C horse. It is possible then for A to belong to all of the one and to none
of the other. But it is not possible for B to belong nor not to belong to C. That it is not possible for it to
belong, is clear. For no horse is a man. Neither is it possible for it not to belong. For it is necessary that no

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horse should be a man, but the necessary we found to be different from the possible. No syllogism then
results. A similar proof can be given if the major premiss is negative, the minor affirmative, or if both are
affirmative or negative. The demonstration can be made by means of the same terms. And whenever one
premiss is universal, the other particular, or both are particular or indefinite, or in whatever other way the
premisses can be altered, the proof will always proceed through the same terms. Clearly then, if both the
premisses are problematic, no syllogism results.

But if one premiss is assertoric, the other problematic, if the affirmative is assertoric and the negative
problematic no syllogism will be possible, whether the premisses are universal or particular. The proof is the
same as above, and by means of the same terms. But when the affirmative premiss is problematic, and the
negative assertoric, we shall have a syllogism. Suppose A belongs to no B, but can belong to all C. If the
negative proposition is converted, B will belong to no A. But ex hypothesi can belong to all C: so a syllogism
is made, proving by means of the first figure that B may belong to no C. Similarly also if the minor premiss is
negative. But if both premisses are negative, one being assertoric, the other problematic, nothing follows
necessarily from these premisses as they stand, but if the problematic premiss is converted into its
complementary affirmative a syllogism is formed to prove that B may belong to no C, as before: for we shall
again have the first figure. But if both premisses are affirmative, no syllogism will be possible. This
arrangement of terms is possible both when the relation is positive, e.g. health, animal, man, and when it is
negative, e.g. health, horse, man.

The same will hold good if the syllogisms are particular. Whenever the affirmative proposition is assertoric,
whether universal or particular, no syllogism is possible (this is proved similarly and by the same examples as
above), but when the negative proposition is assertoric, a conclusion can be drawn by means of conversion,
as before. Again if both the relations are negative, and the assertoric proposition is universal, although no
conclusion follows from the actual premisses, a syllogism can be obtained by converting the problematic
premiss into its complementary affirmative as before. But if the negative proposition is assertoric, but
particular, no syllogism is possible, whether the other premiss is affirmative or negative. Nor can a
conclusion be drawn when both premisses are indefinite, whether affirmative or negative, or particular. The
proof is the same and by the same terms.

If one of the premisses is necessary, the other problematic, then if the negative is necessary a syllogistic
conclusion can be drawn, not merely a negative problematic but also a negative assertoric conclusion; but if
the affirmative premiss is necessary, no conclusion is possible. Suppose that A necessarily belongs to no B,
but may belong to all C. If the negative premiss is converted B will belong to no A: but A ex hypothesi is
capable of belonging to all C: so once more a conclusion is drawn by the first figure that B may belong to no
C. But at the same time it is clear that B will not belong to any C. For assume that it does: then if A cannot
belong to any B, and B belongs to some of the Cs, A cannot belong to some of the Cs: but ex hypothesi it
may belong to all. A similar proof can be given if the minor premiss is negative. Again let the affirmative
proposition be necessary, and the other problematic; i.e. suppose that A may belong to no B, but necessarily
belongs to all C. When the terms are arranged in this way, no syllogism is possible. For (1) it sometimes turns
out that B necessarily does not belong to C. Let A be white, B man, C swan. White then necessarily belongs
to swan, but may belong to no man; and man necessarily belongs to no swan; Clearly then we cannot draw a
problematic conclusion; for that which is necessary is admittedly distinct from that which is possible. (2) Nor
again can we draw a necessary conclusion: for that presupposes that both premisses are necessary, or at any
rate the negative premiss. (3) Further it is possible also, when the terms are so arranged, that B should belong
to C: for nothing prevents C falling under B, A being possible for all B, and necessarily belonging to C; e.g.

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if C stands for 'awake', B for 'animal', A for 'motion'. For motion necessarily belongs to what is awake, and is
possible for every animal: and everything that is awake is animal. Clearly then the conclusion cannot be the
negative assertion, if the relation must be positive when the terms are related as above. Nor can the opposite
affirmations be established: consequently no syllogism is possible. A similar proof is possible if the major
premiss is affirmative.

But if the premisses are similar in quality, when they are negative a syllogism can always be formed by
converting the problematic premiss into its complementary affirmative as before. Suppose A necessarily does
not belong to B, and possibly may not belong to C: if the premisses are converted B belongs to no A, and A
may possibly belong to all C: thus we have the first figure. Similarly if the minor premiss is negative. But if
the premisses are affirmative there cannot be a syllogism. Clearly the conclusion cannot be a negative
assertoric or a negative necessary proposition because no negative premiss has been laid down either in the
assertoric or in the necessary mode. Nor can the conclusion be a problematic negative proposition. For if the
terms are so related, there are cases in which B necessarily will not belong to C; e.g. suppose that A is white,
B swan, C man. Nor can the opposite affirmations be established, since we have shown a case in which B
necessarily does not belong to C. A syllogism then is not possible at all.

Similar relations will obtain in particular syllogisms. For whenever the negative proposition is universal and
necessary, a syllogism will always be possible to prove both a problematic and a negative assertoric
proposition (the proof proceeds by conversion); but when the affirmative proposition is universal and
necessary, no syllogistic conclusion can be drawn. This can be proved in the same way as for universal
propositions, and by the same terms. Nor is a syllogistic conclusion possible when both premisses are
affirmative: this also may be proved as above. But when both premisses are negative, and the premiss that
definitely disconnects two terms is universal and necessary, though nothing follows necessarily from the
premisses as they are stated, a conclusion can be drawn as above if the problematic premiss is converted into
its complementary affirmative. But if both are indefinite or particular, no syllogism can be formed. The same
proof will serve, and the same terms.

It is clear then from what has been said that if the universal and negative premiss is necessary, a syllogism is
always possible, proving not merely a negative problematic, but also a negative assertoric proposition; but if
the affirmative premiss is necessary no conclusion can be drawn. It is clear too that a syllogism is possible or
not under the same conditions whether the mode of the premisses is assertoric or necessary. And it is clear
that all the syllogisms are imperfect, and are completed by means of the figures mentioned.

In the last figure a syllogism is possible whether both or only one of the premisses is problematic. When the
premisses are problematic the conclusion will be problematic; and also when one premiss is problematic, the
other assertoric. But when the other premiss is necessary, if it is affirmative the conclusion will be neither
necessary or assertoric; but if it is negative the syllogism will result in a negative assertoric proposition, as
above. In these also we must understand the expression 'possible' in the conclusion in the same way as before.

First let the premisses be problematic and suppose that both A and B may possibly belong to every C. Since
then the affirmative proposition is convertible into a particular, and B may possibly belong to every C, it
follows that C may possibly belong to some B. So, if A is possible for every C, and C is possible for some of
the Bs, then A is possible for some of the Bs. For we have got the first figure. And A if may possibly belong
to no C, but B may possibly belong to all C, it follows that A may possibly not belong to some B: for we shall
have the first figure again by conversion. But if both premisses should be negative no necessary consequence
will follow from them as they are stated, but if the premisses are converted into their corresponding
affirmatives there will be a syllogism as before. For if A and B may possibly not belong to C, if 'may possibly

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belong' is substituted we shall again have the first figure by means of conversion. But if one of the premisses
is universal, the other particular, a syllogism will be possible, or not, under the arrangement of the terms as in
the case of assertoric propositions. Suppose that A may possibly belong to all C, and B to some C. We shall
have the first figure again if the particular premiss is converted. For if A is possible for all C, and C for some
of the Bs, then A is possible for some of the Bs. Similarly if the proposition BC is universal. Likewise also if
the proposition AC is negative, and the proposition BC affirmative: for we shall again have the first figure by
conversion. But if both premisses should be negative-the one universal and the other particular-although no
syllogistic conclusion will follow from the premisses as they are put, it will follow if they are converted, as
above. But when both premisses are indefinite or particular, no syllogism can be formed: for A must belong
sometimes to all B and sometimes to no B. To illustrate the affirmative relation take the terms
animal-man- white; to illustrate the negative, take the terms horse-man-white — white being the middle
term.

If one premiss is pure, the other problematic, the conclusion will be problematic, not pure; and a syllogism
will be possible under the same arrangement of the terms as before. First let the premisses be affirmative:
suppose that A belongs to all C, and B may possibly belong to all C. If the proposition BC is converted, we
shall have the first figure, and the conclusion that A may possibly belong to some of the Bs. For when one of
the premisses in the first figure is problematic, the conclusion also (as we saw) is problematic. Similarly if the
proposition BC is pure, AC problematic; or if AC is negative, BC affirmative, no matter which of the two is
pure; in both cases the conclusion will be problematic: for the first figure is obtained once more, and it has
been proved that if one premiss is problematic in that figure the conclusion also will be problematic. But if
the minor premiss BC is negative, or if both premisses are negative, no syllogistic conclusion can be drawn
from the premisses as they stand, but if they are converted a syllogism is obtained as before.

If one of the premisses is universal, the other particular, then when both are affirmative, or when the universal
is negative, the particular affirmative, we shall have the same sort of syllogisms: for all are completed by
means of the first figure. So it is clear that we shall have not a pure but a problematic syllogistic conclusion.
But if the affirmative premiss is universal, the negative particular, the proof will proceed by a reductio ad
impossibile. Suppose that B belongs to all C, and A may possibly not belong to some C: it follows that may
possibly not belong to some B. For if A necessarily belongs to all B, and B (as has been assumed) belongs to
all C, A will necessarily belong to all C: for this has been proved before. But it was assumed at the outset that
A may possibly not belong to some C.

Whenever both premisses are indefinite or particular, no syllogism will be possible. The demonstration is the
same as was given in the case of universal premisses, and proceeds by means of the same terms.

If one of the premisses is necessary, the other problematic, when the premisses are affirmative a problematic
affirmative conclusion can always be drawn; when one proposition is affirmative, the other negative, if the
affirmative is necessary a problematic negative can be inferred; but if the negative proposition is necessary
both a problematic and a pure negative conclusion are possible. But a necessary negative conclusion will not
be possible, any more than in the other figures. Suppose first that the premisses are affirmative, i.e. that A
necessarily belongs to all C, and B may possibly belong to all C. Since then A must belong to all C, and C
may belong to some B, it follows that A may (not does) belong to some B: for so it resulted in the first figure.
A similar proof may be given if the proposition BC is necessary, and AC is problematic. Again suppose one
proposition is affirmative, the other negative, the affirmative being necessary: i.e. suppose A may possibly
belong to no C, but B necessarily belongs to all C. We shall have the first figure once more: and-since the

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negative premiss is problematic-it is clear that the conclusion will be problematic: for when the premisses
stand thus in the first figure, the conclusion (as we found) is problematic. But if the negative premiss is
necessary, the conclusion will be not only that A may possibly not belong to some B but also that it does not
belong to some B. For suppose that A necessarily does not belong to C, but B may belong to all C. If the
affirmative proposition BC is converted, we shall have the first figure, and the negative premiss is necessary.
But when the premisses stood thus, it resulted that A might possibly not belong to some C, and that it did not
belong to some C; consequently here it follows that A does not belong to some B. But when the minor
premiss is negative, if it is problematic we shall have a syllogism by altering the premiss into its
complementary affirmative, as before; but if it is necessary no syllogism can be formed. For A sometimes
necessarily belongs to all B, and sometimes cannot possibly belong to any B. To illustrate the former take the
terms sleep-sleeping horse-man; to illustrate the latter take the terms sleep-waking horse-man.

Similar results will obtain if one of the terms is related universally to the middle, the other in part. If both
premisses are affirmative, the conclusion will be problematic, not pure; and also when one premiss is
negative, the other affirmative, the latter being necessary. But when the negative premiss is necessary, the
conclusion also will be a pure negative proposition; for the same kind of proof can be given whether the
terms are universal or not. For the syllogisms must be made perfect by means of the first figure, so that a
result which follows in the first figure follows also in the third. But when the minor premiss is negative and
universal, if it is problematic a syllogism can be formed by means of conversion; but if it is necessary a
syllogism is not possible. The proof will follow the same course as where the premisses are universal; and the
same terms may be used.

It is clear then in this figure also when and how a syllogism can be formed, and when the conclusion is
problematic, and when it is pure. It is evident also that all syllogisms in this figure are imperfect, and that
they are made perfect by means of the first figure.

It is clear from what has been said that the syllogisms in these figures are made perfect by means of universal
syllogisms in the first figure and are reduced to them. That every syllogism without qualification can be so
treated, will be clear presently, when it has been proved that every syllogism is formed through one or other
of these figures.

It is necessary that every demonstration and every syllogism should prove either that something belongs or
that it does not, and this either universally or in part, and further either ostensively or hypothetically. One sort
of hypothetical proof is the reductio ad impossibile. Let us speak first of ostensive syllogisms: for after these
have been pointed out the truth of our contention will be clear with regard to those which are proved per
impossibile, and in general hypothetically.

If then one wants to prove syllogistically A of B, either as an attribute of it or as not an attribute of it, one
must assert something of something else. If now A should be asserted of B, the proposition originally in
question will have been assumed. But if A should be asserted of C, but C should not be asserted of anything,
nor anything of it, nor anything else of A, no syllogism will be possible. For nothing necessarily follows from
the assertion of some one thing concerning some other single thing. Thus we must take another premiss as
well. If then A be asserted of something else, or something else of A, or something different of C, nothing
prevents a syllogism being formed, but it will not be in relation to B through the premisses taken. Nor when
C belongs to something else, and that to something else and so on, no connexion however being made with B,
will a syllogism be possible concerning A in its relation to B. For in general we stated that no syllogism can
establish the attribution of one thing to another, unless some middle term is taken, which is somehow related
to each by way of predication. For the syllogism in general is made out of premisses, and a syllogism

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referring to this out of premisses with the same reference, and a syllogism relating this to that proceeds
through premisses which relate this to that. But it is impossible to take a premiss in reference to B, if we
neither affirm nor deny anything of it; or again to take a premiss relating A to B, if we take nothing common,
but affirm or deny peculiar attributes of each. So we must take something midway between the two, which
will connect the predications, if we are to have a syllogism relating this to that. If then we must take
something common in relation to both, and this is possible in three ways (either by predicating A of C, and C
of B, or C of both, or both of C), and these are the figures of which we have spoken, it is clear that every
syllogism must be made in one or other of these figures. The argument is the same if several middle terms
should be necessary to establish the relation to B; for the figure will be the same whether there is one middle
term or many.

It is clear then that the ostensive syllogisms are effected by means of the aforesaid figures; these
considerations will show that reductiones ad also are effected in the same way. For all who effect an
argument per impossibile infer syllogistically what is false, and prove the original conclusion hypothetic ally
when something impossible results from the assumption of its contradictory; e.g. that the diagonal of the
square is incommensurate with the side, because odd numbers are equal to evens if it is supposed to be
commensurate. One infers syllogistically that odd numbers come out equal to evens, and one proves
hypothetically the incommensurability of the diagonal, since a falsehood results through contradicting this.
For this we found to be reasoning per impossibile, viz. proving something impossible by means of an
hypothesis conceded at the beginning. Consequently, since the falsehood is established in reductions ad
impossibile by an ostensive syllogism, and the original conclusion is proved hypothetically, and we have
already stated that ostensive syllogisms are effected by means of these figures, it is evident that syllogisms
per impossibile also will be made through these figures. Likewise all the other hypothetical syllogisms: for in
every case the syllogism leads up to the proposition that is substituted for the original thesis; but the original
thesis is reached by means of a concession or some other hypothesis. But if this is true, every demonstration
and every syllogism must be formed by means of the three figures mentioned above. But when this has been
shown it is clear that every syllogism is perfected by means of the first figure and is reducible to the universal
syllogisms in this figure.

Further in every syllogism one of the premisses must be affirmative, and universality must be present: unless
one of the premisses is universal either a syllogism will not be possible, or it will not refer to the subject
proposed, or the original position will be begged. Suppose we have to prove that pleasure in music is good. If
one should claim as a premiss that pleasure is good without adding 'all', no syllogism will be possible; if one
should claim that some pleasure is good, then if it is different from pleasure in music, it is not relevant to the
subject proposed; if it is this very pleasure, one is assuming that which was proposed at the outset to be
proved. This is more obvious in geometrical proofs, e.g. that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are
equal. Suppose the lines A and B have been drawn to the centre. If then one should assume that the angle AC
is equal to the angle BD, without claiming generally that angles of semicircles are equal; and again if one
should assume that the angle C is equal to the angle D, without the additional assumption that every angle of
a segment is equal to every other angle of the same segment; and further if one should assume that when
equal angles are taken from the whole angles, which are themselves equal, the remainders E and F are equal,
he will beg the thing to be proved, unless he also states that when equals are taken from equals the remainders
are equal.

It is clear then that in every syllogism there must be a universal premiss, and that a universal statement is
proved only when all the premisses are universal, while a particular statement is proved both from two
universal premisses and from one only: consequently if the conclusion is universal, the premisses also must
be universal, but if the premisses are universal it is possible that the conclusion may not be universal. And it

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is clear also that in every syllogism either both or one of the premisses must be like the conclusion. I mean
not only in being affirmative or negative, but also in being necessary, pure, problematic. We must consider
also the other forms of predication.

It is clear also when a syllogism in general can be made and when it cannot; and when a valid, when a perfect
syllogism can be formed; and that if a syllogism is formed the terms must be arranged in one of the ways that
have been mentioned.

It is clear too that every demonstration will proceed through three terms and no more, unless the same
conclusion is established by different pairs of propositions; e.g. the conclusion E may be established through
the propositions A and B, and through the propositions C and D, or through the propositions A and B, or A
and C, or B and C. For nothing prevents there being several middles for the same terms. But in that case there
is not one but several syllogisms. Or again when each of the propositions A and B is obtained by syllogistic
inference, e.g. by means of D and E, and again B by means of F and G. Or one may be obtained by
syllogistic, the other by inductive inference. But thus also the syllogisms are many; for the conclusions are
many, e.g. A and B and C. But if this can be called one syllogism, not many, the same conclusion may be
reached by more than three terms in this way, but it cannot be reached as C is established by means of A and
B. Suppose that the proposition E is inferred from the premisses A, B, C, and D. It is necessary then that of
these one should be related to another as whole to part: for it has already been proved that if a syllogism is
formed some of its terms must be related in this way. Suppose then that A stands in this relation to B. Some
conclusion then follows from them. It must either be E or one or other of C and D, or something other than
these.

(1) If it is E the syllogism will have A and B for its sole premisses. But if C and D are so related that one is
whole, the other part, some conclusion will follow from them also; and it must be either E, or one or other of
the propositions A and B, or something other than these. And if it is (i) E, or (ii) A or B, either (i) the
syllogisms will be more than one, or (ii) the same thing happens to be inferred by means of several terms only
in the sense which we saw to be possible. But if (iii) the conclusion is other than E or A or B, the syllogisms
will be many, and unconnected with one another. But if C is not so related to D as to make a syllogism, the
propositions will have been assumed to no purpose, unless for the sake of induction or of obscuring the
argument or something of the sort.

(2) But if from the propositions A and B there follows not E but some other conclusion, and if from C and D
either A or B follows or something else, then there are several syllogisms, and they do not establish the
conclusion proposed: for we assumed that the syllogism proved E. And if no conclusion follows from C and
D, it turns out that these propositions have been assumed to no purpose, and the syllogism does not prove the
original proposition.

So it is clear that every demonstration and every syllogism will proceed through three terms only.

This being evident, it is clear that a syllogistic conclusion follows from two premisses and not from more
than two. For the three terms make two premisses, unless a new premiss is assumed, as was said at the
beginning, to perfect the syllogisms. It is clear therefore that in whatever syllogistic argument the premisses
through which the main conclusion follows (for some of the preceding conclusions must be premisses) are
not even in number, this argument either has not been drawn syllogistically or it has assumed more than was
necessary to establish its thesis.

If then syllogisms are taken with respect to their main premisses, every syllogism will consist of an even
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number of premisses and an odd number of terms (for the terms exceed the premisses by one), and the
conclusions will be half the number of the premisses. But whenever a conclusion is reached by means of
prosyllogisms or by means of several continuous middle terms, e.g. the proposition AB by means of the
middle terms C and D, the number of the terms will similarly exceed that of the premisses by one (for the
extra term must either be added outside or inserted: but in either case it follows that the relations of
predication are one fewer than the terms related), and the premisses will be equal in number to the relations
of predication. The premisses however will not always be even, the terms odd; but they will alternate-when
the premisses are even, the terms must be odd; when the terms are even, the premisses must be odd: for along
with one term one premiss is added, if a term is added from any quarter. Consequently since the premisses
were (as we saw) even, and the terms odd, we must make them alternately even and odd at each addition. But
the conclusions will not follow the same arrangement either in respect to the terms or to the premisses. For if
one term is added, conclusions will be added less by one than the pre-existing terms: for the conclusion is
drawn not in relation to the single term last added, but in relation to all the rest, e.g. if to ABC the term D is
added, two conclusions are thereby added, one in relation to A, the other in relation to B. Similarly with any
further additions. And similarly too if the term is inserted in the middle: for in relation to one term only, a
syllogism will not be constructed. Consequently the conclusions will be much more numerous than the terms
or the premisses.

Since we understand the subjects with which syllogisms are concerned, what sort of conclusion is established
in each figure, and in how many moods this is done, it is evident to us both what sort of problem is difficult
and what sort is easy to prove. For that which is concluded in many figures and through many moods is
easier; that which is concluded in few figures and through few moods is more difficult to attempt. The
universal affirmative is proved by means of the first figure only and by this in only one mood; the universal
negative is proved both through the first figure and through the second, through the first in one mood,
through the second in two. The particular affirmative is proved through the first and through the last figure, in
one mood through the first, in three moods through the last. The particular negative is proved in all the
figures, but once in the first, in two moods in the second, in three moods in the third. It is clear then that the
universal affirmative is most difficult to establish, most easy to overthrow. In general, universals are easier
game for the destroyer than particulars: for whether the predicate belongs to none or not to some, they are
destroyed: and the particular negative is proved in all the figures, the universal negative in two. Similarly
with universal negatives: the original statement is destroyed, whether the predicate belongs to all or to some:
and this we found possible in two figures. But particular statements can be refuted in one way only-by
proving that the predicate belongs either to all or to none. But particular statements are easier to establish: for
proof is possible in more figures and through more moods. And in general we must not forget that it is
possible to refute statements by means of one another, I mean, universal statements by means of particular,
and particular statements by means of universal: but it is not possible to establish universal statements by
means of particular, though it is possible to establish particular statements by means of universal. At the same
time it is evident that it is easier to refute than to establish.

The manner in which every syllogism is produced, the number of the terms and premisses through which it
proceeds, the relation of the premisses to one another, the character of the problem proved in each figure, and
the number of the figures appropriate to each problem, all these matters are clear from what has been said.

We must now state how we may ourselves always have a supply of syllogisms in reference to the problem
proposed and by what road we may reach the principles relative to the problem: for perhaps we ought not
only to investigate the construction of syllogisms, but also to have the power of making them.

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Of all the things which exist some are such that they cannot be predicated of anything else truly and
universally, e.g. Cleon and Callias, i.e. the individual and sensible, but other things may be predicated of
them (for each of these is both man and animal); and some things are themselves predicated of others, but
nothing prior is predicated of them; and some are predicated of others, and yet others of them, e.g. man of
Callias and animal of man. It is clear then that some things are naturally not stated of anything: for as a rule
each sensible thing is such that it cannot be predicated of anything, save incidentally: for we sometimes say
that that white object is Socrates, or that that which approaches is Callias. We shall explain in another place
that there is an upward limit also to the process of predicating: for the present we must assume this. Of these
ultimate predicates it is not possible to demonstrate another predicate, save as a matter of opinion, but these
may be predicated of other things. Neither can individuals be predicated of other things, though other things
can be predicated of them. Whatever lies between these limits can be spoken of in both ways: they may be
stated of others, and others stated of them. And as a rule arguments and inquiries are concerned with these
things. We must select the premisses suitable to each problem in this manner: first we must lay down the
subject and the definitions and the properties of the thing; next we must lay down those attributes which
follow the thing, and again those which the thing follows, and those which cannot belong to it. But those to
which it cannot belong need not be selected, because the negative statement implied above is convertible. Of
the attributes which follow we must distinguish those which fall within the definition, those which are
predicated as properties, and those which are predicated as accidents, and of the latter those which apparently
and those which really belong. The larger the supply a man has of these, the more quickly will he reach a
conclusion; and in proportion as he apprehends those which are truer, the more cogently will he demonstrate.
But he must select not those which follow some particular but those which follow the thing as a whole, e.g.
not what follows a particular man but what follows every man: for the syllogism proceeds through universal
premisses. If the statement is indefinite, it is uncertain whether the premiss is universal, but if the statement is
definite, the matter is clear. Similarly one must select those attributes which the subject follows as wholes, for
the reason given. But that which follows one must not suppose to follow as a whole, e.g. that every animal
follows man or every science music, but only that it follows, without qualification, and indeed we state it in a
proposition: for the other statement is useless and impossible, e.g. that every man is every animal or justice is
all good. But that which something follows receives the mark 'every'. Whenever the subject, for which we
must obtain the attributes that follow, is contained by something else, what follows or does not follow the
highest term universally must not be selected in dealing with the subordinate term (for these attributes have
been taken in dealing with the superior term; for what follows animal also follows man, and what does not
belong to animal does not belong to man); but we must choose those attributes which are peculiar to each
subject. For some things are peculiar to the species as distinct from the genus; for species being distinct there
must be attributes peculiar to each. Nor must we take as things which the superior term follows, those things
which the inferior term follows, e.g. take as subjects of the predicate 'animal' what are really subjects of the
predicate 'man'. It is necessary indeed, if animal follows man, that it should follow all these also. But these
belong more properly to the choice of what concerns man. One must apprehend also normal consequents and
normal antecedents-, for propositions which obtain normally are established syllogistically from premisses
which obtain normally, some if not all of them having this character of normality. For the conclusion of each
syllogism resembles its principles. We must not however choose attributes which are consequent upon all the
terms: for no syllogism can be made out of such premisses. The reason why this is so will be clear in the
sequel.

If men wish to establish something about some whole, they must look to the subjects of that which is being
established (the subjects of which it happens to be asserted), and the attributes which follow that of which it
is to be predicated. For if any of these subjects is the same as any of these attributes, the attribute originally in
question must belong to the subject originally in question. But if the purpose is to establish not a universal but
a particular proposition, they must look for the terms of which the terms in question are predicable: for if any

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of these are identical, the attribute in question must belong to some of the subject in question. Whenever the
one term has to belong to none of the other, one must look to the consequents of the subject, and to those
attributes which cannot possibly be present in the predicate in question: or conversely to the attributes which
cannot possibly be present in the subject, and to the consequents of the predicate. If any members of these
groups are identical, one of the terms in question cannot possibly belong to any of the other. For sometimes a
syllogism in the first figure results, sometimes a syllogism in the second. But if the object is to establish a
particular negative proposition, we must find antecedents of the subject in question and attributes which
cannot possibly belong to the predicate in question. If any members of these two groups are identical, it
follows that one of the terms in question does not belong to some of the other. Perhaps each of these
statements will become clearer in the following way. Suppose the consequents of A are designated by B, the
antecedents of A by C, attributes which cannot possibly belong to A by D. Suppose again that the attributes
of E are designated by F, the antecedents of E by G, and attributes which cannot belong to E by H. If then one
of the Cs should be identical with one of the Fs, A must belong to all E: for F belongs to all E, and A to all C,
consequently A belongs to all E. If C and G are identical, A must belong to some of the Es: for A follows C,
and E follows all G. If F and D are identical, A will belong to none of the Es by a prosyllogism: for since the
negative proposition is convertible, and F is identical with D, A will belong to none of the Fs, but F belongs
to all E. Again, if B and H are identical, A will belong to none of the Es: for B will belong to all A, but to no
E: for it was assumed to be identical with H, and H belonged to none of the Es. If D and G are identical, A
will not belong to some of the Es: for it will not belong to G, because it does not belong to D: but G falls
under E: consequently A will not belong to some of the Es. If B is identical with G, there will be a converted
syllogism: for E will belong to all A since B belongs to A and E to B (for B was found to be identical with
G): but that A should belong to all E is not necessary, but it must belong to some E because it is possible to
convert the universal statement into a particular.

It is clear then that in every proposition which requires proof we must look to the aforesaid relations of the
subject and predicate in question: for all syllogisms proceed through these. But if we are seeking consequents
and antecedents we must look for those which are primary and most universal, e.g. in reference to E we must
look to KF rather than to F alone, and in reference to A we must look to KC rather than to C alone. For if A
belongs to KF, it belongs both to F and to E: but if it does not follow KF, it may yet follow F. Similarly we
must consider the antecedents of A itself: for if a term follows the primary antecedents, it will follow those
also which are subordinate, but if it does not follow the former, it may yet follow the latter.

It is clear too that the inquiry proceeds through the three terms and the two premisses, and that all the
syllogisms proceed through the aforesaid figures. For it is proved that A belongs to all E, whenever an
identical term is found among the Cs and Fs. This will be the middle term; A and E will be the extremes. So
the first figure is formed. And A will belong to some E, whenever C and G are apprehended to be the same.
This is the last figure: for G becomes the middle term. And A will belong to no E, when D and F are
identical. Thus we have both the first figure and the middle figure; the first, because A belongs to no F, since
the negative statement is convertible, and F belongs to all E: the middle figure because D belongs to no A,
and to all E. And A will not belong to some E, whenever D and G are identical. This is the last figure: for A
will belong to no G, and E will belong to all G. Clearly then all syllogisms proceed through the aforesaid
figures, and we must not select consequents of all the terms, because no syllogism is produced from them.
For (as we saw) it is not possible at all to establish a proposition from consequents, and it is not possible to
refute by means of a consequent of both the terms in question: for the middle term must belong to the one,
and not belong to the other.

It is clear too that other methods of inquiry by selection of middle terms are useless to produce a syllogism,
e.g. if the consequents of the terms in question are identical, or if the antecedents of A are identical with those
attributes which cannot possibly belong to E, or if those attributes are identical which cannot belong to either
term: for no syllogism is produced by means of these. For if the consequents are identical, e.g. B and F, we
have the middle figure with both premisses affirmative: if the antecedents of A are identical with attributes

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which cannot belong to E, e.g. C with H, we have the first figure with its minor premiss negative. If attributes
which cannot belong to either term are identical, e.g. C and H, both premisses are negative, either in the first
or in the middle figure. But no syllogism is possible in this way.

It is evident too that we must find out which terms in this inquiry are identical, not which are different or
contrary, first because the object of our investigation is the middle term, and the middle term must be not
diverse but identical. Secondly, wherever it happens that a syllogism results from taking contraries or terms
which cannot belong to the same thing, all arguments can be reduced to the aforesaid moods, e.g. if B and F
are contraries or cannot belong to the same thing. For if these are taken, a syllogism will be formed to prove
that A belongs to none of the Es, not however from the premisses taken but in the aforesaid mood. For B will
belong to all A and to no E. Consequently B must be identical with one of the Hs. Again, if B and G cannot
belong to the same thing, it follows that A will not belong to some of the Es: for then too we shall have the
middle figure: for B will belong to all A and to no G. Consequently B must be identical with some of the Hs.
For the fact that B and G cannot belong to the same thing differs in no way from the fact that B is identical
with some of the Hs: for that includes everything which cannot belong to E.

It is clear then that from the inquiries taken by themselves no syllogism results; but if B and F are contraries
B must be identical with one of the Hs, and the syllogism results through these terms. It turns out then that
those who inquire in this manner are looking gratuitously for some other way than the necessary way because
they have failed to observe the identity of the Bs with the Hs.

Syllogisms which lead to impossible conclusions are similar to ostensive syllogisms; they also are formed by
means of the consequents and antecedents of the terms in question. In both cases the same inquiry is
involved. For what is proved ostensively may also be concluded syllogistically per impossibile by means of
the same terms; and what is proved per impossibile may also be proved ostensively, e.g. that A belongs to
none of the Es. For suppose A to belong to some E: then since B belongs to all A and A to some of the Es, B
will belong to some of the Es: but it was assumed that it belongs to none. Again we may prove that A belongs
to some E: for if A belonged to none of the Es, and E belongs to all G, A will belong to none of the Gs: but it
was assumed to belong to all. Similarly with the other propositions requiring proof. The proof per impossibile
will always and in all cases be from the consequents and antecedents of the terms in question. Whatever the
problem the same inquiry is necessary whether one wishes to use an ostensive syllogism or a reduction to
impossibility. For both the demonstrations start from the same terms, e.g. suppose it has been proved that A
belongs to no E, because it turns out that otherwise B belongs to some of the Es and this is impossible-if now
it is assumed that B belongs to no E and to all A, it is clear that A will belong to no E. Again if it has been
proved by an ostensive syllogism that A belongs to no E, assume that A belongs to some E and it will be
proved per impossibile to belong to no E. Similarly with the rest. In all cases it is necessary to find some
common term other than the subjects of inquiry, to which the syllogism establishing the false conclusion may
relate, so that if this premiss is converted, and the other remains as it is, the syllogism will be ostensive by
means of the same terms. For the ostensive syllogism differs from the reductio ad impossibile in this: in the
ostensive syllogism both remisses are laid down in accordance with the truth, in the reductio ad impossibile
one of the premisses is assumed falsely.

These points will be made clearer by the sequel, when we discuss the reduction to impossibility: at present
this much must be clear, that we must look to terms of the kinds mentioned whether we wish to use an
ostensive syllogism or a reduction to impossibility. In the other hypothetical syllogisms, I mean those which
proceed by substitution, or by positing a certain quality, the inquiry will be directed to the terms of the
problem to be proved-not the terms of the original problem, but the new terms introduced; and the method of
the inquiry will be the same as before. But we must consider and determine in how many ways hypothetical

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syllogisms are possible.

Each of the problems then can be proved in the manner described; but it is possible to establish some of them
syllogistically in another way, e.g. universal problems by the inquiry which leads up to a particular
conclusion, with the addition of an hypothesis. For if the Cs and the Gs should be identical, but E should be
assumed to belong to the Gs only, then A would belong to every E: and again if the Ds and the Gs should be
identical, but E should be predicated of the Gs only, it follows that A will belong to none of the Es. Clearly
then we must consider the matter in this way also. The method is the same whether the relation is necessary
or possible. For the inquiry will be the same, and the syllogism will proceed through terms arranged in the
same order whether a possible or a pure proposition is proved. We must find in the case of possible relations,
as well as terms that belong, terms which can belong though they actually do not: for we have proved that the
syllogism which establishes a possible relation proceeds through these terms as well. Similarly also with the
other modes of predication.

It is clear then from what has been said not only that all syllogisms can be formed in this way, but also that
they cannot be formed in any other. For every syllogism has been proved to be formed through one of the
aforementioned figures, and these cannot be composed through other terms than the consequents and
antecedents of the terms in question: for from these we obtain the premisses and find the middle term.
Consequently a syllogism cannot be formed by means of other terms.

The method is the same in all cases, in philosophy, in any art or study. We must look for the attributes and
the subjects of both our terms, and we must supply ourselves with as many of these as possible, and consider
them by means of the three terms, refuting statements in one way, confirming them in another, in the pursuit
of truth starting from premisses in which the arrangement of the terms is in accordance with truth, while if we
look for dialectical syllogisms we must start from probable premisses. The principles of syllogisms have been
stated in general terms, both how they are characterized and how we must hunt for them, so as not to look to
everything that is said about the terms of the problem or to the same points whether we are confirming or
refuting, or again whether we are confirming of all or of some, and whether we are refuting of all or some, we
must look to fewer points and they must be definite. We have also stated how we must select with reference
to everything that is, e.g. about good or knowledge. But in each science the principles which are peculiar are
the most numerous. Consequently it is the business of experience to give the principles which belong to each
subject. I mean for example that astronomical experience supplies the principles of astronomical science: for
once the phenomena were adequately apprehended, the demonstrations of astronomy were discovered.
Similarly with any other art or science. Consequently, if the attributes of the thing are apprehended, our
business will then be to exhibit readily the demonstrations. For if none of the true attributes of things had
been omitted in the historical survey, we should be able to discover the proof and demonstrate everything
which admitted of proof, and to make that clear, whose nature does not admit of proof.

In general then we have explained fairly well how we must select premisses: we have discussed the matter
accurately in the treatise concerning dialectic.

It is easy to see that division into classes is a small part of the method we have described: for division is, so to
speak, a weak syllogism; for what it ought to prove, it begs, and it always establishes something more general
than the attribute in question. First, this very point had escaped all those who used the method of division;
and they attempted to persuade men that it was possible to make a demonstration of substance and essence.
Consequently they did not understand what it is possible to prove syllogistically by division, nor did they

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understand that it was possible to prove syllogistically in the manner we have described. In demonstrations,
when there is a need to prove a positive statement, the middle term through which the syllogism is formed
must always be inferior to and not comprehend the first of the extremes. But division has a contrary intention:
for it takes the universal as middle. Let animal be the term signified by A, mortal by B, and immortal by C,
and let man, whose definition is to be got, be signified by D. The man who divides assumes that every animal
is either mortal or immortal: i.e. whatever is A is all either B or C. Again, always dividing, he lays it down
that man is an animal, so he assumes A of D as belonging to it. Now the true conclusion is that every D is
either B or C, consequently man must be either mortal or immortal, but it is not necessary that man should be
a mortal animal-this is begged: and this is what ought to have been proved syllogistically. And again, taking
A as mortal animal, B as footed, C as footless, and D as man, he assumes in the same way that A inheres
either in B or in C (for every mortal animal is either footed or footless), and he assumes A of D (for he
assumed man, as we saw, to be a mortal animal); consequently it is necessary that man should be either a
footed or a footless animal; but it is not necessary that man should be footed: this he assumes: and it is just
this again which he ought to have demonstrated. Always dividing then in this way it turns out that these
logicians assume as middle the universal term, and as extremes that which ought to have been the subject of
demonstration and the differentiae. In conclusion, they do not make it clear, and show it to be necessary, that
this is man or whatever the subject of inquiry may be: for they pursue the other method altogether, never even
suspecting the presence of the rich supply of evidence which might be used. It is clear that it is neither
possible to refute a statement by this method of division, nor to draw a conclusion about an accident or
property of a thing, nor about its genus, nor in cases in which it is unknown whether it is thus or thus, e.g.
whether the diagonal is incommensurate. For if he assumes that every length is either commensurate or
incommensurate, and the diagonal is a length, he has proved that the diagonal is either incommensurate or
commensurate. But if he should assume that it is incommensurate, he will have assumed what he ought to
have proved. He cannot then prove it: for this is his method, but proof is not possible by this method. Let A
stand for 'incommensurate or commensurate', B for 'length', C for 'diagonal'. It is clear then that this method
of investigation is not suitable for every inquiry, nor is it useful in those cases in which it is thought to be
most suitable.

From what has been said it is clear from what elements demonstrations are formed and in what manner, and
to what points we must look in each problem.

Our next business is to state how we can reduce syllogisms to the aforementioned figures: for this part of the
inquiry still remains. If we should investigate the production of the syllogisms and had the power of
discovering them, and further if we could resolve the syllogisms produced into the aforementioned figures,
our original problem would be brought to a conclusion. It will happen at the same time that what has been
already said will be confirmed and its truth made clearer by what we are about to say. For everything that is
true must in every respect agree with itself First then we must attempt to select the two premisses of the
syllogism (for it is easier to divide into large parts than into small, and the composite parts are larger than the
elements out of which they are made); next we must inquire which are universal and which particular, and if
both premisses have not been stated, we must ourselves assume the one which is missing. For sometimes men
put forward the universal premiss, but do not posit the premiss which is contained in it, either in writing or in
discussion: or men put forward the premisses of the principal syllogism, but omit those through which they
are inferred, and invite the concession of others to no purpose. We must inquire then whether anything
unnecessary has been assumed, or anything necessary has been omitted, and we must posit the one and take
away the other, until we have reached the two premisses: for unless we have these, we cannot reduce
arguments put forward in the way described. In some arguments it is easy to see what is wanting, but some
escape us, and appear to be syllogisms, because something necessary results from what has been laid down,
e.g. if the assumptions were made that substance is not annihilated by the annihilation of what is not

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substance, and that if the elements out of which a thing is made are annihilated, then that which is made out
of them is destroyed: these propositions being laid down, it is necessary that any part of substance is
substance; this has not however been drawn by syllogism from the propositions assumed, but premisses are
wanting. Again if it is necessary that animal should exist, if man does, and that substance should exist, if
animal does, it is necessary that substance should exist if man does: but as yet the conclusion has not been
drawn syllogistically: for the premisses are not in the shape we required. We are deceived in such cases
because something necessary results from what is assumed, since the syllogism also is necessary. But that
which is necessary is wider than the syllogism: for every syllogism is necessary, but not everything which is
necessary is a syllogism. Consequently, though something results when certain propositions are assumed, we
must not try to reduce it directly, but must first state the two premisses, then divide them into their terms. We
must take that term as middle which is stated in both the remisses: for it is necessary that the middle should
be found in both premisses in all the figures.

If then the middle term is a predicate and a subject of predication, or if it is a predicate, and something else is
denied of it, we shall have the first figure: if it both is a predicate and is denied of something, the middle
figure: if other things are predicated of it, or one is denied, the other predicated, the last figure. For it was thus
that we found the middle term placed in each figure. It is placed similarly too if the premisses are not
universal: for the middle term is determined in the same way. Clearly then, if the same term is not stated
more than once in the course of an argument, a syllogism cannot be made: for a middle term has not been
taken. Since we know what sort of thesis is established in each figure, and in which the universal, in what sort
the particular is described, clearly we must not look for all the figures, but for that which is appropriate to the
thesis in hand. If the thesis is established in more figures than one, we shall recognize the figure by the
position of the middle term.

Men are frequently deceived about syllogisms because the inference is necessary, as has been said above;
sometimes they are deceived by the similarity in the positing of the terms; and this ought not to escape our
notice. E.g. if A is stated of B, and B of C: it would seem that a syllogism is possible since the terms stand
thus: but nothing necessary results, nor does a syllogism. Let A represent the term 'being eternal', B
Aristomenes as an object of thought', C Aristomenes'. It is true then that A belongs to B. For Aristomenes as
an object of thought is eternal. But B also belongs to C: for Aristomenes is Aristomenes as an object of
thought. But A does not belong to C: for Aristomenes is perishable. For no syllogism was made although the
terms stood thus: that required that the premiss AB should be stated universally. But this is false, that every
Aristomenes who is an object of thought is eternal, since Aristomenes is perishable. Again let C stand for
'Miccalus', B for 'musical Miccalus', A for 'perishing to-morrow'. It is true to predicate B of C: for Miccalus
is musical Miccalus. Also A can be predicated of B: for musical Miccalus might perish to-morrow. But to
state A of C is false at any rate. This argument then is identical with the former; for it is not true universally
that musical Miccalus perishes to-morrow: but unless this is assumed, no syllogism (as we have shown) is
possible.

This deception then arises through ignoring a small distinction. For if we accept the conclusion as though it
made no difference whether we said This belong to that' or 'This belongs to all of that'.

Men will frequently fall into fallacies through not setting out the terms of the premiss well, e.g. suppose A to
be health, B disease, C man. It is true to say that A cannot belong to any B (for health belongs to no disease)
and again that B belongs to every C (for every man is capable of disease). It would seem to follow that health
cannot belong to any man. The reason for this is that the terms are not set out well in the statement, since if

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the things which are in the conditions are substituted, no syllogism can be made, e.g. if 'healthy' is substituted
for 'health' and 'diseased' for 'disease'. For it is not true to say that being healthy cannot belong to one who is
diseased. But unless this is assumed no conclusion results, save in respect of possibility: but such a
conclusion is not impossible: for it is possible that health should belong to no man. Again the fallacy may
occur in a similar way in the middle figure: 'it is not possible that health should belong to any disease, but it is
possible that health should belong to every man, consequently it is not possible that disease should belong to
any man'. In the third figure the fallacy results in reference to possibility. For health and diseae and
knowledge and ignorance, and in general contraries, may possibly belong to the same thing, but cannot
belong to one another. This is not in agreement with what was said before: for we stated that when several
things could belong to the same thing, they could belong to one another.

It is evident then that in all these cases the fallacy arises from the setting out of the terms: for if the things that
are in the conditions are substituted, no fallacy arises. It is clear then that in such premisses what possesses
the condition ought always to be substituted for the condition and taken as the term.

We must not always seek to set out the terms a single word: for we shall often have complexes of words to
which a single name is not given. Hence it is difficult to reduce syllogisms with such terms. Sometimes too
fallacies will result from such a search, e.g. the belief that syllogism can establish that which has no mean.
Let A stand for two right angles, B for triangle, C for isosceles triangle. A then belongs to C because of B:
but A belongs to B without the mediation of another term: for the triangle in virtue of its own nature contains
two right angles, consequently there will be no middle term for the proposition AB, although it is
demonstrable. For it is clear that the middle must not always be assumed to be an individual thing, but
sometimes a complex of words, as happens in the case mentioned.

That the first term belongs to the middle, and the middle to the extreme, must not be understood in the sense
that they can always be predicated of one another or that the first term will be predicated of the middle in the
same way as the middle is predicated of the last term. The same holds if the premisses are negative. But we
must suppose the verb 'to belong' to have as many meanings as the senses in which the verb 'to be' is used,
and in which the assertion that a thing 'is' may be said to be true. Take for example the statement that there is
a single science of contraries. Let A stand for 'there being a single science', and B for things which are
contrary to one another. Then A belongs to B, not in the sense that contraries are the fact of there being a
single science of them, but in the sense that it is true to say of the contraries that there is a single science of
them.

It happens sometimes that the first term is stated of the middle, but the middle is not stated of the third term,
e.g. if wisdom is knowledge, and wisdom is of the good, the conclusion is that there is knowledge of the
good. The good then is not knowledge, though wisdom is knowledge. Sometimes the middle term is stated of
the third, but the first is not stated of the middle, e.g. if there is a science of everything that has a quality, or is
a contrary, and the good both is a contrary and has a quality, the conclusion is that there is a science of the
good, but the good is not science, nor is that which has a quality or is a contrary, though the good is both of
these. Sometimes neither the first term is stated of the middle, nor the middle of the third, while the first is
sometimes stated of the third, and sometimes not: e.g. if there is a genus of that of which there is a science,
and if there is a science of the good, we conclude that there is a genus of the good. But nothing is predicated
of anything. And if that of which there is a science is a genus, and if there is a science of the good, we
conclude that the good is a genus. The first term then is predicated of the extreme, but in the premisses one
thing is not stated of another.

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The same holds good where the relation is negative. For 'that does not belong to this' does not always mean
that 'this is not that', but sometimes that 'this is not of that' or 'for that', e.g. 'there is not a motion of a motion
or a becoming of a becoming, but there is a becoming of pleasure: so pleasure is not a becoming.' Or again it
may be said that there is a sign of laughter, but there is not a sign of a sign, consequently laughter is not a
sign. This holds in the other cases too, in which the thesis is refuted because the genus is asserted in a
particular way, in relation to the terms of the thesis. Again take the inference 'opportunity is not the right
time: for opportunity belongs to God, but the right time does not, since nothing is useful to God'. We must
take as terms opportunity-right time-God: but the premiss must be understood according to the case of the
noun. For we state this universally without qualification, that the terms ought always to be stated in the
nominative, e.g. man, good, contraries, not in oblique cases, e.g. of man, of a good, of contraries, but the
premisses ought to be understood with reference to the cases of each term-either the dative, e.g. 'equal to
this', or the genitive, e.g. 'double of this', or the accusative, e.g. 'that which strikes or sees this', or the
nominative, e.g. 'man is an animal', or in whatever other way the word falls in the premiss.

The expressions 'this belongs to that' and 'this holds true of that' must be understood in as many ways as there
are different categories, and these categories must be taken either with or without qualification, and further as
simple or compound: the same holds good of the corresponding negative expressions. We must consider
these points and define them better.

A term which is repeated in the premisses ought to be joined to the first extreme, not to the middle. I mean
for example that if a syllogism should be made proving that there is knowledge of justice, that it is good, the
expression 'that it is good' (or 'qua good') should be joined to the first term. Let A stand for 'knowledge that it
is good', B for good, C for justice. It is true to predicate A of B. For of the good there is knowledge that it is
good. Also it is true to predicate B of C. For justice is identical with a good. In this way an analysis of the
argument can be made. But if the expression 'that it is good' were added to B, the conclusion will not follow:
for A will be true of B, but B will not be true of C. For to predicate of justice the term 'good that it is good' is
false and not intelligible. Similarly if it should be proved that the healthy is an object of knowledge qua good,
of goat-stag an object of knowledge qua not existing, or man perishable qua an object of sense: in every case
in which an addition is made to the predicate, the addition must be joined to the extreme.

The position of the terms is not the same when something is established without qualification and when it is
qualified by some attribute or condition, e.g. when the good is proved to be an object of knowledge and when
it is proved to be an object of knowledge that it is good. If it has been proved to be an object of knowledge
without qualification, we must put as middle term 'that which is', but if we add the qualification 'that it is
good', the middle term must be 'that which is something'. Let A stand for 'knowledge that it is something', B
stand for 'something', and C stand for 'good'. It is true to predicate A of B: for ex hypothesi there is a science
of that which is something, that it is something. B too is true of C: for that which C represents is something.
Consequently A is true of C: there will then be knowledge of the good, that it is good: for ex hypothesi the
term 'something' indicates the thing's special nature. But if 'being' were taken as middle and 'being' simply
were joined to the extreme, not 'being something', we should not have had a syllogism proving that there is
knowledge of the good, that it is good, but that it is; e.g. let A stand for knowledge that it is, B for being, C
for good. Clearly then in syllogisms which are thus limited we must take the terms in the way stated.

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We ought also to exchange terms which have the same value, word for word, and phrase for phrase, and word
and phrase, and always take a word in preference to a phrase: for thus the setting out of the terms will be
easier. For example if it makes no difference whether we say that the supposable is not the genus of the
opinable or that the opinable is not identical with a particular kind of supposable (for what is meant is the
same in both statements), it is better to take as the terms the supposable and the opinable in preference to the
phrase suggested.

Since the expressions 'pleasure is good' and 'pleasure is the good' are not identical, we must not set out the
terms in the same way; but if the syllogism is to prove that pleasure is the good, the term must be 'the good',
but if the object is to prove that pleasure is good, the term will be 'good'. Similarly in all other cases.

It is not the same, either in fact or in speech, that A belongs to all of that to which B belongs, and that A
belongs to all of that to all of which B belongs: for nothing prevents B from belonging to C, though not to all
C: e.g. let B stand for beautiful, and C for white. If beauty belongs to something white, it is true to say that
beauty belongs to that which is white; but not perhaps to everything that is white. If then A belongs to B, but
not to everything of which B is predicated, then whether B belongs to all C or merely belongs to C, it is not
necessary that A should belong, I do not say to all C, but even to C at all. But if A belongs to everything of
which B is truly stated, it will follow that A can be said of all of that of all of which B is said. If however A is
said of that of all of which B may be said, nothing prevents B belonging to C, and yet A not belonging to all
C or to any C at all. If then we take three terms it is clear that the expression 'A is said of all of which B is
said' means this, 'A is said of all the things of which B is said'. And if B is said of all of a third term, so also is
A: but if B is not said of all of the third term, there is no necessity that A should be said of all of it.

We must not suppose that something absurd results through setting out the terms: for we do not use the
existence of this particular thing, but imitate the geometrician who says that 'this line a foot long' or 'this
straight line' or 'this line without breadth' exists although it does not, but does not use the diagrams in the
sense that he reasons from them. For in general, if two things are not related as whole to part and part to
whole, the prover does not prove from them, and so no syllogism a is formed. We (I mean the learner) use the
process of setting out terms like perception by sense, not as though it were impossible to demonstrate without
these illustrative terms, as it is to demonstrate without the premisses of the syllogism.

We should not forget that in the same syllogism not all conclusions are reached through one figure, but one
through one figure, another through another. Clearly then we must analyse arguments in accordance with this.
Since not every problem is proved in every figure, but certain problems in each figure, it is clear from the
conclusion in what figure the premisses should be sought.

In reference to those arguments aiming at a definition which have been directed to prove some part of the
definition, we must take as a term the point to which the argument has been directed, not the whole
definition: for so we shall be less likely to be disturbed by the length of the term: e.g. if a man proves that

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water is a drinkable liquid, we must take as terms drinkable and water.

Further we must not try to reduce hypothetical syllogisms; for with the given premisses it is not possible to
reduce them. For they have not been proved by syllogism, but assented to by agreement. For instance if a
man should suppose that unless there is one faculty of contraries, there cannot be one science, and should
then argue that not every faculty is of contraries, e.g. of what is healthy and what is sickly: for the same thing
will then be at the same time healthy and sickly. He has shown that there is not one faculty of all contraries,
but he has not proved that there is not a science. And yet one must agree. But the agreement does not come
from a syllogism, but from an hypothesis. This argument cannot be reduced: but the proof that there is not a
single faculty can. The latter argument perhaps was a syllogism: but the former was an hypothesis.

The same holds good of arguments which are brought to a conclusion per impossibile. These cannot be
analysed either; but the reduction to what is impossible can be analysed since it is proved by syllogism,
though the rest of the argument cannot, because the conclusion is reached from an hypothesis. But these
differ from the previous arguments: for in the former a preliminary agreement must be reached if one is to
accept the conclusion; e.g. an agreement that if there is proved to be one faculty of contraries, then contraries
fall under the same science; whereas in the latter, even if no preliminary agreement has been made, men still
accept the reasoning, because the falsity is patent, e.g. the falsity of what follows from the assumption that
the diagonal is commensurate, viz. that then odd numbers are equal to evens.

Many other arguments are brought to a conclusion by the help of an hypothesis; these we ought to consider
and mark out clearly. We shall describe in the sequel their differences, and the various ways in which
hypothetical arguments are formed: but at present this much must be clear, that it is not possible to resolve
such arguments into the figures. And we have explained the reason.

Whatever problems are proved in more than one figure, if they have been established in one figure by
syllogism, can be reduced to another figure, e.g. a negative syllogism in the first figure can be reduced to the
second, and a syllogism in the middle figure to the first, not all however but some only. The point will be
clear in the sequel. If A belongs to no B, and B to all C, then A belongs to no C. Thus the first figure; but if
the negative statement is converted, we shall have the middle figure. For B belongs to no A, and to all C.
Similarly if the syllogism is not universal but particular, e.g. if A belongs to no B, and B to some C. Convert
the negative statement and you will have the middle figure.

The universal syllogisms in the second figure can be reduced to the first, but only one of the two particular
syllogisms. Let A belong to no B and to all C. Convert the negative statement, and you will have the first
figure. For B will belong to no A and A to all C. But if the affirmative statement concerns B, and the negative
C, C must be made first term. For C belongs to no A, and A to all B: therefore C belongs to no B. B then
belongs to no C: for the negative statement is convertible.

But if the syllogism is particular, whenever the negative statement concerns the major extreme, reduction to
the first figure will be possible, e.g. if A belongs to no B and to some C: convert the negative statement and
you will have the first figure. For B will belong to no A and A to some C. But when the affirmative statement
concerns the major extreme, no resolution will be possible, e.g. if A belongs to all B, but not to all C: for the
statement AB does not admit of conversion, nor would there be a syllogism if it did.

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Again syllogisms in the third figure cannot all be resolved into the first, though all syllogisms in the first
figure can be resolved into the third. Let A belong to all B and B to some C. Since the particular affirmative
is convertible, C will belong to some B: but A belonged to all B: so that the third figure is formed. Similarly
if the syllogism is negative: for the particular affirmative is convertible: therefore A will belong to no B, and
to some C.

Of the syllogisms in the last figure one only cannot be resolved into the first, viz. when the negative
statement is not universal: all the rest can be resolved. Let A and B be affirmed of all C: then C can be
converted partially with either A or B: C then belongs to some B. Consequently we shall get the first figure, if
A belongs to all C, and C to some of the Bs. If A belongs to all C and B to some C, the argument is the same:
for B is convertible in reference to C. But if B belongs to all C and A to some C, the first term must be B: for
B belongs to all C, and C to some A, therefore B belongs to some A. But since the particular statement is
convertible, A will belong to some B. If the syllogism is negative, when the terms are universal we must take
them in a similar way. Let B belong to all C, and A to no C: then C will belong to some B, and A to no C;
and so C will be middle term. Similarly if the negative statement is universal, the affirmative particular: for A
will belong to no C, and C to some of the Bs. But if the negative statement is particular, no resolution will be
possible, e.g. if B belongs to all C, and A not belong to some C: convert the statement BC and both premisses
will be particular.

It is clear that in order to resolve the figures into one another the premiss which concerns the minor extreme
must be converted in both the figures: for when this premiss is altered, the transition to the other figure is
made.

One of the syllogisms in the middle figure can, the other cannot, be resolved into the third figure. Whenever
the universal statement is negative, resolution is possible. For if A belongs to no B and to some C, both B and
C alike are convertible in relation to A, so that B belongs to no A and C to some A. A therefore is middle
term. But when A belongs to all B, and not to some C, resolution will not be possible: for neither of the
premisses is universal after conversion.

Syllogisms in the third figure can be resolved into the middle figure, whenever the negative statement is
universal, e.g. if A belongs to no C, and B to some or all C. For C then will belong to no A and to some B.
But if the negative statement is particular, no resolution will be possible: for the particular negative does not
admit of conversion.

It is clear then that the same syllogisms cannot be resolved in these figures which could not be resolved into
the first figure, and that when syllogisms are reduced to the first figure these alone are confirmed by
reduction to what is impossible.

It is clear from what we have said how we ought to reduce syllogisms, and that the figures may be resolved
into one another.

In establishing or refuting, it makes some difference whether we suppose the expressions 'not to be this' and
'to be not-this' are identical or different in meaning, e.g. 'not to be white' and 'to be not-white'. For they do
not mean the same thing, nor is 'to be not-white' the negation of 'to be white', but 'not to be white'. The reason
for this is as follows. The relation of 'he can walk to 'he can not-walk is similar to the relation of 'it is white'
to 'it is not-white'; so is that of 'he knows what is good' to 'he knows what is not-good'. For there is no
difference between the expressions 'he knows what is good' and 'he is knowing what is good', or 'he can walk'
and 'he is able to walk': therefore there is no difference between their contraries 'he cannot walk'-'he is not

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able to walk'. If then 'he is not able to walk' means the same as 'he is able not to walk', capacity to walk and
incapacity to walk will belong at the same time to the same person (for the same man can both walk and
not-walk, and is possessed of knowledge of what is good and of what is not-good), but an affirmation and a
denial which are opposed to one another do not belong at the same time to the same thing. As then 'not to
know what is good' is not the same as 'to know what is not good', so 'to be not-good' is not the same as 'not to
be good'. For when two pairs correspond, if the one pair are different from one another, the other pair also
must be different. Nor is 'to be not-equal' the same as 'not to be equal': for there is something underlying the
one, viz. that which is not-equal, and this is the unequal, but there is nothing underlying the other. Wherefore
not everything is either equal or unequal, but everything is equal or is not equal. Further the expressions 'it is
a not-white log' and 'it is not a white log' do not imply one another's truth. For if 'it is a not-white log', it
must be a log: but that which is not a white log need not be a log at all. Therefore it is clear that 'it is
not-good' is not the denial of 'it is good'. If then every single statement may truly be said to be either an
affirmation or a negation, if it is not a negation clearly it must in a sense be an affirmation. But every
affirmation has a corresponding negation. The negation then of 'it is not-good' is 'it is not not-good'. The
relation of these statements to one another is as follows. Let A stand for 'to be good', B for 'not to be good', let
C stand for 'to be not-good' and be placed under B, and let D stand for not to be not-good' and be placed
under A. Then either A or B will belong to everything, but they will never belong to the same thing; and
either C or D will belong to everything, but they will never belong to the same thing. And B must belong to
everything to which C belongs. For if it is true to say 'it is a not-white', it is true also to say 'it is not white':
for it is impossible that a thing should simultaneously be white and be not-white, or be a not-white log and
be a white log; consequently if the affirmation does not belong, the denial must belong. But C does not
always belong to B: for what is not a log at all, cannot be a not-white log either. On the other hand D belongs
to everything to which A belongs. For either C or D belongs to everything to which A belongs. But since a
thing cannot be simultaneously not-white and white, D must belong to everything to which A belongs. For of
that which is white it is true to say that it is not not-white. But A is not true of all D. For of that which is not
a log at all it is not true to say A, viz. that it is a white log. Consequently D is true, but A is not true, i.e. that it
is a white log. It is clear also that A and C cannot together belong to the same thing, and that B and D may
possibly belong to the same thing.

Privative terms are similarly related positive ter terms respect of this arrangement. Let A stand for 'equal', B
for 'not equal', C for 'unequal', D for 'not unequal'.

In many things also, to some of which something belongs which does not belong to others, the negation may
be true in a similar way, viz. that all are not white or that each is not white, while that each is not-white or all
are not-white is false. Similarly also 'every animal is not-white' is not the negation of 'every animal is white'
(for both are false): the proper negation is 'every animal is not white'. Since it is clear that 'it is not- white' and
'it is not white' mean different things, and one is an affirmation, the other a denial, it is evident that the
method of proving each cannot be the same, e.g. that whatever is an animal is not white or may not be white,
and that it is true to call it not-white; for this means that it is not-white. But we may prove that it is true to
call it white or not-white in the same way for both are proved constructively by means of the first figure. For
the expression 'it is true' stands on a similar footing to 'it is'. For the negation of 'it is true to call it white' is
not 'it is true to call it not-white' but 'it is not true to call it white'. If then it is to be true to say that whatever
is a man is musical or is not-musical, we must assume that whatever is an animal either is musical or is
not-musical; and the proof has been made. That whatever is a man is not musical is proved destructively in
the three ways mentioned.

In general whenever A and B are such that they cannot belong at the same time to the same thing, and one of
the two necessarily belongs to everything, and again C and D are related in the same way, and A follows C
but the relation cannot be reversed, then D must follow B and the relation cannot be reversed. And A and D
may belong to the same thing, but B and C cannot. First it is clear from the following consideration that D
follows B. For since either C or D necessarily belongs to everything; and since C cannot belong to that to

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which B belongs, because it carries A along with it and A and B cannot belong to the same thing; it is clear
that D must follow B. Again since C does not reciprocate with but A, but C or D belongs to everything, it is
possible that A and D should belong to the same thing. But B and C cannot belong to the same thing, because
A follows C; and so something impossible results. It is clear then that B does not reciprocate with D either,
since it is possible that D and A should belong at the same time to the same thing.

It results sometimes even in such an arrangement of terms that one is deceived through not apprehending the
opposites rightly, one of which must belong to everything, e.g. we may reason that 'if A and B cannot belong
at the same time to the same thing, but it is necessary that one of them should belong to whatever the other
does not belong to: and again C and D are related in the same way, and follows everything which C follows:
it will result that B belongs necessarily to everything to which D belongs': but this is false. 'Assume that F
stands for the negation of A and B, and again that H stands for the negation of C and D. It is necessary then
that either A or F should belong to everything: for either the affirmation or the denial must belong. And again
either C or H must belong to everything: for they are related as affirmation and denial. And ex hypothesi A
belongs to everything ever thing to which C belongs. Therefore H belongs to everything to which F belongs.
Again since either F or B belongs to everything, and similarly either H or D, and since H follows F, B must
follow D: for we know this. If then A follows C, B must follow D'. But this is false: for as we proved the
sequence is reversed in terms so constituted. The fallacy arises because perhaps it is not necessary that A or F
should belong to everything, or that F or B should belong to everything: for F is not the denial of A. For not
good is the negation of good: and not-good is not identical with 'neither good nor not-good'. Similarly also
with C and D. For two negations have been assumed in respect to one term.

Book II

WE have already explained the number of the figures, the character and number of the premisses, when and
how a syllogism is formed; further what we must look for when a refuting and establishing propositions, and
how we should investigate a given problem in any branch of inquiry, also by what means we shall obtain
principles appropriate to each subject. Since some syllogisms are universal, others particular, all the universal
syllogisms give more than one result, and of particular syllogisms the affirmative yield more than one, the
negative yield only the stated conclusion. For all propositions are convertible save only the particular
negative: and the conclusion states one definite thing about another definite thing. Consequently all
syllogisms save the particular negative yield more than one conclusion, e.g. if A has been proved to to all or
to some B, then B must belong to some A: and if A has been proved to belong to no B, then B belongs to no
A. This is a different conclusion from the former. But if A does not belong to some B, it is not necessary that
B should not belong to some A: for it may possibly belong to all A.

This then is the reason common to all syllogisms whether universal or particular. But it is possible to give
another reason concerning those which are universal. For all the things that are subordinate to the middle
term or to the conclusion may be proved by the same syllogism, if the former are placed in the middle, the
latter in the conclusion; e.g. if the conclusion AB is proved through C, whatever is subordinate to B or C
must accept the predicate A: for if D is included in B as in a whole, and B is included in A, then D will be
included in A. Again if E is included in C as in a whole, and C is included in A, then E will be included in A.
Similarly if the syllogism is negative. In the second figure it will be possible to infer only that which is
subordinate to the conclusion, e.g. if A belongs to no B and to all C; we conclude that B belongs to no C. If
then D is subordinate to C, clearly B does not belong to it. But that B does not belong to what is subordinate
to A is not clear by means of the syllogism. And yet B does not belong to E, if E is subordinate to A. But
while it has been proved through the syllogism that B belongs to no C, it has been assumed without proof that
B does not belong to A, consequently it does not result through the syllogism that B does not belong to E.

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But in particular syllogisms there will be no necessity of inferring what is subordinate to the conclusion (for a
syllogism does not result when this premiss is particular), but whatever is subordinate to the middle term may
be inferred, not however through the syllogism, e.g. if A belongs to all B and B to some C. Nothing can be
inferred about that which is subordinate to C; something can be inferred about that which is subordinate to B,
but not through the preceding syllogism. Similarly in the other figures. That which is subordinate to the
conclusion cannot be proved; the other subordinate can be proved, only not through the syllogism, just as in
the universal syllogisms what is subordinate to the middle term is proved (as we saw) from a premiss which
is not demonstrated: consequently either a conclusion is not possible in the case of universal syllogisms or
else it is possible also in the case of particular syllogisms.

It is possible for the premisses of the syllogism to be true, or to be false, or to be the one true, the other false.
The conclusion is either true or false necessarily. From true premisses it is not possible to draw a false
conclusion, but a true conclusion may be drawn from false premisses, true however only in respect to the fact,
not to the reason. The reason cannot be established from false premisses: why this is so will be explained in
the sequel.

First then that it is not possible to draw a false conclusion from true premisses, is made clear by this
consideration. If it is necessary that B should be when A is, it is necessary that A should not be when B is not.
If then A is true, B must be true: otherwise it will turn out that the same thing both is and is not at the same
time. But this is impossible. Let it not, because A is laid down as a single term, be supposed that it is
possible, when a single fact is given, that something should necessarily result. For that is not possible. For
what results necessarily is the conclusion, and the means by which this comes about are at the least three
terms, and two relations of subject and predicate or premisses. If then it is true that A belongs to all that to
which B belongs, and that B belongs to all that to which C belongs, it is necessary that A should belong to all
that to which C belongs, and this cannot be false: for then the same thing will belong and not belong at the
same time. So A is posited as one thing, being two premisses taken together. The same holds good of
negative syllogisms: it is not possible to prove a false conclusion from true premisses.

But from what is false a true conclusion may be drawn, whether both the premisses are false or only one,
provided that this is not either of the premisses indifferently, if it is taken as wholly false: but if the premiss is
not taken as wholly false, it does not matter which of the two is false. (1) Let A belong to the whole of C, but
to none of the Bs, neither let B belong to C. This is possible, e.g. animal belongs to no stone, nor stone to any
man. If then A is taken to belong to all B and B to all C, A will belong to all C; consequently though both the
premisses are false the conclusion is true: for every man is an animal. Similarly with the negative. For it is
possible that neither A nor B should belong to any C, although A belongs to all B, e.g. if the same terms are
taken and man is put as middle: for neither animal nor man belongs to any stone, but animal belongs to every
man. Consequently if one term is taken to belong to none of that to which it does belong, and the other term
is taken to belong to all of that to which it does not belong, though both the premisses are false the conclusion
will be true. (2) A similar proof may be given if each premiss is partially false.

(3) But if one only of the premisses is false, when the first premiss is wholly false, e.g. AB, the conclusion
will not be true, but if the premiss BC is wholly false, a true conclusion will be possible. I mean by 'wholly
false' the contrary of the truth, e.g. if what belongs to none is assumed to belong to all, or if what belongs to
all is assumed to belong to none. Let A belong to no B, and B to all C. If then the premiss BC which I take is
true, and the premiss AB is wholly false, viz. that A belongs to all B, it is impossible that the conclusion
should be true: for A belonged to none of the Cs, since A belonged to nothing to which B belonged, and B
belonged to all C. Similarly there cannot be a true conclusion if A belongs to all B, and B to all C, but while
the true premiss BC is assumed, the wholly false premiss AB is also assumed, viz. that A belongs to nothing

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to which B belongs: here the conclusion must be false. For A will belong to all C, since A belongs to
everything to which B belongs, and B to all C. It is clear then that when the first premiss is wholly false,
whether affirmative or negative, and the other premiss is true, the conclusion cannot be true.

(4) But if the premiss is not wholly false, a true conclusion is possible. For if A belongs to all C and to some
B, and if B belongs to all C, e.g. animal to every swan and to some white thing, and white to every swan, then
if we take as premisses that A belongs to all B, and B to all C, A will belong to all C truly: for every swan is
an animal. Similarly if the statement AB is negative. For it is possible that A should belong to some B and to
no C, and that B should belong to all C, e.g. animal to some white thing, but to no snow, and white to all
snow. If then one should assume that A belongs to no B, and B to all C, then will belong to no C.

(5) But if the premiss AB, which is assumed, is wholly true, and the premiss BC is wholly false, a true
syllogism will be possible: for nothing prevents A belonging to all B and to all C, though B belongs to no C,
e.g. these being species of the same genus which are not subordinate one to the other: for animal belongs both
to horse and to man, but horse to no man. If then it is assumed that A belongs to all B and B to all C, the
conclusion will be true, although the premiss BC is wholly false. Similarly if the premiss AB is negative. For
it is possible that A should belong neither to any B nor to any C, and that B should not belong to any C, e.g. a
genus to species of another genus: for animal belongs neither to music nor to the art of healing, nor does
music belong to the art of healing. If then it is assumed that A belongs to no B, and B to all C, the conclusion
will be true.

(6) And if the premiss BC is not wholly false but in part only, even so the conclusion may be true. For
nothing prevents A belonging to the whole of B and of C, while B belongs to some C, e.g. a genus to its
species and difference: for animal belongs to every man and to every footed thing, and man to some footed
things though not to all. If then it is assumed that A belongs to all B, and B to all C, A will belong to all C:
and this ex hypothesi is true. Similarly if the premiss AB is negative. For it is possible that A should neither
belong to any B nor to any C, though B belongs to some C, e.g. a genus to the species of another genus and
its difference: for animal neither belongs to any wisdom nor to any instance of 'speculative', but wisdom
belongs to some instance of 'speculative'. If then it should be assumed that A belongs to no B, and B to all C,
will belong to no C: and this ex hypothesi is true.

In particular syllogisms it is possible when the first premiss is wholly false, and the other true, that the
conclusion should be true; also when the first premiss is false in part, and the other true; and when the first is
true, and the particular is false; and when both are false. (7) For nothing prevents A belonging to no B, but to
some C, and B to some C, e.g. animal belongs to no snow, but to some white thing, and snow to some white
thing. If then snow is taken as middle, and animal as first term, and it is assumed that A belongs to the whole
of B, and B to some C, then the premiss BC is wholly false, the premiss BC true, and the conclusion true.
Similarly if the premiss AB is negative: for it is possible that A should belong to the whole of B, but not to
some C, although B belongs to some C, e.g. animal belongs to every man, but does not follow some white,
but man belongs to some white; consequently if man be taken as middle term and it is assumed that A
belongs to no B but B belongs to some C, the conclusion will be true although the premiss AB is wholly
false. (If the premiss AB is false in part, the conclusion may be true. For nothing prevents A belonging both
to B and to some C, and B belonging to some C, e.g. animal to something beautiful and to something great,
and beautiful belonging to something great. If then A is assumed to belong to all B, and B to some C, the a
premiss AB will be partially false, the premiss BC will be true, and the conclusion true. Similarly if the
premiss AB is negative. For the same terms will serve, and in the same positions, to prove the point.

(9) Again if the premiss AB is true, and the premiss BC is false, the conclusion may be true. For nothing
prevents A belonging to the whole of B and to some C, while B belongs to no C, e.g. animal to every swan
and to some black things, though swan belongs to no black thing. Consequently if it should be assumed that
A belongs to all B, and B to some C, the conclusion will be true, although the statement BC is false. Similarly

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if the premiss AB is negative. For it is possible that A should belong to no B, and not to some C, while B
belongs to no C, e.g. a genus to the species of another genus and to the accident of its own species: for animal
belongs to no number and not to some white things, and number belongs to nothing white. If then number is
taken as middle, and it is assumed that A belongs to no B, and B to some C, then A will not belong to some
C, which ex hypothesi is true. And the premiss AB is true, the premiss BC false.

(10) Also if the premiss AB is partially false, and the premiss BC is false too, the conclusion may be true. For
nothing prevents A belonging to some B and to some C, though B belongs to no C, e.g. if B is the contrary of
C, and both are accidents of the same genus: for animal belongs to some white things and to some black
things, but white belongs to no black thing. If then it is assumed that A belongs to all B, and B to some C, the
conclusion will be true. Similarly if the premiss AB is negative: for the same terms arranged in the same way
will serve for the proof.

(11) Also though both premisses are false the conclusion may be true. For it is possible that A may belong to
no B and to some C, while B belongs to no C, e.g. a genus in relation to the species of another genus, and to
the accident of its own species: for animal belongs to no number, but to some white things, and number to
nothing white. If then it is assumed that A belongs to all B and B to some C, the conclusion will be true,
though both premisses are false. Similarly also if the premiss AB is negative. For nothing prevents A
belonging to the whole of B, and not to some C, while B belongs to no C, e.g. animal belongs to every swan,
and not to some black things, and swan belongs to nothing black. Consequently if it is assumed that A
belongs to no B, and B to some C, then A does not belong to some C. The conclusion then is true, but the
premisses arc false.

In the middle figure it is possible in every way to reach a true conclusion through false premisses, whether
the syllogisms are universal or particular, viz. when both premisses are wholly false; when each is partially
false; when one is true, the other wholly false (it does not matter which of the two premisses is false); if both
premisses are partially false; if one is quite true, the other partially false; if one is wholly false, the other
partially true. For (1) if A belongs to no B and to all C, e.g. animal to no stone and to every horse, then if the
premisses are stated contrariwise and it is assumed that A belongs to all B and to no C, though the premisses
are wholly false they will yield a true conclusion. Similarly if A belongs to all B and to no C: for we shall
have the same syllogism.

(2) Again if one premiss is wholly false, the other wholly true: for nothing prevents A belonging to all B and
to all C, though B belongs to no C, e.g. a genus to its co-ordinate species. For animal belongs to every horse
and man, and no man is a horse. If then it is assumed that animal belongs to all of the one, and none of the
other, the one premiss will be wholly false, the other wholly true, and the conclusion will be true whichever
term the negative statement concerns.

(3) Also if one premiss is partially false, the other wholly true. For it is possible that A should belong to some
B and to all C, though B belongs to no C, e.g. animal to some white things and to every raven, though white
belongs to no raven. If then it is assumed that A belongs to no B, but to the whole of C, the premiss AB is
partially false, the premiss AC wholly true, and the conclusion true. Similarly if the negative statement is
transposed: the proof can be made by means of the same terms. Also if the affirmative premiss is partially
false, the negative wholly true, a true conclusion is possible. For nothing prevents A belonging to some B, but
not to C as a whole, while B belongs to no C, e.g. animal belongs to some white things, but to no pitch, and
white belongs to no pitch. Consequently if it is assumed that A belongs to the whole of B, but to no C, the
premiss AB is partially false, the premiss AC is wholly true, and the conclusion is true.

PRIOR ANALYTICS

(4) And if both the premisses are partially false, the conclusion may be true. For it is possible that A should
belong to some B and to some C, and B to no C, e.g. animal to some white things and to some black things,
though white belongs to nothing black. If then it is assumed that A belongs to all B and to no C, both
premisses are partially false, but the conclusion is true. Similarly, if the negative premiss is transposed, the
proof can be made by means of the same terms.

It is clear also that our thesis holds in particular syllogisms. For (5) nothing prevents A belonging to all B and
to some C, though B does not belong to some C, e.g. animal to every man and to some white things, though
man will not belong to some white things. If then it is stated that A belongs to no B and to some C, the
universal premiss is wholly false, the particular premiss is true, and the conclusion is true. Similarly if the
premiss AB is affirmative: for it is possible that A should belong to no B, and not to some C, though B does
not belong to some C, e.g. animal belongs to nothing lifeless, and does not belong to some white things, and
lifeless will not belong to some white things. If then it is stated that A belongs to all B and not to some C, the
premiss AB which is universal is wholly false, the premiss AC is true, and the conclusion is true. Also a true
conclusion is possible when the universal premiss is true, and the particular is false. For nothing prevents A
following neither B nor C at all, while B does not belong to some C, e.g. animal belongs to no number nor to
anything lifeless, and number does not follow some lifeless things. If then it is stated that A belongs to no B
and to some C, the conclusion will be true, and the universal premiss true, but the particular false. Similarly if
the premiss which is stated universally is affirmative. For it is possible that should A belong both to B and to
C as wholes, though B does not follow some C, e.g. a genus in relation to its species and difference: for
animal follows every man and footed things as a whole, but man does not follow every footed thing.
Consequently if it is assumed that A belongs to the whole of B, but does not belong to some C, the universal
premiss is true, the particular false, and the conclusion true.

(6) It is clear too that though both premisses are false they may yield a true conclusion, since it is possible
that A should belong both to B and to C as wholes, though B does not follow some C. For if it is assumed that
A belongs to no B and to some C, the premisses are both false, but the conclusion is true. Similarly if the
universal premiss is affirmative and the particular negative. For it is possible that A should follow no B and
all C, though B does not belong to some C, e.g. animal follows no science but every man, though science
does not follow every man. If then A is assumed to belong to the whole of B, and not to follow some C, the
premisses are false but the conclusion is true.

In the last figure a true conclusion may come through what is false, alike when both premisses are wholly
false, when each is partly false, when one premiss is wholly true, the other false, when one premiss is partly
false, the other wholly true, and vice versa, and in every other way in which it is possible to alter the
premisses. For (1) nothing prevents neither A nor B from belonging to any C, while A belongs to some B,
e.g. neither man nor footed follows anything lifeless, though man belongs to some footed things. If then it is
assumed that A and B belong to all C, the premisses will be wholly false, but the conclusion true. Similarly if
one premiss is negative, the other affirmative. For it is possible that B should belong to no C, but A to all C,
and that should not belong to some B, e.g. black belongs to no swan, animal to every swan, and animal not to
everything black. Consequently if it is assumed that B belongs to all C, and A to no C, A will not belong to
some B: and the conclusion is true, though the premisses are false.

(2) Also if each premiss is partly false, the conclusion may be true. For nothing prevents both A and B from
belonging to some C while A belongs to some B, e.g. white and beautiful belong to some animals, and white
to some beautiful things. If then it is stated that A and B belong to all C, the premisses are partially false, but
the conclusion is true. Similarly if the premiss AC is stated as negative. For nothing prevents A from not
belonging, and B from belonging, to some C, while A does not belong to all B, e.g. white does not belong to

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some animals, beautiful belongs to some animals, and white does not belong to everything beautiful.
Consequently if it is assumed that A belongs to no C, and B to all C, both premisses are partly false, but the
conclusion is true.

(3) Similarly if one of the premisses assumed is wholly false, the other wholly true. For it is possible that both
A and B should follow all C, though A does not belong to some B, e.g. animal and white follow every swan,
though animal does not belong to everything white. Taking these then as terms, if one assumes that B belongs
to the whole of C, but A does not belong to C at all, the premiss BC will be wholly true, the premiss AC
wholly false, and the conclusion true. Similarly if the statement BC is false, the statement AC true, the
conclusion may be true. The same terms will serve for the proof. Also if both the premisses assumed are
affirmative, the conclusion may be true. For nothing prevents B from following all C, and A from not
belonging to C at all, though A belongs to some B, e.g. animal belongs to every swan, black to no swan, and
black to some animals. Consequently if it is assumed that A and B belong to every C, the premiss BC is
wholly true, the premiss AC is wholly false, and the conclusion is true. Similarly if the premiss AC which is
assumed is true: the proof can be made through the same terms.

(4) Again if one premiss is wholly true, the other partly false, the conclusion may be true. For it is possible
that B should belong to all C, and A to some C, while A belongs to some B, e.g. biped belongs to every man,
beautiful not to every man, and beautiful to some bipeds. If then it is assumed that both A and B belong to the
whole of C, the premiss BC is wholly true, the premiss AC partly false, the conclusion true. Similarly if of
the premisses assumed AC is true and BC partly false, a true conclusion is possible: this can be proved, if the
same terms as before are transposed. Also the conclusion may be true if one premiss is negative, the other
affirmative. For since it is possible that B should belong to the whole of C, and A to some C, and, when they
are so, that A should not belong to all B, therefore it is assumed that B belongs to the whole of C, and A to no
C, the negative premiss is partly false, the other premiss wholly true, and the conclusion is true. Again since
it has been proved that if A belongs to no C and B to some C, it is possible that A should not belong to some
C, it is clear that if the premiss AC is wholly true, and the premiss BC partly false, it is possible that the
conclusion should be true. For if it is assumed that A belongs to no C, and B to all C, the premiss AC is
wholly true, and the premiss BC is partly false.

(5) It is clear also in the case of particular syllogisms that a true conclusion may come through what is false,
in every possible way. For the same terms must be taken as have been taken when the premisses are
universal, positive terms in positive syllogisms, negative terms in negative. For it makes no difference to the
setting out of the terms, whether one assumes that what belongs to none belongs to all or that what belongs to
some belongs to all. The same applies to negative statements.

It is clear then that if the conclusion is false, the premisses of the argument must be false, either all or some of
them; but when the conclusion is true, it is not necessary that the premisses should be true, either one or all,
yet it is possible, though no part of the syllogism is true, that the conclusion may none the less be true; but it
is not necessitated. The reason is that when two things are so related to one another, that if the one is, the
other necessarily is, then if the latter is not, the former will not be either, but if the latter is, it is not necessary
that the former should be. But it is impossible that the same thing should be necessitated by the being and by
the not-being of the same thing. I mean, for example, that it is impossible that B should necessarily be great
since A is white and that B should necessarily be great since A is not white. For whenever since this, A, is
white it is necessary that that, B, should be great, and since B is great that C should not be white, then it is
necessary if is white that C should not be white. And whenever it is necessary, since one of two things is, that
the other should be, it is necessary, if the latter is not, that the former (viz. A) should not be. If then B is not
great A cannot be white. But if, when A is not white, it is necessary that B should be great, it necessarily
results that if B is not great, B itself is great. (But this is impossible.) For if B is not great, A will necessarily
not be white. If then when this is not white B must be great, it results that if B is not great, it is great, just as if
it were proved through three terms.

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Circular and reciprocal proof means proof by means of the conclusion, i.e. by converting one of the premisses
simply and inferring the premiss which was assumed in the original syllogism: e.g. suppose it has been
necessary to prove that A belongs to all C, and it has been proved through B; suppose that A should now be
proved to belong to B by assuming that A belongs to C, and C to B-so A belongs to B: but in the first
syllogism the converse was assumed, viz. that B belongs to C. Or suppose it is necessary to prove that B
belongs to C, and A is assumed to belong to C, which was the conclusion of the first syllogism, and B to
belong to A but the converse was assumed in the earlier syllogism, viz. that A belongs to B. In no other way
is reciprocal proof possible. If another term is taken as middle, the proof is not circular: for neither of the
propositions assumed is the same as before: if one of the accepted terms is taken as middle, only one of the
premisses of the first syllogism can be assumed in the second: for if both of them are taken the same
conclusion as before will result: but it must be different. If the terms are not convertible, one of the premisses
from which the syllogism results must be undemonstrated: for it is not possible to demonstrate through these
terms that the third belongs to the middle or the middle to the first. If the terms are convertible, it is possible
to demonstrate everything reciprocally, e.g. if A and B and C are convertible with one another. Suppose the
proposition AC has been demonstrated through B as middle term, and again the proposition AB through the
conclusion and the premiss BC converted, and similarly the proposition BC through the conclusion and the
premiss AB converted. But it is necessary to prove both the premiss CB, and the premiss BA: for we have
used these alone without demonstrating them. If then it is assumed that B belongs to all C, and C to all A, we
shall have a syllogism relating B to A. Again if it is assumed that C belongs to all A, and A to all B, C must
belong to all B. In both these syllogisms the premiss CA has been assumed without being demonstrated: the
other premisses had ex hypothesi been proved. Consequently if we succeed in demonstrating this premiss, all
the premisses will have been proved reciprocally. If then it is assumed that C belongs to all B, and B to all A,
both the premisses assumed have been proved, and C must belong to A. It is clear then that only if the terms
are convertible is circular and reciprocal demonstration possible (if the terms are not convertible, the matter
stands as we said above). But it turns out in these also that we use for the demonstration the very thing that is
being proved: for C is proved of B, and B of by assuming that C is said of and C is proved of A through these
premisses, so that we use the conclusion for the demonstration.

In negative syllogisms reciprocal proof is as follows. Let B belong to all C, and A to none of the Bs: we
conclude that A belongs to none of the Cs. If again it is necessary to prove that A belongs to none of the Bs
(which was previously assumed) A must belong to no C, and C to all B: thus the previous premiss is reversed.
If it is necessary to prove that B belongs to C, the proposition AB must no longer be converted as before: for
the premiss 'B belongs to no A' is identical with the premiss A belongs to no B'. But we must assume that B
belongs to all of that to none of which longs. Let A belong to none of the Cs (which was the previous
conclusion) and assume that B belongs to all of that to none of which A belongs. It is necessary then that B
should belong to all C. Consequently each of the three propositions has been made a conclusion, and this is
circular demonstration, to assume the conclusion and the converse of one of the premisses, and deduce the
remaining premiss.

In particular syllogisms it is not possible to demonstrate the universal premiss through the other propositions,
but the particular premiss can be demonstrated. Clearly it is impossible to demonstrate the universal premiss:
for what is universal is proved through propositions which are universal, but the conclusion is not universal,
and the proof must start from the conclusion and the other premiss. Further a syllogism cannot be made at all
if the other premiss is converted: for the result is that both premisses are particular. But the particular premiss
may be proved. Suppose that A has been proved of some C through B. If then it is assumed that B belongs to
all A and the conclusion is retained, B will belong to some C: for we obtain the first figure and A is middle.
But if the syllogism is negative, it is not possible to prove the universal premiss, for the reason given above.
But it is possible to prove the particular premiss, if the proposition AB is converted as in the universal

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syllogism, i.e 'B belongs to some of that to some of which A does not belong': otherwise no syllogism results
because the particular premiss is negative.

In the second figure it is not possible to prove an affirmative proposition in this way, but a negative
proposition may be proved. An affirmative proposition is not proved because both premisses of the new
syllogism are not affirmative (for the conclusion is negative) but an affirmative proposition is (as we saw)
proved from premisses which are both affirmative. The negative is proved as follows. Let A belong to all B,
and to no C: we conclude that B belongs to no C. If then it is assumed that B belongs to all A, it is necessary
that A should belong to no C: for we get the second figure, with B as middle. But if the premiss AB was
negative, and the other affirmative, we shall have the first figure. For C belongs to all A and B to no C,
consequently B belongs to no A: neither then does A belong to B. Through the conclusion, therefore, and one
premiss, we get no syllogism, but if another premiss is assumed in addition, a syllogism will be possible. But
if the syllogism not universal, the universal premiss cannot be proved, for the same reason as we gave above,
but the particular premiss can be proved whenever the universal statement is affirmative. Let A belong to all
B, and not to all C: the conclusion is BC. If then it is assumed that B belongs to all A, but not to all C, A will
not belong to some C, B being middle. But if the universal premiss is negative, the premiss AC will not be
demonstrated by the conversion of AB: for it turns out that either both or one of the premisses is negative;
consequently a syllogism will not be possible. But the proof will proceed as in the universal syllogisms, if it
is assumed that A belongs to some of that to some of which B does not belong.

In the third figure, when both premisses are taken universally, it is not possible to prove them reciprocally:
for that which is universal is proved through statements which are universal, but the conclusion in this figure
is always particular, so that it is clear that it is not possible at all to prove through this figure the universal
premiss. But if one premiss is universal, the other particular, proof of the latter will sometimes be possible,
sometimes not. When both the premisses assumed are affirmative, and the universal concerns the minor
extreme, proof will be possible, but when it concerns the other extreme, impossible. Let A belong to all C and
B to some C: the conclusion is the statement AB. If then it is assumed that C belongs to all A, it has been
proved that C belongs to some B, but that B belongs to some C has not been proved. And yet it is necessary,
if C belongs to some B, that B should belong to some C. But it is not the same that this should belong to that,
and that to this: but we must assume besides that if this belongs to some of that, that belongs to some of this.
But if this is assumed the syllogism no longer results from the conclusion and the other premiss. But if B
belongs to all C, and A to some C, it will be possible to prove the proposition AC, when it is assumed that C
belongs to all B, and A to some B. For if C belongs to all B and A to some B, it is necessary that A should
belong to some C, B being middle. And whenever one premiss is affirmative the other negative, and the
affirmative is universal, the other premiss can be proved. Let B belong to all C, and A not to some C: the
conclusion is that A does not belong to some B. If then it is assumed further that C belongs to all B, it is
necessary that A should not belong to some C, B being middle. But when the negative premiss is universal,
the other premiss is not except as before, viz. if it is assumed that that belongs to some of that, to some of
which this does not belong, e.g. if A belongs to no C, and B to some C: the conclusion is that A does not
belong to some B. If then it is assumed that C belongs to some of that to some of which does not belong, it is
necessary that C should belong to some of the Bs. In no other way is it possible by converting the universal
premiss to prove the other: for in no other way can a syllogism be formed.

It is clear then that in the first figure reciprocal proof is made both through the third and through the first
figure-if the conclusion is affirmative through the first; if the conclusion is negative through the last. For it is
assumed that that belongs to all of that to none of which this belongs. In the middle figure, when the

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syllogism is universal, proof is possible through the second figure and through the first, but when particular
through the second and the last. In the third figure all proofs are made through itself. It is clear also that in the
third figure and in the middle figure those syllogisms which are not made through those figures themselves
either are not of the nature of circular proof or are imperfect.

To convert a syllogism means to alter the conclusion and make another syllogism to prove that either the
extreme cannot belong to the middle or the middle to the last term. For it is necessary, if the conclusion has
been changed into its opposite and one of the premisses stands, that the other premiss should be destroyed.
For if it should stand, the conclusion also must stand. It makes a difference whether the conclusion is
converted into its contradictory or into its contrary. For the same syllogism does not result whichever form
the conversion takes. This will be made clear by the sequel. By contradictory opposition I mean the
opposition of 'to all' to 'not to all', and of 'to some' to 'to none'; by contrary opposition I mean the opposition
of 'to all' to 'to none', and of 'to some' to 'not to some'. Suppose that A been proved of C, through B as middle
term. If then it should be assumed that A belongs to no C, but to all B, B will belong to no C. And if A
belongs to no C, and B to all C, A will belong, not to no B at all, but not to all B. For (as we saw) the
universal is not proved through the last figure. In a word it is not possible to refute universally by conversion
the premiss which concerns the major extreme: for the refutation always proceeds through the third since it is
necessary to take both premisses in reference to the minor extreme. Similarly if the syllogism is negative.
Suppose it has been proved that A belongs to no C through B. Then if it is assumed that A belongs to all C,
and to no B, B will belong to none of the Cs. And if A and B belong to all C, A will belong to some B: but in
the original premiss it belonged to no B.

If the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, the syllogisms will be contradictory and not universal.
For one premiss is particular, so that the conclusion also will be particular. Let the syllogism be affirmative,
and let it be converted as stated. Then if A belongs not to all C, but to all B, B will belong not to all C. And if
A belongs not to all C, but B belongs to all C, A will belong not to all B. Similarly if the syllogism is
negative. For if A belongs to some C, and to no B, B will belong, not to no C at all, but-not to some C. And
if A belongs to some C, and B to all C, as was originally assumed, A will belong to some B.

In particular syllogisms when the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, both premisses may be
refuted, but when it is converted into its contrary, neither. For the result is no longer, as in the universal
syllogisms, refutation in which the conclusion reached by O, conversion lacks universality, but no refutation
at all. Suppose that A has been proved of some C. If then it is assumed that A belongs to no C, and B to some
C, A will not belong to some B: and if A belongs to no C, but to all B, B will belong to no C. Thus both
premisses are refuted. But neither can be refuted if the conclusion is converted into its contrary. For if A does
not belong to some C, but to all B, then B will not belong to some C. But the original premiss is not yet
refuted: for it is possible that B should belong to some C, and should not belong to some C. The universal
premiss AB cannot be affected by a syllogism at all: for if A does not belong to some of the Cs, but B
belongs to some of the Cs, neither of the premisses is universal. Similarly if the syllogism is negative: for if it
should be assumed that A belongs to all C, both premisses are refuted: but if the assumption is that A belongs
to some C, neither premiss is refuted. The proof is the same as before.

In the second figure it is not possible to refute the premiss which concerns the major extreme by establishing
something contrary to it, whichever form the conversion of the conclusion may take. For the conclusion of
the refutation will always be in the third figure, and in this figure (as we saw) there is no universal syllogism.
The other premiss can be refuted in a manner similar to the conversion: I mean, if the conclusion of the first

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syllogism is converted into its contrary, the conclusion of the refutation will be the contrary of the minor
premiss of the first, if into its contradictory, the contradictory. Let A belong to all B and to no C: conclusion
BC. If then it is assumed that B belongs to all C, and the proposition AB stands, A will belong to all C, since
the first figure is produced. If B belongs to all C, and A to no C, then A belongs not to all B: the figure is the
last. But if the conclusion BC is converted into its contradictory, the premiss AB will be refuted as before, the
premiss, AC by its contradictory. For if B belongs to some C, and A to no C, then A will not belong to some

B. Again if B belongs to some C, and A to all B, A will belong to some C, so that the syllogism results in the
contradictory of the minor premiss. A similar proof can be given if the premisses are transposed in respect of
their quality.

If the syllogism is particular, when the conclusion is converted into its contrary neither premiss can be
refuted, as also happened in the first figure,' if the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, both
premisses can be refuted. Suppose that A belongs to no B, and to some C: the conclusion is BC. If then it is
assumed that B belongs to some C, and the statement AB stands, the conclusion will be that A does not
belong to some C. But the original statement has not been refuted: for it is possible that A should belong to
some C and also not to some C. Again if B belongs to some C and A to some C, no syllogism will be
possible: for neither of the premisses taken is universal. Consequently the proposition AB is not refuted. But
if the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, both premisses can be refuted. For if B belongs to all C,
and A to no B, A will belong to no C: but it was assumed to belong to some C. Again if B belongs to all C
and A to some C, A will belong to some B. The same proof can be given if the universal statement is
affirmative.

In the third figure when the conclusion is converted into its contrary, neither of the premisses can be refuted
in any of the syllogisms, but when the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, both premisses may be
refuted and in all the moods. Suppose it has been proved that A belongs to some B, C being taken as middle,
and the premisses being universal. If then it is assumed that A does not belong to some B, but B belongs to all

C, no syllogism is formed about A and C. Nor if A does not belong to some B, but belongs to all C, will a
syllogism be possible about B and C. A similar proof can be given if the premisses are not universal. For
either both premisses arrived at by the conversion must be particular, or the universal premiss must refer to
the minor extreme. But we found that no syllogism is possible thus either in the first or in the middle figure.
But if the conclusion is converted into its contradictory, both the premisses can be refuted. For if A belongs
to no B, and B to all C, then A belongs to no C: again if A belongs to no B, and to all C, B belongs to no C.
And similarly if one of the premisses is not universal. For if A belongs to no B, and B to some C, A will not
belong to some C: if A belongs to no B, and to C, B will belong to no C.

Similarly if the original syllogism is negative. Suppose it has been proved that A does not belong to some B,
BC being affirmative, AC being negative: for it was thus that, as we saw, a syllogism could be made.
Whenever then the contrary of the conclusion is assumed a syllogism will not be possible. For if A belongs to
some B, and B to all C, no syllogism is possible (as we saw) about A and C. Nor, if A belongs to some B, and
to no C, was a syllogism possible concerning B and C. Therefore the premisses are not refuted. But when the
contradictory of the conclusion is assumed, they are refuted. For if A belongs to all B, and B to C, A belongs
to all C: but A was supposed originally to belong to no C. Again if A belongs to all B, and to no C, then B
belongs to no C: but it was supposed to belong to all C. A similar proof is possible if the premisses are not
universal. For AC becomes universal and negative, the other premiss particular and affirmative. If then A
belongs to all B, and B to some C, it results that A belongs to some C: but it was supposed to belong to no C.
Again if A belongs to all B, and to no C, then B belongs to no C: but it was assumed to belong to some C. If
A belongs to some B and B to some C, no syllogism results: nor yet if A belongs to some B, and to no C.
Thus in one way the premisses are refuted, in the other way they are not.

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From what has been said it is clear how a syllogism results in each figure when the conclusion is converted;
when a result contrary to the premiss, and when a result contradictory to the premiss, is obtained. It is clear
that in the first figure the syllogisms are formed through the middle and the last figures, and the premiss
which concerns the minor extreme is alway refuted through the middle figure, the premiss which concerns the
major through the last figure. In the second figure syllogisms proceed through the first and the last figures,
and the premiss which concerns the minor extreme is always refuted through the first figure, the premiss
which concerns the major extreme through the last. In the third figure the refutation proceeds through the first
and the middle figures; the premiss which concerns the major is always refuted through the first figure, the
premiss which concerns the minor through the middle figure.

It is clear then what conversion is, how it is effected in each figure, and what syllogism results. The syllogism
per impossibile is proved when the contradictory of the conclusion stated and another premiss is assumed; it
can be made in all the figures. For it resembles conversion, differing only in this: conversion takes place after
a syllogism has been formed and both the premisses have been taken, but a reduction to the impossible takes
place not because the contradictory has been agreed to already, but because it is clear that it is true. The terms
are alike in both, and the premisses of both are taken in the same way. For example if A belongs to all B, C
being middle, then if it is supposed that A does not belong to all B or belongs to no B, but to all C (which was
admitted to be true), it follows that C belongs to no B or not to all B. But this is impossible: consequently the
supposition is false: its contradictory then is true. Similarly in the other figures: for whatever moods admit of
conversion admit also of the reduction per impossibile.

All the problems can be proved per impossibile in all the figures, excepting the universal affirmative, which
is proved in the middle and third figures, but not in the first. Suppose that A belongs not to all B, or to no B,
and take besides another premiss concerning either of the terms, viz. that C belongs to all A, or that B belongs
to all D; thus we get the first figure. If then it is supposed that A does not belong to all B, no syllogism results
whichever term the assumed premiss concerns; but if it is supposed that A belongs to no B, when the premiss
BD is assumed as well we shall prove syllogistically what is false, but not the problem proposed. For if A
belongs to no B, and B belongs to all D, A belongs to no D. Let this be impossible: it is false then A belongs
to no B. But the universal affirmative is not necessarily true if the universal negative is false. But if the
premiss CA is assumed as well, no syllogism results, nor does it do so when it is supposed that A does not
belong to all B. Consequently it is clear that the universal affirmative cannot be proved in the first figure per
impossibile.

But the particular affirmative and the universal and particular negatives can all be proved. Suppose that A
belongs to no B, and let it have been assumed that B belongs to all or to some C. Then it is necessary that A
should belong to no C or not to all C. But this is impossible (for let it be true and clear that A belongs to all
C): consequently if this is false, it is necessary that A should belong to some B. But if the other premiss
assumed relates to A, no syllogism will be possible. Nor can a conclusion be drawn when the contrary of the
conclusion is supposed, e.g. that A does not belong to some B. Clearly then we must suppose the
contradictory.

Again suppose that A belongs to some B, and let it have been assumed that C belongs to all A. It is necessary
then that C should belong to some B. But let this be impossible, so that the supposition is false: in that case it
is true that A belongs to no B. We may proceed in the same way if the proposition CA has been taken as
negative. But if the premiss assumed concerns B, no syllogism will be possible. If the contrary is supposed,
we shall have a syllogism and an impossible conclusion, but the problem in hand is not proved. Suppose that
A belongs to all B, and let it have been assumed that C belongs to all A. It is necessary then that C should
belong to all B. But this is impossible, so that it is false that A belongs to all B. But we have not yet shown it

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to be necessary that A belongs to no B, if it does not belong to all B. Similarly if the other premiss taken
concerns B; we shall have a syllogism and a conclusion which is impossible, but the hypothesis is not refuted.
Therefore it is the contradictory that we must suppose.

To prove that A does not belong to all B, we must suppose that it belongs to all B: for if A belongs to all B,
and C to all A, then C belongs to all B; so that if this is impossible, the hypothesis is false. Similarly if the
other premiss assumed concerns B. The same results if the original proposition CA was negative: for thus
also we get a syllogism. But if the negative proposition concerns B, nothing is proved. If the hypothesis is
that A belongs not to all but to some B, it is not proved that A belongs not to all B, but that it belongs to no B.
For if A belongs to some B, and C to all A, then C will belong to some B. If then this is impossible, it is false
that A belongs to some B; consequently it is true that A belongs to no B. But if this is proved, the truth is
refuted as well; for the original conclusion was that A belongs to some B, and does not belong to some B.
Further the impossible does not result from the hypothesis: for then the hypothesis would be false, since it is
impossible to draw a false conclusion from true premisses: but in fact it is true: for A belongs to some B.
Consequently we must not suppose that A belongs to some B, but that it belongs to all B. Similarly if we
should be proving that A does not belong to some B : for if 'not to belong to some' and 'to belong not to all'
have the same meaning, the demonstration of both will be identical.

It is clear then that not the contrary but the contradictory ought to be supposed in all the syllogisms. For thus
we shall have necessity of inference, and the claim we make is one that will be generally accepted. For if of
everything one or other of two contradictory statements holds good, then if it is proved that the negation does
not hold, the affirmation must be true. Again if it is not admitted that the affirmation is true, the claim that the
negation is true will be generally accepted. But in neither way does it suit to maintain the contrary: for it is
not necessary that if the universal negative is false, the universal affirmative should be true, nor is it generally
accepted that if the one is false the other is true.

It is clear then that in the first figure all problems except the universal affirmative are proved per impossibile.
But in the middle and the last figures this also is proved. Suppose that A does not belong to all B, and let it
have been assumed that A belongs to all C. If then A belongs not to all B, but to all C, C will not belong to all
B. But this is impossible (for suppose it to be clear that C belongs to all B): consequently the hypothesis is
false. It is true then that A belongs to all B. But if the contrary is supposed, we shall have a syllogism and a
result which is impossible: but the problem in hand is not proved. For if A belongs to no B, and to all C, C
will belong to no B. This is impossible; so that it is false that A belongs to no B. But though this is false, it
does not follow that it is true that A belongs to all B.

When A belongs to some B, suppose that A belongs to no B, and let A belong to all C. It is necessary then
that C should belong to no B. Consequently, if this is impossible, A must belong to some B. But if it is
supposed that A does not belong to some B, we shall have the same results as in the first figure.

Again suppose that A belongs to some B, and let A belong to no C. It is necessary then that C should not
belong to some B. But originally it belonged to all B, consequently the hypothesis is false: A then will belong
to no B.

When A does not belong to an B, suppose it does belong to all B, and to no C. It is necessary then that C
should belong to no B. But this is impossible: so that it is true that A does not belong to all B. It is clear then
that all the syllogisms can be formed in the middle figure.

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Similarly they can all be formed in the last figure. Suppose that A does not belong to some B, but C belongs
to all B: then A does not belong to some C. If then this is impossible, it is false that A does not belong to
some B; so that it is true that A belongs to all B. But if it is supposed that A belongs to no B, we shall have a
syllogism and a conclusion which is impossible: but the problem in hand is not proved: for if the contrary is
supposed, we shall have the same results as before.

But to prove that A belongs to some B, this hypothesis must be made. If A belongs to no B, and C to some B,
A will belong not to all C. If then this is false, it is true that A belongs to some B.

When A belongs to no B, suppose A belongs to some B, and let it have been assumed that C belongs to all B.
Then it is necessary that A should belong to some C. But ex hypothesi it belongs to no C, so that it is false
that A belongs to some B. But if it is supposed that A belongs to all B, the problem is not proved.

But this hypothesis must be made if we are prove that A belongs not to all B. For if A belongs to all B and C
to some B, then A belongs to some C. But this we assumed not to be so, so it is false that A belongs to all B.
But in that case it is true that A belongs not to all B. If however it is assumed that A belongs to some B, we
shall have the same result as before.

It is clear then that in all the syllogisms which proceed per impossibile the contradictory must be assumed.
And it is plain that in the middle figure an affirmative conclusion, and in the last figure a universal
conclusion, are proved in a way.

Demonstration per impossibile differs from ostensive proof in that it posits what it wishes to refute by
reduction to a statement admitted to be false; whereas ostensive proof starts from admitted positions. Both,
indeed, take two premisses that are admitted, but the latter takes the premisses from which the syllogism
starts, the former takes one of these, along with the contradictory of the original conclusion. Also in the
ostensive proof it is not necessary that the conclusion should be known, nor that one should suppose
beforehand that it is true or not: in the other it is necessary to suppose beforehand that it is not true. It makes
no difference whether the conclusion is affirmative or negative; the method is the same in both cases.
Everything which is concluded ostensively can be proved per impossibile, and that which is proved per
impossibile can be proved ostensively, through the same terms. Whenever the syllogism is formed in the first
figure, the truth will be found in the middle or the last figure, if negative in the middle, if affirmative in the
last. Whenever the syllogism is formed in the middle figure, the truth will be found in the first, whatever the
problem may be. Whenever the syllogism is formed in the last figure, the truth will be found in the first and
middle figures, if affirmative in first, if negative in the middle. Suppose that A has been proved to belong to
no B, or not to all B, through the first figure. Then the hypothesis must have been that A belongs to some B,
and the original premisses that C belongs to all A and to no B. For thus the syllogism was made and the
impossible conclusion reached. But this is the middle figure, if C belongs to all A and to no B. And it is clear
from these premisses that A belongs to no B. Similarly if has been proved not to belong to all B. For the
hypothesis is that A belongs to all B; and the original premisses are that C belongs to all A but not to all B.
Similarly too, if the premiss CA should be negative: for thus also we have the middle figure. Again suppose it
has been proved that A belongs to some B. The hypothesis here is that is that A belongs to no B; and the
original premisses that B belongs to all C, and A either to all or to some C: for in this way we shall get what
is impossible. But if A and B belong to all C, we have the last figure. And it is clear from these premisses that
A must belong to some B. Similarly if B or A should be assumed to belong to some C.

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Again suppose it has been proved in the middle figure that A belongs to all B. Then the hypothesis must have
been that A belongs not to all B, and the original premisses that A belongs to all C, and C to all B: for thus
we shall get what is impossible. But if A belongs to all C, and C to all B, we have the first figure. Similarly if
it has been proved that A belongs to some B: for the hypothesis then must have been that A belongs to no B,
and the original premisses that A belongs to all C, and C to some B. If the syllogism is negative, the
hypothesis must have been that A belongs to some B, and the original premisses that A belongs to no C, and
C to all B, so that the first figure results. If the syllogism is not universal, but proof has been given that A
does not belong to some B, we may infer in the same way. The hypothesis is that A belongs to all B, the
original premisses that A belongs to no C, and C belongs to some B: for thus we get the first figure.

Again suppose it has been proved in the third figure that A belongs to all B. Then the hypothesis must have
been that A belongs not to all B, and the original premisses that C belongs to all B, and A belongs to all C;
for thus we shall get what is impossible. And the original premisses form the first figure. Similarly if the
demonstration establishes a particular proposition: the hypothesis then must have been that A belongs to no
B, and the original premisses that C belongs to some B, and A to all C. If the syllogism is negative, the
hypothesis must have been that A belongs to some B, and the original premisses that C belongs to no A and
to all B, and this is the middle figure. Similarly if the demonstration is not universal. The hypothesis will then
be that A belongs to all B, the premisses that C belongs to no A and to some B: and this is the middle figure.

It is clear then that it is possible through the same terms to prove each of the problems ostensively as well.
Similarly it will be possible if the syllogisms are ostensive to reduce them ad impossibile in the terms which
have been taken, whenever the contradictory of the conclusion of the ostensive syllogism is taken as a
premiss. For the syllogisms become identical with those which are obtained by means of conversion, so that
we obtain immediately the figures through which each problem will be solved. It is clear then that every
thesis can be proved in both ways, i.e. per impossibile and ostensively, and it is not possible to separate one
method from the other.

In what figure it is possible to draw a conclusion from premisses which are opposed, and in what figure this is
not possible, will be made clear in this way. Verbally four kinds of opposition are possible, viz. universal
affirmative to universal negative, universal affirmative to particular negative, particular affirmative to
universal negative, and particular affirmative to particular negative: but really there are only three: for the
particular affirmative is only verbally opposed to the particular negative. Of the genuine opposites I call those
which are universal contraries, the universal affirmative and the universal negative, e.g. 'every science is
good', 'no science is good'; the others I call contradictories.

In the first figure no syllogism whether affirmative or negative can be made out of opposed premisses: no
affirmative syllogism is possible because both premisses must be affirmative, but opposites are, the one
affirmative, the other negative: no negative syllogism is possible because opposites affirm and deny the same
predicate of the same subject, and the middle term in the first figure is not predicated of both extremes, but
one thing is denied of it, and it is affirmed of something else: but such premisses are not opposed.

In the middle figure a syllogism can be made both oLcontradictories and of contraries. Let A stand for good,
let B and C stand for science. If then one assumes that every science is good, and no science is good, A
belongs to all B and to no C, so that B belongs to no C: no science then is a science. Similarly if after taking
'every science is good' one took 'the science of medicine is not good'; for A belongs to all B but to no C, so
that a particular science will not be a science. Again, a particular science will not be a science if A belongs to
all C but to no B, and B is science, C medicine, and A supposition: for after taking 'no science is supposition',
one has assumed that a particular science is supposition. This syllogism differs from the preceding because

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the relations between the terms are reversed: before, the affirmative statement concerned B, now it concerns
C. Similarly if one premiss is not universal: for the middle term is always that which is stated negatively of
one extreme, and affirmatively of the other. Consequently it is possible that contradictories may lead to a
conclusion, though not always or in every mood, but only if the terms subordinate to the middle are such that
they are either identical or related as whole to part. Otherwise it is impossible: for the premisses cannot
anyhow be either contraries or contradictories.

In the third figure an affirmative syllogism can never be made out of opposite premisses, for the reason given
in reference to the first figure; but a negative syllogism is possible whether the terms are universal or not. Let
B and C stand for science, A for medicine. If then one should assume that all medicine is science and that no
medicine is science, he has assumed that B belongs to all A and C to no A, so that a particular science will
not be a science. Similarly if the premiss BA is not assumed universally. For if some medicine is science and
again no medicine is science, it results that some science is not science, The premisses are contrary if the
terms are taken universally; if one is particular, they are contradictory.

We must recognize that it is possible to take opposites in the way we said, viz. 'all science is good' and 'no
science is good' or 'some science is not good'. This does not usually escape notice. But it is possible to
establish one part of a contradiction through other premisses, or to assume it in the way suggested in the
Topics. Since there are three oppositions to affirmative statements, it follows that opposite statements may be
assumed as premisses in six ways; we may have either universal affirmative and negative, or universal
affirmative and particular negative, or particular affirmative and universal negative, and the relations between
the terms may be reversed; e.g. A may belong to all B and to no C, or to all C and to no B, or to all of the one,
not to all of the other; here too the relation between the terms may be reversed. Similarly in the third figure.
So it is clear in how many ways and in what figures a syllogism can be made by means of premisses which
are opposed.

It is clear too that from false premisses it is possible to draw a true conclusion, as has been said before, but it
is not possible if the premisses are opposed. For the syllogism is always contrary to the fact, e.g. if a thing is
good, it is proved that it is not good, if an animal, that it is not an animal because the syllogism springs out of
a contradiction and the terms presupposed are either identical or related as whole and part. It is evident also
that in fallacious reasonings nothing prevents a contradiction to the hypothesis from resulting, e.g. if
something is odd, it is not odd. For the syllogism owed its contrariety to its contradictory premisses; if we
assume such premisses we shall get a result that contradicts our hypothesis. But we must recognize that
contraries cannot be inferred from a single syllogism in such a way that we conclude that what is not good is
good, or anything of that sort unless a self-contradictory premiss is at once assumed, e.g. 'every animal is
white and not white', and we proceed 'man is an animal'. Either we must introduce the contradiction by an
additional assumption, assuming, e.g., that every science is supposition, and then assuming 'Medicine is a
science, but none of it is supposition' (which is the mode in which refutations are made), or we must argue
from two syllogisms. In no other way than this, as was said before, is it possible that the premisses should be
really contrary.

To beg and assume the original question is a species of failure to demonstrate the problem proposed; but this
happens in many ways. A man may not reason syllogistically at all, or he may argue from premisses which
are less known or equally unknown, or he may establish the antecedent by means of its consequents; for
demonstration proceeds from what is more certain and is prior. Now begging the question is none of these:
but since we get to know some things naturally through themselves, and other things by means of something
else (the first principles through themselves, what is subordinate to them through something else), whenever a
man tries to prove what is not self-evident by means of itself, then he begs the original question. This may be

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done by assuming what is in question at once; it is also possible to make a transition to other things which
would naturally be proved through the thesis proposed, and demonstrate it through them, e.g. if A should be
proved through B, and B through C, though it was natural that C should be proved through A: for it turns out
that those who reason thus are proving A by means of itself. This is what those persons do who suppose that
they are constructing parallel straight lines: for they fail to see that they are assuming facts which it is
impossible to demonstrate unless the parallels exist. So it turns out that those who reason thus merely say a
particular thing is, if it is: in this way everything will be self-evident. But that is impossible.

If then it is uncertain whether A belongs to C, and also whether A belongs to B, and if one should assume that
A does belong to B, it is not yet clear whether he begs the original question, but it is evident that he is not
demonstrating: for what is as uncertain as the question to be answered cannot be a principle of a
demonstration. If however B is so related to C that they are identical, or if they are plainly convertible, or the
one belongs to the other, the original question is begged. For one might equally well prove that A belongs to
B through those terms if they are convertible. But if they are not convertible, it is the fact that they are not
that prevents such a demonstration, not the method of demonstrating. But if one were to make the conversion,
then he would be doing what we have described and effecting a reciprocal proof with three propositions.

Similarly if he should assume that B belongs to C, this being as uncertain as the question whether A belongs
to C, the question is not yet begged, but no demonstration is made. If however A and B are identical either
because they are convertible or because A follows B, then the question is begged for the same reason as
before. For we have explained the meaning of begging the question, viz. proving that which is not
self-evident by means of itself.

If then begging the question is proving what is not self-evident by means of itself, in other words failing to
prove when the failure is due to the thesis to be proved and the premiss through which it is proved being
equally uncertain, either because predicates which are identical belong to the same subject, or because the
same predicate belongs to subjects which are identical, the question may be begged in the middle and third
figures in both ways, though, if the syllogism is affirmative, only in the third and first figures. If the
syllogism is negative, the question is begged when identical predicates are denied of the same subject; and
both premisses do not beg the question indifferently (in a similar way the question may be begged in the
middle figure), because the terms in negative syllogisms are not convertible. In scientific demonstrations the
question is begged when the terms are really related in the manner described, in dialectical arguments when
they are according to common opinion so related.

The objection that 'this is not the reason why the result is false', which we frequently make in argument, is
made primarily in the case of a reductio ad impossibile, to rebut the proposition which was being proved by
the reduction. For unless a man has contradicted this proposition he will not say, 'False cause', but urge that
something false has been assumed in the earlier parts of the argument; nor will he use the formula in the case
of an ostensive proof; for here what one denies is not assumed as a premiss. Further when anything is refuted
ostensively by the terms ABC, it cannot be objected that the syllogism does not depend on the assumption
laid down. For we use the expression 'false cause', when the syllogism is concluded in spite of the refutation
of this position; but that is not possible in ostensive proofs: since if an assumption is refuted, a syllogism can
no longer be drawn in reference to it. It is clear then that the expression 'false cause' can only be used in the
case of a reductio ad impossibile, and when the original hypothesis is so related to the impossible conclusion,
that the conclusion results indifferently whether the hypothesis is made or not. The most obvious case of the
irrelevance of an assumption to a conclusion which is false is when a syllogism drawn from middle terms to
an impossible conclusion is independent of the hypothesis, as we have explained in the Topics. For to put that
which is not the cause as the cause, is just this: e.g. if a man, wishing to prove that the diagonal of the square

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is incommensurate with the side, should try to prove Zeno's theorem that motion is impossible, and so
establish a reductio ad impossibile: for Zeno's false theorem has no connexion at all with the original
assumption. Another case is where the impossible conclusion is connected with the hypothesis, but does not
result from it. This may happen whether one traces the connexion upwards or downwards, e.g. if it is laid
down that A belongs to B, B to C, and C to D, and it should be false that B belongs to D: for if we eliminated
A and assumed all the same that B belongs to C and C to D, the false conclusion would not depend on the
original hypothesis. Or again trace the connexion upwards; e.g. suppose that A belongs to B, E to A and F to
E, it being false that F belongs to A. In this way too the impossible conclusion would result, though the
original hypothesis were eliminated. But the impossible conclusion ought to be connected with the original
terms: in this way it will depend on the hypothesis, e.g. when one traces the connexion downwards, the
impossible conclusion must be connected with that term which is predicate in the hypothesis: for if it is
impossible that A should belong to D, the false conclusion will no longer result after A has been eliminated.
If one traces the connexion upwards, the impossible conclusion must be connected with that term which is
subject in the hypothesis: for if it is impossible that F should belong to B, the impossible conclusion will
disappear if B is eliminated. Similarly when the syllogisms are negative.

It is clear then that when the impossibility is not related to the original terms, the false conclusion does not
result on account of the assumption. Or perhaps even so it may sometimes be independent. For if it were laid
down that A belongs not to B but to K, and that K belongs to C and C to D, the impossible conclusion would
still stand. Similarly if one takes the terms in an ascending series. Consequently since the impossibility results
whether the first assumption is suppressed or not, it would appear to be independent of that assumption. Or
perhaps we ought not to understand the statement that the false conclusion results independently of the
assumption, in the sense that if something else were supposed the impossibility would result; but rather we
mean that when the first assumption is eliminated, the same impossibility results through the remaining
premisses; since it is not perhaps absurd that the same false result should follow from several hypotheses, e.g.
that parallels meet, both on the assumption that the interior angle is greater than the exterior and on the
assumption that a triangle contains more than two right angles.

A false argument depends on the first false statement in it. Every syllogism is made out of two or more
premisses. If then the false conclusion is drawn from two premisses, one or both of them must be false: for
(as we proved) a false syllogism cannot be drawn from two premisses. But if the premisses are more than
two, e.g. if C is established through A and B, and these through D, E, F, and G, one of these higher
propositions must be false, and on this the argument depends: for A and B are inferred by means of D, E, F,
and G. Therefore the conclusion and the error results from one of them.

In order to avoid having a syllogism drawn against us we must take care, whenever an opponent asks us to
admit the reason without the conclusions, not to grant him the same term twice over in his premisses, since
we know that a syllogism cannot be drawn without a middle term, and that term which is stated more than
once is the middle. How we ought to watch the middle in reference to each conclusion, is evident from our
knowing what kind of thesis is proved in each figure. This will not escape us since we know how we are
maintaining the argument.

That which we urge men to beware of in their admissions, they ought in attack to try to conceal. This will be
possible first, if, instead of drawing the conclusions of preliminary syllogisms, they take the necessary
premisses and leave the conclusions in the dark; secondly if instead of inviting assent to propositions which
are closely connected they take as far as possible those that are not connected by middle terms. For example

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suppose that A is to be inferred to be true of F, B, C, D, and E being middle terms. One ought then to ask
whether A belongs to B, and next whether D belongs to E, instead of asking whether B belongs to C; after
that he may ask whether B belongs to C, and so on. If the syllogism is drawn through one middle term, he
ought to begin with that: in this way he will most likely deceive his opponent.

Since we know when a syllogism can be formed and how its terms must be related, it is clear when refutation
will be possible and when impossible. A refutation is possible whether everything is conceded, or the answers
alternate (one, I mean, being affirmative, the other negative). For as has been shown a se error results from
one of them.

It sometimes happens that just as we are deceived in the arrangement of the terms, so error may arise in our
thought about them, e.g. if it is possible that the same predicate should belong to more than one subject
immediately, but although knowing the one, a man may forget the other and think the opposite true. Suppose
that A belongs to B and to C in virtue of their nature, and that B and C belong to all D in the same way. If
then a man thinks that A belongs to all B, and B to D, but A to no C, and C to all D, he will both know and
not know the same thing in respect of the same thing. Again if a man were to make a mistake about the
members of a single series; e.g. suppose A belongs to B, B to C, and C to D, but some one thinks that A
belongs to all B, but to no C: he will both know that A belongs to D, and think that it does not. Does he then
maintain after this simply that what he knows, he does not think? For he knows in a way that A belongs to C
through B, since the part is included in the whole; so that what he knows in a way, this he maintains he does
not think at all: but that is impossible.

In the former case, where the middle term does not belong to the same series, it is not possible to think both
the premisses with reference to each of the two middle terms: e.g. that A belongs to all B, but to no C, and
both B and C belong to all D. For it turns out that the first premiss of the one syllogism is either wholly or
partially contrary to the first premiss of the other. For if he thinks that A belongs to everything to which B
belongs, and he knows that B belongs to D, then he knows that A belongs to D. Consequently if again he
thinks that A belongs to nothing to which C belongs, he thinks that A does not belong to some of that to
which B belongs; but if he thinks that A belongs to everything to which B belongs, and again thinks that A
does not belong to some of that to which B belongs, these beliefs are wholly or partially contrary. In this way
then it is not possible to think; but nothing prevents a man thinking one premiss of each syllogism of both
premisses of one of the two syllogisms: e.g. A belongs to all B, and B to D, and again A belongs to no C. An
error of this kind is similar to the error into which we fall concerning particulars: e.g. if A belongs to all B,
and B to all C, A will belong to all C. If then a man knows that A belongs to everything to which B belongs,
he knows that A belongs to C. But nothing prevents his being ignorant that C exists; e.g. let A stand for two
right angles, B for triangle, C for a particular diagram of a triangle. A man might think that C did not exist,
though he knew that every triangle contains two right angles; consequently he will know and not know the
same thing at the same time. For the expression 'to know that every triangle has its angles equal to two right
angles' is ambiguous, meaning to have the knowledge either of the universal or of the particulars. Thus then
he knows that C contains two right angles with a knowledge of the universal, but not with a knowledge of the
particulars; consequently his knowledge will not be contrary to his ignorance. The argument in the Meno that
learning is recollection may be criticized in a similar way. For it never happens that a man starts with a
foreknowledge of the particular, but along with the process of being led to see the general principle he
receives a knowledge of the particulars, by an act (as it were) of recognition. For we know some things
directly; e.g. that the angles are equal to two right angles, if we know that the figure is a triangle. Similarly in
all other cases.

By a knowledge of the universal then we see the particulars, but we do not know them by the kind of
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knowledge which is proper to them; consequently it is possible that we may make mistakes about them, but
not that we should have the knowledge and error that are contrary to one another: rather we have the
knowledge of the universal but make a mistake in apprehending the particular. Similarly in the cases stated
above. The error in respect of the middle term is not contrary to the knowledge obtained through the
syllogism, nor is the thought in respect of one middle term contrary to that in respect of the other. Nothing
prevents a man who knows both that A belongs to the whole of B, and that B again belongs to C, thinking
that A does not belong to C, e.g. knowing that every mule is sterile and that this is a mule, and thinking that
this animal is with foal: for he does not know that A belongs to C, unless he considers the two propositions
together. So it is evident that if he knows the one and does not know the other, he will fall into error. And this
is the relation of knowledge of the universal to knowledge of the particular. For we know no sensible thing,
once it has passed beyond the range of our senses, even if we happen to have perceived it, except by means of
the universal and the possession of the knowledge which is proper to the particular, but without the actual
exercise of that knowledge. For to know is used in three senses: it may mean either to have knowledge of the
universal or to have knowledge proper to the matter in hand or to exercise such knowledge: consequently
three kinds of error also are possible. Nothing then prevents a man both knowing and being mistaken about
the same thing, provided that his knowledge and his error are not contrary. And this happens also to the man
whose knowledge is limited to each of the premisses and who has not previously considered the particular
question. For when he thinks that the mule is with foal he has not the knowledge in the sense of its actual
exercise, nor on the other hand has his thought caused an error contrary to his knowledge: for the error
contrary to the knowledge of the universal would be a syllogism.

But he who thinks the essence of good is the essence of bad will think the same thing to be the essence of
good and the essence of bad. Let A stand for the essence of good and B for the essence of bad, and again C
for the essence of good. Since then he thinks B and C identical, he will think that C is B, and similarly that B
is A, consequently that C is A. For just as we saw that if B is true of all of which C is true, and A is true of all
of which B is true, A is true of C, similarly with the word 'think'. Similarly also with the word 'is'; for we saw
that if C is the same as B, and B as A, C is the same as A. Similarly therefore with 'opine'. Perhaps then this is
necessary if a man will grant the first point. But presumably that is false, that any one could suppose the
essence of good to be the essence of bad, save incidentally. For it is possible to think this in many different
ways. But we must consider this matter better.

Whenever the extremes are convertible it is necessary that the middle should be convertible with both. For if
A belongs to C through B, then if A and C are convertible and C belongs everything to which A belongs, B is
convertible with A, and B belongs to everything to which A belongs, through C as middle, and C is
convertible with B through A as middle. Similarly if the conclusion is negative, e.g. if B belongs to C, but A
does not belong to B, neither will A belong to C. If then B is convertible with A, C will be convertible with
A. Suppose B does not belong to A; neither then will C: for ex hypothesi B belonged to all C. And if C is
convertible with B, B is convertible also with A, for C is said of that of all of which B is said. And if C is
convertible in relation to A and to B, B also is convertible in relation to A. For C belongs to that to which B
belongs: but C does not belong to that to which A belongs. And this alone starts from the conclusion; the
preceding moods do not do so as in the affirmative syllogism. Again if A and B are convertible, and similarly
C and D, and if A or C must belong to anything whatever, then B and D will be such that one or other
belongs to anything whatever. For since B belongs to that to which A belongs, and D belongs to that to which
C belongs, and since A or C belongs to everything, but not together, it is clear that B or D belongs to
everything, but not together. For example if that which is uncreated is incorruptible and that which is
incorruptible is uncreated, it is necessary that what is created should be corruptible and what is corruptible
should have been created. For two syllogisms have been put together. Again if A or B belongs to everything
and if C or D belongs to everything, but they cannot belong together, then when A and C are convertible B

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and D are convertible. For if B does not belong to something to which D belongs, it is clear that A belongs to
it. But if A then C: for they are convertible. Therefore C and D belong together. But this is impossible. When
A belongs to the whole of B and to C and is affirmed of nothing else, and B also belongs to all C, it is
necessary that A and B should be convertible: for since A is said of B and C only, and B is affirmed both of
itself and of C, it is clear that B will be said of everything of which A is said, except A itself. Again when A
and B belong to the whole of C, and C is convertible with B, it is necessary that A should belong to all B: for
since A belongs to all C, and C to B by conversion, A will belong to all B.

When, of two opposites A and B, A is preferable to B, and similarly D is preferable to C, then if A and C
together are preferable to B and D together, A must be preferable to D. For A is an object of desire to the
same extent as B is an object of aversion, since they are opposites: and C is similarly related to D, since they
also are opposites. If then A is an object of desire to the same extent as D, B is an object of aversion to the
same extent as C (since each is to the same extent as each-the one an object of aversion, the other an object
of desire). Therefore both A and C together, and B and D together, will be equally objects of desire or
aversion. But since A and C are preferable to B and D, A cannot be equally desirable with D; for then B
along with D would be equally desirable with A along with C. But if D is preferable to A, then B must be less
an object of aversion than C: for the less is opposed to the less. But the greater good and lesser evil are
preferable to the lesser good and greater evil: the whole BD then is preferable to the whole AC. But ex
hypothesi this is not so. A then is preferable to D, and C consequently is less an object of aversion than B. If
then every lover in virtue of his love would prefer A, viz. that the beloved should be such as to grant a favour,
and yet should not grant it (for which C stands), to the beloved's granting the favour (represented by D)
without being such as to grant it (represented by B), it is clear that A (being of such a nature) is preferable to
granting the favour. To receive affection then is preferable in love to sexual intercourse. Love then is more
dependent on friendship than on intercourse. And if it is most dependent on receiving affection, then this is its
end. Intercourse then either is not an end at all or is an end relative to the further end, the receiving of
affection. And indeed the same is true of the other desires and arts.

It is clear then how the terms are related in conversion, and in respect of being in a higher degree objects of
aversion or of desire. We must now state that not only dialectical and demonstrative syllogisms are formed by
means of the aforesaid figures, but also rhetorical syllogisms and in general any form of persuasion, however
it may be presented. For every belief comes either through syllogism or from induction.

Now induction, or rather the syllogism which springs out of induction, consists in establishing syllogistically
a relation between one extreme and the middle by means of the other extreme, e.g. if B is the middle term
between A and C, it consists in proving through C that A belongs to B. For this is the manner in which we
make inductions. For example let A stand for long-lived, B for bileless, and C for the particular long-lived
animals, e.g. man, horse, mule. A then belongs to the whole of C: for whatever is bileless is long-lived. But
B also ('not possessing bile') belongs to all C. If then C is convertible with B, and the middle term is not
wider in extension, it is necessary that A should belong to B. For it has already been proved that if two things
belong to the same thing, and the extreme is convertible with one of them, then the other predicate will
belong to the predicate that is converted. But we must apprehend C as made up of all the particulars. For
induction proceeds through an enumeration of all the cases.

Such is the syllogism which establishes the first and immediate premiss: for where there is a middle term the
syllogism proceeds through the middle term; when there is no middle term, through induction. And in a way
induction is opposed to syllogism: for the latter proves the major term to belong to the third term by means of
the middle, the former proves the major to belong to the middle by means of the third. In the order of nature,
syllogism through the middle term is prior and better known, but syllogism through induction is clearer to us.

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We have an 'example' when the major term is proved to belong to the middle by means of a term which
resembles the third. It ought to be known both that the middle belongs to the third term, and that the first
belongs to that which resembles the third. For example let A be evil, B making war against neighbours, C
Athenians against Thebans, D Thebans against Phocians. If then we wish to prove that to fight with the
Thebans is an evil, we must assume that to fight against neighbours is an evil. Evidence of this is obtained
from similar cases, e.g. that the war against the Phocians was an evil to the Thebans. Since then to fight
against neighbours is an evil, and to fight against the Thebans is to fight against neighbours, it is clear that to
fight against the Thebans is an evil. Now it is clear that B belongs to C and to D (for both are cases of making
war upon one's neighbours) and that A belongs to D (for the war against the Phocians did not turn out well
for the Thebans): but that A belongs to B will be proved through D. Similarly if the belief in the relation of
the middle term to the extreme should be produced by several similar cases. Clearly then to argue by example
is neither like reasoning from part to whole, nor like reasoning from whole to part, but rather reasoning from
part to part, when both particulars are subordinate to the same term, and one of them is known. It differs from
induction, because induction starting from all the particular cases proves (as we saw) that the major term
belongs to the middle, and does not apply the syllogistic conclusion to the minor term, whereas argument by
example does make this application and does not draw its proof from all the particular cases.

By reduction we mean an argument in which the first term clearly belongs to the middle, but the relation of
the middle to the last term is uncertain though equally or more probable than the conclusion; or again an
argument in which the terms intermediate between the last term and the middle are few. For in any of these
cases it turns out that we approach more nearly to knowledge. For example let A stand for what can be
taught, B for knowledge, C for justice. Now it is clear that knowledge can be taught: but it is uncertain
whether virtue is knowledge. If now the statement BC is equally or more probable than AC, we have a
reduction: for we are nearer to knowledge, since we have taken a new term, being so far without knowledge
that A belongs to C. Or again suppose that the terms intermediate between B and C are few: for thus too we
are nearer knowledge. For example let D stand for squaring, E for rectilinear figure, F for circle. If there were
only one term intermediate between E and F (viz. that the circle is made equal to a rectilinear figure by the
help of lunules), we should be near to knowledge. But when BC is not more probable than AC, and the
intermediate terms are not few, I do not call this reduction: nor again when the statement BC is immediate:
for such a statement is knowledge.

An objection is a premiss contrary to a premiss. It differs from a premiss, because it may be particular, but a
premiss either cannot be particular at all or not in universal syllogisms. An objection is brought in two ways
and through two figures; in two ways because every objection is either universal or particular, by two figures
because objections are brought in opposition to the premiss, and opposites can be proved only in the first and
third figures. If a man maintains a universal affirmative, we reply with a universal or a particular negative;
the former is proved from the first figure, the latter from the third. For example let stand for there being a
single science, B for contraries. If a man premises that contraries are subjects of a single science, the
objection may be either that opposites are never subjects of a single science, and contraries are opposites, so
that we get the first figure, or that the knowable and the unknowable are not subjects of a single science: this
proof is in the third figure: for it is true of C (the knowable and the unknowable) that they are contraries, and
it is false that they are the subjects of a single science.

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Similarly if the premiss objected to is negative. For if a man maintains that contraries are not subjects of a
single science, we reply either that all opposites or that certain contraries, e.g. what is healthy and what is
sickly, are subjects of the same science: the former argument issues from the first, the latter from the third
figure.

In general if a man urges a universal objection he must frame his contradiction with reference to the universal
of the terms taken by his opponent, e.g. if a man maintains that contraries are not subjects of the same
science, his opponent must reply that there is a single science of all opposites. Thus we must have the first
figure: for the term which embraces the original subject becomes the middle term.

If the objection is particular, the objector must frame his contradiction with reference to a term relatively to
which the subject of his opponent's premiss is universal, e.g. he will point out that the knowable and the
unknowable are not subjects of the same science: 'contraries' is universal relatively to these. And we have the
third figure: for the particular term assumed is middle, e.g. the knowable and the unknowable. Premisses
from which it is possible to draw the contrary conclusion are what we start from when we try to make
objections. Consequently we bring objections in these figures only: for in them only are opposite syllogisms
possible, since the second figure cannot produce an affirmative conclusion.

Besides, an objection in the middle figure would require a fuller argument, e.g. if it should not be granted that
A belongs to B, because C does not follow B. This can be made clear only by other premisses. But an
objection ought not to turn off into other things, but have its new premiss quite clear immediately. For this
reason also this is the only figure from which proof by signs cannot be obtained.

We must consider later the other kinds of objection, namely the objection from contraries, from similars, and
from common opinion, and inquire whether a particular objection cannot be elicited from the first figure or a
negative objection from the second.

A probability and a sign are not identical, but a probability is a generally approved proposition: what men
know to happen or not to happen, to be or not to be, for the most part thus and thus, is a probability, e.g. 'the
envious hate', 'the beloved show affection'. A sign means a demonstrative proposition necessary or generally
approved: for anything such that when it is another thing is, or when it has come into being the other has
come into being before or after, is a sign of the other's being or having come into being. Now an enthymeme
is a syllogism starting from probabilities or signs, and a sign may be taken in three ways, corresponding to
the position of the middle term in the figures. For it may be taken as in the first figure or the second or the
third. For example the proof that a woman is with child because she has milk is in the first figure: for to have
milk is the middle term. Let A represent to be with child, B to have milk, C woman. The proof that wise men
are good, since Pittacus is good, comes through the last figure. Let A stand for good, B for wise men, C for
Pittacus. It is true then to affirm both A and B of C: only men do not say the latter, because they know it,
though they state the former. The proof that a woman is with child because she is pale is meant to come
through the middle figure: for since paleness follows women with child and is a concomitant of this woman,
people suppose it has been proved that she is with child. Let A stand for paleness, B for being with child, C
for woman. Now if the one proposition is stated, we have only a sign, but if the other is stated as well, a
syllogism, e.g. 'Pittacus is generous, since ambitious men are generous and Pittacus is ambitious.' Or again
'Wise men are good, since Pittacus is not only good but wise.' In this way then syllogisms are formed, only
that which proceeds through the first figure is irrefutable if it is true (for it is universal), that which proceeds
through the last figure is refutable even if the conclusion is true, since the syllogism is not universal nor
correlative to the matter in question: for though Pittacus is good, it is not therefore necessary that all other
wise men should be good. But the syllogism which proceeds through the middle figure is always refutable in

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any case: for a syllogism can never be formed when the terms are related in this way: for though a woman
with child is pale, and this woman also is pale, it is not necessary that she should be with child. Truth then
may be found in signs whatever their kind, but they have the differences we have stated.

We must either divide signs in the way stated, and among them designate the middle term as the index (for
people call that the index which makes us know, and the middle term above all has this character), or else we
must call the arguments derived from the extremes signs, that derived from the middle term the index: for that
which is proved through the first figure is most generally accepted and most true.

It is possible to infer character from features, if it is granted that the body and the soul are changed together
by the natural affections: I say 'natural', for though perhaps by learning music a man has made some change
in his soul, this is not one of those affections which are natural to us; rather I refer to passions and desires
when I speak of natural emotions. If then this were granted and also that for each change there is a
corresponding sign, and we could state the affection and sign proper to each kind of animal, we shall be able
to infer character from features. For if there is an affection which belongs properly to an individual kind, e.g.
courage to lions, it is necessary that there should be a sign of it: for ex hypothesi body and soul are affected
together. Suppose this sign is the possession of large extremities: this may belong to other kinds also though
not universally. For the sign is proper in the sense stated, because the affection is proper to the whole kind,
though not proper to it alone, according to our usual manner of speaking. The same thing then will be found
in another kind, and man may be brave, and some other kinds of animal as well. They will then have the sign:
for ex hypothesi there is one sign corresponding to each affection. If then this is so, and we can collect signs
of this sort in these animals which have only one affection proper to them-but each affection has its sign,
since it is necessary that it should have a single sign-we shall then be able to infer character from features.
But if the kind as a whole has two properties, e.g. if the lion is both brave and generous, how shall we know
which of the signs which are its proper concomitants is the sign of a particular affection? Perhaps if both
belong to some other kind though not to the whole of it, and if, in those kinds in which each is found though
not in the whole of their members, some members possess one of the affections and not the other: e.g. if a
man is brave but not generous, but possesses, of the two signs, large extremities, it is clear that this is the sign
of courage in the lion also. To judge character from features, then, is possible in the first figure if the middle
term is convertible with the first extreme, but is wider than the third term and not convertible with it: e.g. let
A stand for courage, B for large extremities, and C for lion. B then belongs to everything to which C belongs,
but also to others. But A belongs to everything to which B belongs, and to nothing besides, but is convertible
with B : otherwise, there would not be a single sign correlative with each affection.

-THE END-

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ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS

by Aristotle

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS

Table of Contents

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS . 1

by Aristotle 1

_1 1

2 2

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS

by Aristotle

translated by J. I. Beare

• 1

• 2

As to the divination which takes place in sleep, and is said to be based on dreams, we cannot lightly either
dismiss it with contempt or give it implicit confidence. The fact that all persons, or many, suppose dreams to
possess a special significance, tends to inspire us with belief in it [such divination], as founded on the
testimony of experience; and indeed that divination in dreams should, as regards some subjects, be genuine, is
not incredible, for it has a show of reason; from which one might form a like opinion also respecting all other
dreams. Yet the fact of our seeing no probable cause to account for such divination tends to inspire us with
distrust. For, in addition to its further unreasonableness, it is absurd to combine the idea that the sender of
such dreams should be God with the fact that those to whom he sends them are not the best and wisest, but
merely commonplace persons. If, however, we abstract from the causality of God, none of the other causes
assigned appears probable. For that certain persons should have foresight in dreams concerning things
destined to take place at the Pillars of Hercules, or on the banks of the Borysthenes, seems to be something to
discover the explanation of which surpasses the wit of man. Well then, the dreams in question must be
regarded either as causes, or as tokens, of the events, or else as coincidences; either as all, or some, of these,
or as one only. I use the word 'cause' in the sense in which the moon is [the cause] of an eclipse of the sun, or
in which fatigue is [a cause] of fever; 'token' [in the sense in which] the entrance of a star [into the shadow] is
a token of the eclipse, or [in which] roughness of the tongue [is a token] of fever; while by 'coincidence' I
mean, for example, the occurrence of an eclipse of the sun while some one is taking a walk; for the walking is
neither a token nor a cause of the eclipse, nor the eclipse [a cause or token] of the walking. For this reason no
coincidence takes place according to a universal or general rule. Are we then to say that some dreams are
causes, others tokens, e.g. of events taking place in the bodily organism? At all events, even scientific
physicians tell us that one should pay diligent attention to dreams, and to hold this view is reasonable also for
those who are not practitioners, but speculative philosophers. For the movements which occur in the daytime
[within the body] are, unless very great and violent, lost sight of in contrast with the waking movements,
which are more impressive. In sleep the opposite takes place, for then even trifling movements seem
considerable. This is plain in what often happens during sleep; for example, dreamers fancy that they are
affected by thunder and lightning, when in fact there are only faint ringings in their ears; or that they are
enjoying honey or other sweet savours, when only a tiny drop of phlegm is flowing down [the oesophagus];
or that they are walking through fire, and feeling intense heat, when there is only a slight warmth affecting
certain parts of the body. When they are awakened, these things appear to them in this their true character.
But since the beginnings of all events are small, so, it is clear, are those also of the diseases or other

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS 1

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS

affections about to occur in our bodies. In conclusion, it is manifest that these beginnings must be more
evident in sleeping than in waking moments.

Nay, indeed, it is not improbable that some of the presentations which come before the mind in sleep may
even be causes of the actions cognate to each of them. For as when we are about to act [in waking hours], or
are engaged in any course of action, or have already performed certain actions, we often find ourselves
concerned with these actions, or performing them, in a vivid dream; the cause whereof is that the
dream-movement has had a way paved for it from the original movements set up in the daytime; exactly so,
but conversely, it must happen that the movements set up first in sleep should also prove to be starting-points
of actions to be performed in the daytime, since the recurrence by day of the thought of these actions also has
had its way paved for it in the images before the mind at night. Thus then it is quite conceivable that some
dreams may be tokens and causes [of future events].

Most [so-called prophetic] dreams are, however, to be classed as mere coincidences, especially all such as
are extravagant, and those in the fulfilment of which the dreamers have no initiative, such as in the case of a
sea-fight, or of things taking place far away. As regards these it is natural that the fact should stand as it does
whenever a person, on mentioning something, finds the very thing mentioned come to pass. Why, indeed,
should this not happen also in sleep? The probability is, rather, that many such things should happen. As,
then, one's mentioning a particular person is neither token nor cause of this person's presenting himself, so, in
the parallel instance, the dream is, to him who has seen it, neither token nor cause of its [so-called]
fulfilment, but a mere coincidence. Hence the fact that many dreams have no 'fulfilment', for coincidence do
not occur according to any universal or general law.

On the whole, forasmuch as certain of the lower animals also dream, it may be concluded that dreams are not
sent by God, nor are they designed for this purpose [to reveal the future]. They have a divine aspect, however,
for Nature [their cause] is divinely planned, though not itself divine. A special proof [of their not being sent
by God] is this: the power of foreseeing the future and of having vivid dreams is found in persons of inferior
type, which implies that God does not send their dreams; but merely that all those whose physical
temperament is, as it were, garrulous and excitable, see sights of all descriptions; for, inasmuch as they
experience many movements of every kind, they just chance to have visions resembling objective facts, their
luck in these matters being merely like that of persons who play at even and odd. For the principle which is
expressed in the gambler's maxim: 'If you make many throws your luck must change,' holds in their case also.

That many dreams have no fulfilment is not strange, for it is so too with many bodily toms and
weather-signs, e.g. those of train or wind. For if another movement occurs more influential than that from
which, while [the event to which it pointed was] still future, the given token was derived, the event [to which
such token pointed] does not take place. So, of the things which ought to be accomplished by human agency,
many, though well-planned are by the operation of other principles more powerful [than man's agency]
brought to nought. For, speaking generally, that which was about to happen is not in every case what now is
happening, nor is that which shall hereafter he identical with that which is now going to be. Still, however,
we must hold that the beginnings from which, as we said, no consummation follows, are real beginnings, and
these constitute natural tokens of certain events, even though the events do not come to pass.

As for [prophetic] dreams which involve not such beginnings [sc. of future events] as we have here described,
but such as are extravagant in times, or places, or magnitudes; or those involving beginnings which are not
extravagant in any of these respects, while yet the persons who see the dream hold not in their own hands the
beginnings [of the event to which it points] : unless the foresight which such dreams give is the result of pure
coincidence, the following would be a better explanation of it than that proposed by Democritus, who alleges

ON PROPHESYING BY DREAMS

'images' and 'emanations' as its cause. As, when something has caused motion in water or air, this [the portion
of water or air], and, though the cause has ceased to operate, such motion propagates itself to a certain point,
though there the prime movement is not present; just so it may well be that a movement and a consequent
sense-perception should reach sleeping souls from the objects from which Democritus represents 'images'
and 'emanations' coming; that such movements, in whatever way they arrive, should be more perceptible at
night [than by day] , because when proceeding thus in the daytime they are more liable to dissolution (since at
night the air is less disturbed, there being then less wind); and that they shall be perceived within the body
owing to sleep, since persons are more sensitive even to slight sensory movements when asleep than when
awake. It is these movements then that cause 'presentations', as a result of which sleepers foresee the future
even relatively to such events as those referred to above. These considerations also explain why this
experience befalls commonplace persons and not the most intelligent. For it would have regularly occurred
both in the daytime and to the wise had it been God who sent it; but, as we have explained the matter, it is
quite natural that commonplace persons should be those who have foresight [in dreams]. For the mind of such
persons is not given to thinking, but, as it were, derelict, or totally vacant, and, when once set moving, is
borne passively on in the direction taken by that which moves it. With regard to the fact that some persons
who are liable to derangement have this foresight, its explanation is that their normal mental movements do
not impede [the alien movements], but are beaten off by the latter. Therefore it is that they have an especially
keen perception of the alien movements.

That certain persons in particular should have vivid dreams, e.g. that familiar friends should thus have
foresight in a special degree respecting one another, is due to the fact that such friends are most solicitous on
one another's behalf. For as acquaintances in particular recognize and perceive one another a long way off, so
also they do as regards the sensory movements respecting one another; for sensory movements which refer to
persons familiarly known are themselves more familiar. Atrabilious persons, owing to their impetuosity, are,
when they, as it were, shoot from a distance, expert at hitting; while, owing to their mutability, the series of
movements deploys quickly before their minds. For even as the insane recite, or con over in thought, the
poems of Philaegides, e.g. the Aphrodite, whose parts succeed in order of similitude, just so do they [the
'atrabilious'] go on and on stringing sensory movements together. Moreover, owing to their aforesaid
impetuosity, one movement within them is not liable to be knocked out of its course by some other
movement.

The most skilful interpreter of dreams is he who has the faculty of observing resemblances. Any one may
interpret dreams which are vivid and plain. But, speaking of 'resemblances', I mean that dream presentations
are analogous to the forms reflected in water, as indeed we have already stated. In the latter case, if the
motion in the water be great, the reflexion has no resemblance to its original, nor do the forms resemble the
real objects. Skilful, indeed, would he be in interpreting such reflexions who could rapidly discern, and at a
glance comprehend, the scattered and distorted fragments of such forms, so as to perceive that one of them
represents a man, or a horse, Or anything whatever. Accordingly, in the other case also, in a similar way,
some such thing as this [blurred image] is all that a dream amounts to; for the internal movement effaces the
clearness of the dream.

The questions, therefore, which we proposed as to the nature of sleep and the dream, and the cause to which
each of them is due, and also as to divination as a result of dreams, in every form of it, have now been
discussed.

-THE END-

Rhetoric

Aristotle

Rhetoric

Table of Contents

Rhetoric 1

Aristotle 1

Rhetoric

Aristotle

translated by W. Rhys Roberts

• Book I

• Book II

« Book III

Book I

RHETORIC the counterpart of Dialectic. Both alike are concerned with such things as come, more or less,
within the general ken of all men and belong to no definite science. Accordingly all men make use, more or
less, of both; for to a certain extent all men attempt to discuss statements and to maintain them, to defend
themselves and to attack others. Ordinary people do this either at random or through practice and from
acquired habit. Both ways being possible, the subject can plainly be handled systematically, for it is possible
to inquire the reason why some speakers succeed through practice and others spontaneously; and every one
will at once agree that such an inquiry is the function of an art.

Now, the framers of the current treatises on rhetoric have constructed but a small portion of that art. The
modes of persuasion are the only true constituents of the art: everything else is merely accessory. These
writers, however, say nothing about enthymemes, which are the substance of rhetorical persuasion, but deal
mainly with non-essentials. The arousing of prejudice, pity, anger, and similar emotions has nothing to do
with the essential facts, but is merely a personal appeal to the man who is judging the case. Consequently if
the rules for trials which are now laid down some states-especially in well-governed states-were applied
everywhere, such people would have nothing to say. All men, no doubt, think that the laws should prescribe
such rules, but some, as in the court of Areopagus, give practical effect to their thoughts and forbid talk about
non-essentials. This is sound law and custom. It is not right to pervert the judge by moving him to anger or
envy or pity-one might as well warp a carpenter's rule before using it. Again, a litigant has clearly nothing to
do but to show that the alleged fact is so or is not so, that it has or has not happened. As to whether a thing is
important or unimportant, just or unjust, the judge must surely refuse to take his instructions from the
litigants: he must decide for himself all such points as the law-giver has not already defined for him.

Now, it is of great moment that well-drawn laws should themselves define all the points they possibly can
and leave as few as may be to the decision of the judges; and this for several reasons. First, to find one man,
or a few men, who are sensible persons and capable of legislating and administering justice is easier than to
find a large number. Next, laws are made after long consideration, whereas decisions in the courts are given
at short notice, which makes it hard for those who try the case to satisfy the claims of justice and expediency.
The weightiest reason of all is that the decision of the lawgiver is not particular but prospective and general,
whereas members of the assembly and the jury find it their duty to decide on definite cases brought before
them. They will often have allowed themselves to be so much influenced by feelings of friendship or hatred
or self-interest that they lose any clear vision of the truth and have their judgement obscured by
considerations of personal pleasure or pain. In general, then, the judge should, we say, be allowed to decide
as few things as possible. But questions as to whether something has happened or has not happened, will be
or will not be, is or is not, must of necessity be left to the judge, since the lawgiver cannot foresee them. If
this is so, it is evident that any one who lays down rules about other matters, such as what must be the
contents of the 'introduction' or the 'narration' or any of the other divisions of a speech, is theorizing about
non-essentials as if they belonged to the art. The only question with which these writers here deal is how to
put the judge into a given frame of mind. About the orator's proper modes of persuasion they have nothing to

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Rhetoric

tell us; nothing, that is, about how to gain skill in enthymemes.

Hence it comes that, although the same systematic principles apply to political as to forensic oratory, and
although the former is a nobler business, and fitter for a citizen, than that which concerns the relations of
private individuals, these authors say nothing about political oratory, but try, one and all, to write treatises on
the way to plead in court. The reason for this is that in political oratory there is less inducement to talk about
nonessentials. Political oratory is less given to unscrupulous practices than forensic, because it treats of wider
issues. In a political debate the man who is forming a judgement is making a decision about his own vital
interests. There is no need, therefore, to prove anything except that the facts are what the supporter of a
measure maintains they are. In forensic oratory this is not enough; to conciliate the listener is what pays here.
It is other people's affairs that are to be decided, so that the judges, intent on their own satisfaction and
listening with partiality, surrender themselves to the disputants instead of judging between them. Hence in
many places, as we have said already, irrelevant speaking is forbidden in the law-courts: in the public
assembly those who have to form a judgement are themselves well able to guard against that.

It is clear, then, that rhetorical study, in its strict sense, is concerned with the modes of persuasion. Persuasion
is clearly a sort of demonstration, since we are most fully persuaded when we consider a thing to have been
demonstrated. The orator's demonstration is an enthymeme, and this is, in general, the most effective of the
modes of persuasion. The enthymeme is a sort of syllogism, and the consideration of syllogisms of all kinds,
without distinction, is the business of dialectic, either of dialectic as a whole or of one of its branches. It
follows plainly, therefore, that he who is best able to see how and from what elements a syllogism is
produced will also be best skilled in the enthymeme, when he has further learnt what its subject-matter is and
in what respects it differs from the syllogism of strict logic. The true and the approximately true are
apprehended by the same faculty; it may also be noted that men have a sufficient natural instinct for what is
true, and usually do arrive at the truth. Hence the man who makes a good guess at truth is likely to make a
good guess at probabilities.

It has now been shown that the ordinary writers on rhetoric treat of non-essentials; it has also been shown
why they have inclined more towards the forensic branch of oratory.

Rhetoric is useful (1) because things that are true and things that are just have a natural tendency to prevail
over their opposites, so that if the decisions of judges are not what they ought to be, the defeat must be due to
the speakers themselves, and they must be blamed accordingly. Moreover, (2) before some audiences not
even the possession of the exactest knowledge will make it easy for what we say to produce conviction. For
argument based on knowledge implies instruction, and there are people whom one cannot instruct. Here, then,
we must use, as our modes of persuasion and argument, notions possessed by everybody, as we observed in
the Topics when dealing with the way to handle a popular audience. Further, (3) we must be able to employ
persuasion, just as strict reasoning can be employed, on opposite sides of a question, not in order that we may
in practice employ it in both ways (for we must not make people believe what is wrong), but in order that we
may see clearly what the facts are, and that, if another man argues unfairly, we on our part may be able to
confute him. No other of the arts draws opposite conclusions: dialectic and rhetoric alone do this. Both these
arts draw opposite conclusions impartially. Nevertheless, the underlying facts do not lend themselves equally
well to the contrary views. No; things that are true and things that are better are, by their nature, practically
always easier to prove and easier to believe in. Again, (4) it is absurd to hold that a man ought to be ashamed
of being unable to defend himself with his limbs, but not of being unable to defend himself with speech and
reason, when the use of rational speech is more distinctive of a human being than the use of his limbs. And if
it be objected that one who uses such power of speech unjustly might do great harm, that is a charge which
may be made in common against all good things except virtue, and above all against the things that are most
useful, as strength, health, wealth, generalship. A man can confer the greatest of benefits by a right use of
these, and inflict the greatest of injuries by using them wrongly.

Rhetoric

It is clear, then, that rhetoric is not bound up with a single definite class of subjects, but is as universal as
dialectic; it is clear, also, that it is useful. It is clear, further, that its function is not simply to succeed in
persuading, but rather to discover the means of coming as near such success as the circumstances of each
particular case allow. In this it resembles all other arts. For example, it is not the function of medicine simply
to make a man quite healthy, but to put him as far as may be on the road to health; it is possible to give
excellent treatment even to those who can never enjoy sound health. Furthermore, it is plain that it is the
function of one and the same art to discern the real and the apparent means of persuasion, just as it is the
function of dialectic to discern the real and the apparent syllogism. What makes a man a 'sophist' is not his
faculty, but his moral purpose. In rhetoric, however, the term 'rhetorician' may describe either the speaker's
knowledge of the art, or his moral purpose. In dialectic it is different: a man is a 'sophist' because he has a
certain kind of moral purpose, a 'dialectician' in respect, not of his moral purpose, but of his faculty.

Let us now try to give some account of the systematic principles of Rhetoric itself-of the right method and
means of succeeding in the object we set before us. We must make as it were a fresh start, and before going
further define what rhetoric is.

Rhetoric may be defined as the faculty of observing in any given case the available means of persuasion. This
is not a function of any other art. Every other art can instruct or persuade about its own particular
subject-matter; for instance, medicine about what is healthy and unhealthy, geometry about the properties of
magnitudes, arithmetic about numbers, and the same is true of the other arts and sciences. But rhetoric we
look upon as the power of observing the means of persuasion on almost any subject presented to us; and that
is why we say that, in its technical character, it is not concerned with any special or definite class of subjects.

Of the modes of persuasion some belong strictly to the art of rhetoric and some do not. By the latter I mean
such things as are not supplied by the speaker but are there at the outset-witnesses, evidence given under
torture, written contracts, and so on. By the former I mean such as we can ourselves construct by means of
the principles of rhetoric. The one kind has merely to be used, the other has to be invented.

Of the modes of persuasion furnished by the spoken word there are three kinds. The first kind depends on the
personal character of the speaker; the second on putting the audience into a certain frame of mind; the third
on the proof, or apparent proof, provided by the words of the speech itself. Persuasion is achieved by the
speaker's personal character when the speech is so spoken as to make us think him credible. We believe good
men more fully and more readily than others: this is true generally whatever the question is, and absolutely
true where exact certainty is impossible and opinions are divided. This kind of persuasion, like the others,
should be achieved by what the speaker says, not by what people think of his character before he begins to
speak. It is not true, as some writers assume in their treatises on rhetoric, that the personal goodness revealed
by the speaker contributes nothing to his power of persuasion; on the contrary, his character may almost be
called the most effective means of persuasion he possesses. Secondly, persuasion may come through the
hearers, when the speech stirs their emotions. Our judgements when we are pleased and friendly are not the
same as when we are pained and hostile. It is towards producing these effects, as we maintain, that
present-day writers on rhetoric direct the whole of their efforts. This subject shall be treated in detail when
we come to speak of the emotions. Thirdly, persuasion is effected through the speech itself when we have
proved a truth or an apparent truth by means of the persuasive arguments suitable to the case in question.

There are, then, these three means of effecting persuasion. The man who is to be in command of them must, it
is clear, be able (1) to reason logically, (2) to understand human character and goodness in their various
forms, and (3) to understand the emotions-that is, to name them and describe them, to know their causes and
the way in which they are excited. It thus appears that rhetoric is an offshoot of dialectic and also of ethical
studies. Ethical studies may fairly be called political; and for this reason rhetoric masquerades as political
science, and the professors of it as political experts-sometimes from want of education, sometimes from
ostentation, sometimes owing to other human failings. As a matter of fact, it is a branch of dialectic and

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Rhetoric

similar to it, as we said at the outset. Neither rhetoric nor dialectic is the scientific study of any one separate
subject: both are faculties for providing arguments. This is perhaps a sufficient account of their scope and of
how they are related to each other.

With regard to the persuasion achieved by proof or apparent proof: just as in dialectic there is induction on
the one hand and syllogism or apparent syllogism on the other, so it is in rhetoric. The example is an
induction, the enthymeme is a syllogism, and the apparent enthymeme is an apparent syllogism. I call the
enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism, and the example a rhetorical induction. Every one who effects persuasion
through proof does in fact use either enthymemes or examples: there is no other way. And since every one
who proves anything at all is bound to use either syllogisms or inductions (and this is clear to us from the
Analytics), it must follow that enthymemes are syllogisms and examples are inductions. The difference
between example and enthymeme is made plain by the passages in the Topics where induction and syllogism
have already been discussed. When we base the proof of a proposition on a number of similar cases, this is
induction in dialectic, example in rhetoric; when it is shown that, certain propositions being true, a further
and quite distinct proposition must also be true in consequence, whether invariably or usually, this is called
syllogism in dialectic, enthymeme in rhetoric. It is plain also that each of these types of oratory has its
advantages. Types of oratory, I say: for what has been said in the Methodics applies equally well here; in
some oratorical styles examples prevail, in others enthymemes; and in like manner, some orators are better at
the former and some at the latter. Speeches that rely on examples are as persuasive as the other kind, but
those which rely on enthymemes excite the louder applause. The sources of examples and enthymemes, and
their proper uses, we will discuss later. Our next step is to define the processes themselves more clearly.

A statement is persuasive and credible either because it is directly self-evident or because it appears to be
proved from other statements that are so. In either case it is persuasive because there is somebody whom it
persuades. But none of the arts theorize about individual cases. Medicine, for instance, does not theorize
about what will help to cure Socrates or Callias, but only about what will help to cure any or all of a given
class of patients: this alone is business: individual cases are so infinitely various that no systematic
knowledge of them is possible. In the same way the theory of rhetoric is concerned not with what seems
probable to a given individual like Socrates or Hippias, but with what seems probable to men of a given type;
and this is true of dialectic also. Dialectic does not construct its syllogisms out of any haphazard materials,
such as the fancies of crazy people, but out of materials that call for discussion; and rhetoric, too, draws upon
the regular subjects of debate. The duty of rhetoric is to deal with such matters as we deliberate upon without
arts or systems to guide us, in the hearing of persons who cannot take in at a glance a complicated argument,
or follow a long chain of reasoning. The subjects of our deliberation are such as seem to present us with
alternative possibilities: about things that could not have been, and cannot now or in the future be, other than
they are, nobody who takes them to be of this nature wastes his time in deliberation.

It is possible to form syllogisms and draw conclusions from the results of previous syllogisms; or, on the
other hand, from premisses which have not been thus proved, and at the same time are so little accepted that
they call for proof. Reasonings of the former kind will necessarily be hard to follow owing to their length, for
we assume an audience of untrained thinkers; those of the latter kind will fail to win assent, because they are
based on premisses that are not generally admitted or believed.

The enthymeme and the example must, then, deal with what is in the main contingent, the example being an
induction, and the enthymeme a syllogism, about such matters. The enthymeme must consist of few
propositions, fewer often than those which make up the normal syllogism. For if any of these propositions is
a familiar fact, there is no need even to mention it; the hearer adds it himself. Thus, to show that Dorieus has
been victor in a contest for which the prize is a crown, it is enough to say 'For he has been victor in the
Olympic games', without adding And in the Olympic games the prize is a crown', a fact which everybody
knows.

Rhetoric

There are few facts of the 'necessary' type that can form the basis of rhetorical syllogisms. Most of the things
about which we make decisions, and into which therefore we inquire, present us with alternative possibilities.
For it is about our actions that we deliberate and inquire, and all our actions have a contingent character;
hardly any of them are determined by necessity. Again, conclusions that state what is merely usual or
possible must be drawn from premisses that do the same, just as 'necessary' conclusions must be drawn from
'necessary' premisses; this too is clear to us from the Analytics. It is evident, therefore, that the propositions
forming the basis of enthymemes, though some of them may be 'necessary', will most of them be only usually
true. Now the materials of enthymemes are Probabilities and Signs, which we can see must correspond
respectively with the propositions that are generally and those that are necessarily true. A Probability is a
thing that usually happens; not, however, as some definitions would suggest, anything whatever that usually
happens, but only if it belongs to the class of the 'contingent' or 'variable'. It bears the same relation to that in
respect of which it is probable as the universal bears to the particular. Of Signs, one kind bears the same
relation to the statement it supports as the particular bears to the universal, the other the same as the universal
bears to the particular. The infallible kind is a 'complete proof (tekmerhiou); the fallible kind has no specific
name. By infallible signs I mean those on which syllogisms proper may be based: and this shows us why this
kind of Sign is called 'complete proof: when people think that what they have said cannot be refuted, they
then think that they are bringing forward a 'complete proof, meaning that the matter has now been
demonstrated and completed (peperhasmeuou); for the word 'perhas' has the same meaning (of 'end' or
'boundary') as the word 'tekmarh' in the ancient tongue. Now the one kind of Sign (that which bears to the
proposition it supports the relation of particular to universal) may be illustrated thus. Suppose it were said,
'The fact that Socrates was wise and just is a sign that the wise are just'. Here we certainly have a Sign; but
even though the proposition be true, the argument is refutable, since it does not form a syllogism. Suppose,
on the other hand, it were said, The fact that he has a fever is a sign that he is ill', or, 'The fact that she is
giving milk is a sign that she has lately borne a child'. Here we have the infallible kind of Sign, the only kind
that constitutes a complete proof, since it is the only kind that, if the particular statement is true, is irrefutable.
The other kind of Sign, that which bears to the proposition it supports the relation of universal to particular,
might be illustrated by saying, 'The fact that he breathes fast is a sign that he has a fever'. This argument also
is refutable, even if the statement about the fast breathing be true, since a man may breathe hard without
having a fever.

It has, then, been stated above what is the nature of a Probability, of a Sign, and of a complete proof, and
what are the differences between them. In the Analytics a more explicit description has been given of these
points; it is there shown why some of these reasonings can be put into syllogisms and some cannot.

The 'example' has already been described as one kind of induction; and the special nature of the
subject-matter that distinguishes it from the other kinds has also been stated above. Its relation to the
proposition it supports is not that of part to whole, nor whole to part, nor whole to whole, but of part to part,
or like to like. When two statements are of the same order, but one is more familiar than the other, the former
is an 'example'. The argument may, for instance, be that Dionysius, in asking as he does for a bodyguard, is
scheming to make himself a despot. For in the past Peisistratus kept asking for a bodyguard in order to carry
out such a scheme, and did make himself a despot as soon as he got it; and so did Theagenes at Megara; and
in the same way all other instances known to the speaker are made into examples, in order to show what is
not yet known, that Dionysius has the same purpose in making the same request: all these being instances of
the one general principle, that a man who asks for a bodyguard is scheming to make himself a despot. We
have now described the sources of those means of persuasion which are popularly supposed to be
demonstrative.

There is an important distinction between two sorts of enthymemes that has been wholly overlooked by
almost everybody-one that also subsists between the syllogisms treated of in dialectic. One sort of
enthymeme really belongs to rhetoric, as one sort of syllogism really belongs to dialectic; but the other sort
really belongs to other arts and faculties, whether to those we already exercise or to those we have not yet

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Rhetoric

acquired. Missing this distinction, people fail to notice that the more correctly they handle their particular
subject the further they are getting away from pure rhetoric or dialectic. This statement will be clearer if
expressed more fully. I mean that the proper subjects of dialectical and rhetorical syllogisms are the things
with which we say the regular or universal Lines of Argument are concerned, that is to say those lines of
argument that apply equally to questions of right conduct, natural science, politics, and many other things that
have nothing to do with one another. Take, for instance, the line of argument concerned with 'the more or
less'. On this line of argument it is equally easy to base a syllogism or enthymeme about any of what
nevertheless are essentially disconnected subjects-right conduct, natural science, or anything else whatever.
But there are also those special Lines of Argument which are based on such propositions as apply only to
particular groups or classes of things. Thus there are propositions about natural science on which it is
impossible to base any enthymeme or syllogism about ethics, and other propositions about ethics on which
nothing can be based about natural science. The same principle applies throughout. The general Lines of
Argument have no special subject-matter, and therefore will not increase our understanding of any particular
class of things. On the other hand, the better the selection one makes of propositions suitable for special Lines
of Argument, the nearer one comes, unconsciously, to setting up a science that is distinct from dialectic and
rhetoric. One may succeed in stating the required principles, but one's science will be no longer dialectic or
rhetoric, but the science to which the principles thus discovered belong. Most enthymemes are in fact based
upon these particular or special Lines of Argument; comparatively few on the common or general kind. As in
the therefore, so in this work, we must distinguish, in dealing with enthymemes, the special and the general
Lines of Argument on which they are to be founded. By special Lines of Argument I mean the propositions
peculiar to each several class of things, by general those common to all classes alike. We may begin with the
special Lines of Argument. But, first of all, let us classify rhetoric into its varieties. Having distinguished
these we may deal with them one by one, and try to discover the elements of which each is composed, and the
propositions each must employ.

Rhetoric falls into three divisions, determined by the three classes of listeners to speeches. For of the three
elements in speech-making — speaker, subject, and person addressed — it is the last one, the hearer, that
determines the speech's end and object. The hearer must be either a judge, with a decision to make about
things past or future, or an observer. A member of the assembly decides about future events, a juryman about
past events: while those who merely decide on the orator's skill are observers. From this it follows that there
are three divisions of oratory-(l) political, (2) forensic, and (3) the ceremonial oratory of display.

Political speaking urges us either to do or not to do something: one of these two courses is always taken by
private counsellors, as well as by men who address public assemblies. Forensic speaking either attacks or
defends somebody: one or other of these two things must always be done by the parties in a case. The
ceremonial oratory of display either praises or censures somebody. These three kinds of rhetoric refer to three
different kinds of time. The political orator is concerned with the future: it is about things to be done hereafter
that he advises, for or against. The party in a case at law is concerned with the past; one man accuses the
other, and the other defends himself, with reference to things already done. The ceremonial orator is, properly
speaking, concerned with the present, since all men praise or blame in view of the state of things existing at
the time, though they often find it useful also to recall the past and to make guesses at the future.

Rhetoric has three distinct ends in view, one for each of its three kinds. The political orator aims at
establishing the expediency or the harmfulness of a proposed course of action; if he urges its acceptance, he
does so on the ground that it will do good; if he urges its rejection, he does so on the ground that it will do
harm; and all other points, such as whether the proposal is just or unjust, honourable or dishonourable, he
brings in as subsidiary and relative to this main consideration. Parties in a law-case aim at establishing the
justice or injustice of some action, and they too bring in all other points as subsidiary and relative to this one.
Those who praise or attack a man aim at proving him worthy of honour or the reverse, and they too treat all
other considerations with reference to this one.

Rhetoric

That the three kinds of rhetoric do aim respectively at the three ends we have mentioned is shown by the fact
that speakers will sometimes not try to establish anything else. Thus, the litigant will sometimes not deny that
a thing has happened or that he has done harm. But that he is guilty of injustice he will never admit;
otherwise there would be no need of a trial. So too, political orators often make any concession short of
admitting that they are recommending their hearers to take an inexpedient course or not to take an expedient
one. The question whether it is not unjust for a city to enslave its innocent neighbours often does not trouble
them at all. In like manner those who praise or censure a man do not consider whether his acts have been
expedient or not, but often make it a ground of actual praise that he has neglected his own interest to do what
was honourable. Thus, they praise Achilles because he championed his fallen friend Patroclus, though he
knew that this meant death, and that otherwise he need not die: yet while to die thus was the nobler thing for
him to do, the expedient thing was to live on.

It is evident from what has been said that it is these three subjects, more than any others, about which the
orator must be able to have propositions at his command. Now the propositions of Rhetoric are Complete
Proofs, Probabilities, and Signs. Every kind of syllogism is composed of propositions, and the enthymeme is
a particular kind of syllogism composed of the aforesaid propositions.

Since only possible actions, and not impossible ones, can ever have been done in the past or the present, and
since things which have not occurred, or will not occur, also cannot have been done or be going to be done, it
is necessary for the political, the forensic, and the ceremonial speaker alike to be able to have at their
command propositions about the possible and the impossible, and about whether a thing has or has not
occurred, will or will not occur. Further, all men, in giving praise or blame, in urging us to accept or reject
proposals for action, in accusing others or defending themselves, attempt not only to prove the points
mentioned but also to show that the good or the harm, the honour or disgrace, the justice or injustice, is great
or small, either absolutely or relatively; and therefore it is plain that we must also have at our command
propositions about greatness or smallness and the greater or the lesser-propositions both universal and
particular. Thus, we must be able to say which is the greater or lesser good, the greater or lesser act of justice
or injustice; and so on.

Such, then, are the subjects regarding which we are inevitably bound to master the propositions relevant to
them. We must now discuss each particular class of these subjects in turn, namely those dealt with in
political, in ceremonial, and lastly in legal, oratory.

First, then, we must ascertain what are the kinds of things, good or bad, about which the political orator offers
counsel. For he does not deal with all things, but only with such as may or may not take place. Concerning
things which exist or will exist inevitably, or which cannot possibly exist or take place, no counsel can be
given. Nor, again, can counsel be given about the whole class of things which may or may not take place; for
this class includes some good things that occur naturally, and some that occur by accident; and about these it
is useless to offer counsel. Clearly counsel can only be given on matters about which people deliberate;
matters, namely, that ultimately depend on ourselves, and which we have it in our power to set going. For we
turn a thing over in our mind until we have reached the point of seeing whether we can do it or not.

Now to enumerate and classify accurately the usual subjects of public business, and further to frame, as far as
possible, true definitions of them is a task which we must not attempt on the present occasion. For it does not
belong to the art of rhetoric, but to a more instructive art and a more real branch of knowledge; and as it is,
rhetoric has been given a far wider subject-matter than strictly belongs to it. The truth is, as indeed we have
said already, that rhetoric is a combination of the science of logic and of the ethical branch of politics; and it
is partly like dialectic, partly like sophistical reasoning. But the more we try to make either dialectic rhetoric
not, what they really are, practical faculties, but sciences, the more we shall inadvertently be destroying their
true nature; for we shall be re-fashioning them and shall be passing into the region of sciences dealing with
definite subjects rather than simply with words and forms of reasoning. Even here, however, we will mention

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those points which it is of practical importance to distinguish, their fuller treatment falling naturally to
political science.

The main matters on which all men deliberate and on which political speakers make speeches are some five
in number: ways and means, war and peace, national defence, imports and exports, and legislation.

As to Ways and Means, then, the intending speaker will need to know the number and extent of the country's
sources of revenue, so that, if any is being overlooked, it may be added, and, if any is defective, it may be
increased. Further, he should know all the expenditure of the country, in order that, if any part of it is
superfluous, it may be abolished, or, if any is too large, it may be reduced. For men become richer not only
by increasing their existing wealth but also by reducing their expenditure. A comprehensive view of these
questions cannot be gained solely from experience in home affairs; in order to advise on such matters a man
must be keenly interested in the methods worked out in other lands.

As to Peace and War, he must know the extent of the military strength of his country, both actual and
potential, and also the mature of that actual and potential strength; and further, what wars his country has
waged, and how it has waged them. He must know these facts not only about his own country, but also about
neighbouring countries; and also about countries with which war is likely, in order that peace may be
maintained with those stronger than his own, and that his own may have power to make war or not against
those that are weaker. He should know, too, whether the military power of another country is like or unlike
that of his own; for this is a matter that may affect their relative strength. With the same end in view he must,
besides, have studied the wars of other countries as well as those of his own, and the way they ended; similar
causes are likely to have similar results.

With regard to National Defence: he ought to know all about the methods of defence in actual use, such as the
strength and character of the defensive force and the positions of the forts-this last means that he must be
well acquainted with the lie of the country-in order that a garrison may be increased if it is too small or
removed if it is not wanted, and that the strategic points may be guarded with special care.

With regard to the Food Supply: he must know what outlay will meet the needs of his country; what kinds of
food are produced at home and what imported; and what articles must be exported or imported. This last he
must know in order that agreements and commercial treaties may be made with the countries concerned.
There are, indeed, two sorts of state to which he must see that his countrymen give no cause for offence,
states stronger than his own, and states with which it is advantageous to trade.

But while he must, for security's sake, be able to take all this into account, he must before all things
understand the subject of legislation; for it is on a country's laws that its whole welfare depends. He must,
therefore, know how many different forms of constitution there are; under what conditions each of these will
prosper and by what internal developments or external attacks each of them tends to be destroyed. When I
speak of destruction through internal developments I refer to the fact that all constitutions, except the best one
of all, are destroyed both by not being pushed far enough and by being pushed too far. Thus, democracy loses
its vigour, and finally passes into oligarchy, not only when it is not pushed far enough, but also when it is
pushed a great deal too far; just as the aquiline and the snub nose not only turn into normal noses by not being
aquiline or snub enough, but also by being too violently aquiline or snub arrive at a condition in which they
no longer look like noses at all. It is useful, in framing laws, not only to study the past history of one's own
country, in order to understand which constitution is desirable for it now, but also to have a knowledge of the
constitutions of other nations, and so to learn for what kinds of nation the various kinds of constitution are
suited. From this we can see that books of travel are useful aids to legislation, since from these we may learn
the laws and customs of different races. The political speaker will also find the researches of historians
useful. But all this is the business of political science and not of rhetoric.

Rhetoric

These, then, are the most important kinds of information which the political speaker must possess. Let us now
go back and state the premisses from which he will have to argue in favour of adopting or rejecting measures
regarding these and other matters.

It may be said that every individual man and all men in common aim at a certain end which determines what
they choose and what they avoid. This end, to sum it up briefly, is happiness and its constituents. Let us, then,
by way of illustration only, ascertain what is in general the nature of happiness, and what are the elements of
its constituent parts. For all advice to do things or not to do them is concerned with happiness and with the
things that make for or against it; whatever creates or increases happiness or some part of happiness, we
ought to do; whatever destroys or hampers happiness, or gives rise to its opposite, we ought not to do.

We may define happiness as prosperity combined with virtue; or as independence of life; or as the secure
enjoyment of the maximum of pleasure; or as a good condition of property and body, together with the power
of guarding one's property and body and making use of them. That happiness is one or more of these things,
pretty well everybody agrees.

From this definition of happiness it follows that its constituent parts are:-good birth, plenty of friends, good
friends, wealth, good children, plenty of children, a happy old age, also such bodily excellences as health,
beauty, strength, large stature, athletic powers, together with fame, honour, good luck, and virtue. A man
cannot fail to be completely independent if he possesses these internal and these external goods; for besides
these there are no others to have. (Goods of the soul and of the body are internal. Good birth, friends, money,
and honour are external.) Further, we think that he should possess resources and luck, in order to make his
life really secure. As we have already ascertained what happiness in general is, so now let us try to ascertain
what of these parts of it is.

Now good birth in a race or a state means that its members are indigenous or ancient: that its earliest leaders
were distinguished men, and that from them have sprung many who were distinguished for qualities that we
admire.

The good birth of an individual, which may come either from the male or the female side, implies that both
parents are free citizens, and that, as in the case of the state, the founders of the line have been notable for
virtue or wealth or something else which is highly prized, and that many distinguished persons belong to the
family, men and women, young and old.

The phrases 'possession of good children' and 'of many children' bear a quite clear meaning. Applied to a
community, they mean that its young men are numerous and of good a quality: good in regard to bodily
excellences, such as stature, beauty, strength, athletic powers; and also in regard to the excellences of the
soul, which in a young man are temperance and courage. Applied to an individual, they mean that his own
children are numerous and have the good qualities we have described. Both male and female are here
included; the excellences of the latter are, in body, beauty and stature; in soul, self-command and an industry
that is not sordid. Communities as well as individuals should lack none of these perfections, in their women
as well as in their men. Where, as among the Lacedaemonians, the state of women is bad, almost half of
human life is spoilt.

The constituents of wealth are: plenty of coined money and territory; the ownership of numerous, large, and
beautiful estates; also the ownership of numerous and beautiful implements, live stock, and slaves. All these
kinds of property are our own, are secure, gentlemanly, and useful. The useful kinds are those that are
productive, the gentlemanly kinds are those that provide enjoyment. By 'productive' I mean those from which
we get our income; by 'enjoyable', those from which we get nothing worth mentioning except the use of them.
The criterion of 'security' is the ownership of property in such places and under such Conditions that the use
of it is in our power; and it is 'our own' if it is in our own power to dispose of it or keep it. By 'disposing of it'

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I mean giving it away or selling it. Wealth as a whole consists in using things rather than in owning them; it
is really the activity-that is, the use-of property that constitutes wealth.

Fame means being respected by everybody, or having some quality that is desired by all men, or by most, or
by the good, or by the wise.

Honour is the token of a man's being famous for doing good, it is chiefly and most properly paid to those who
have already done good; but also to the man who can do good in future. Doing good refers either to the
preservation of life and the means of life, or to wealth, or to some other of the good things which it is hard to
get either always or at that particular place or time-for many gain honour for things which seem small, but
the place and the occasion account for it. The constituents of honour are: sacrifices; commemoration, in verse
or prose; privileges; grants of land; front seats at civic celebrations; state burial; statues; public maintenance;
among foreigners, obeisances and giving place; and such presents as are among various bodies of men
regarded as marks of honour. For a present is not only the bestowal of a piece of property, but also a token of
honour; which explains why honour-loving as well as money-loving persons desire it. The present brings to
both what they want; it is a piece of property, which is what the lovers of money desire; and it brings honour,
which is what the lovers of honour desire.

The excellence of the body is health; that is, a condition which allows us, while keeping free from disease, to
have the use of our bodies; for many people are 'healthy' as we are told Herodicus was; and these no one can
congratulate on their 'health', for they have to abstain from everything or nearly everything that men
do. -Beauty varies with the time of life. In a young man beauty is the possession of a body fit to endure the
exertion of running and of contests of strength; which means that he is pleasant to look at; and therefore
all-round athletes are the most beautiful, being naturally adapted both for contests of strength and for speed
also. For a man in his prime, beauty is fitness for the exertion of warfare, together with a pleasant but at the
same time formidable appearance. For an old man, it is to be strong enough for such exertion as is necessary,
and to be free from all those deformities of old age which cause pain to others. Strength is the power of
moving some one else at will; to do this, you must either pull, push, lift, pin, or grip him; thus you must be
strong in all of those ways or at least in some. Excellence in size is to surpass ordinary people in height,
thickness, and breadth by just as much as will not make one's movements slower in consequence. Athletic
excellence of the body consists in size, strength, and swiftness; swiftness implying strength. He who can fling
forward his legs in a certain way, and move them fast and far, is good at running; he who can grip and hold
down is good at wrestling; he who can drive an adversary from his ground with the right blow is a good
boxer: he who can do both the last is a good pancratiast, while he who can do all is an 'all-round' athlete.

Happiness in old age is the coming of old age slowly and painlessly; for a man has not this happiness if he
grows old either quickly, or tardily but painfully. It arises both from the excellences of the body and from
good luck. If a man is not free from disease, or if he is strong, he will not be free from suffering; nor can he
continue to live a long and painless life unless he has good luck. There is, indeed, a capacity for long life that
is quite independent of health or strength; for many people live long who lack the excellences of the body;
but for our present purpose there is no use in going into the details of this.

The terms 'possession of many friends' and 'possession of good friends' need no explanation; for we define a
'friend' as one who will always try, for your sake, to do what he takes to be good for you. The man towards
whom many feel thus has many friends; if these are worthy men, he has good friends.

'Good luck means the acquisition or possession of all or most, or the most important, of those good things
which are due to luck. Some of the things that are due to luck may also be due to artificial contrivance; but
many are independent of art, as for example those which are due to nature-though, to be sure, things due to
luck may actually be contrary to nature. Thus health may be due to artificial contrivance, but beauty and
stature are due to nature. All such good things as excite envy are, as a class, the outcome of good luck. Luck

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is also the cause of good things that happen contrary to reasonable expectation: as when, for instance, all your
brothers are ugly, but you are handsome yourself; or when you find a treasure that everybody else has
overlooked; or when a missile hits the next man and misses you; or when you are the only man not to go to a
place you have gone to regularly, while the others go there for the first time and are killed. All such things are
reckoned pieces of good luck.

As to virtue, it is most closely connected with the subject of Eulogy, and therefore we will wait to define it
until we come to discuss that subject.

It is now plain what our aims, future or actual, should be in urging, and what in depreciating, a proposal; the
latter being the opposite of the former. Now the political or deliberative orator's aim is utility: deliberation
seeks to determine not ends but the means to ends, i.e. what it is most useful to do. Further, utility is a good
thing. We ought therefore to assure ourselves of the main facts about Goodness and Utility in general.

We may define a good thing as that which ought to be chosen for its own sake; or as that for the sake of
which we choose something else; or as that which is sought after by all things, or by all things that have
sensation or reason, or which will be sought after by any things that acquire reason; or as that which must be
prescribed for a given individual by reason generally, or is prescribed for him by his individual reason, this
being his individual good; or as that whose presence brings anything into a satisfactory and self-sufficing
condition; or as self-sufficiency; or as what produces, maintains, or entails characteristics of this kind, while
preventing and destroying their opposites. One thing may entail another in either of two ways-(l)
simultaneously, (2) subsequently. Thus learning entails knowledge subsequently, health entails life
simultaneously. Things are productive of other things in three senses: first as being healthy produces health;
secondly, as food produces health; and thirdly, as exercise does-i.e. it does so usually. All this being settled,
we now see that both the acquisition of good things and the removal of bad things must be good; the latter
entails freedom from the evil things simultaneously, while the former entails possession of the good things
subsequently. The acquisition of a greater in place of a lesser good, or of a lesser in place of a greater evil, is
also good, for in proportion as the greater exceeds the lesser there is acquisition of good or removal of evil.
The virtues, too, must be something good; for it is by possessing these that we are in a good condition, and
they tend to produce good works and good actions. They must be severally named and described elsewhere.
Pleasure, again, must be a good thing, since it is the nature of all animals to aim at it. Consequently both
pleasant and beautiful things must be good things, since the former are productive of pleasure, while of the
beautiful things some are pleasant and some desirable in and for themselves.

The following is a more detailed list of things that must be good. Happiness, as being desirable in itself and
sufficient by itself, and as being that for whose sake we choose many other things. Also justice, courage,
temperance, magnanimity, magnificence, and all such qualities, as being excellences of the soul. Further,
health, beauty, and the like, as being bodily excellences and productive of many other good things: for
instance, health is productive both of pleasure and of life, and therefore is thought the greatest of goods, since
these two things which it causes, pleasure and life, are two of the things most highly prized by ordinary
people. Wealth, again: for it is the excellence of possession, and also productive of many other good things.
Friends and friendship: for a friend is desirable in himself and also productive of many other good things. So,
too, honour and reputation, as being pleasant, and productive of many other good things, and usually
accompanied by the presence of the good things that cause them to be bestowed. The faculty of speech and
action; since all such qualities are productive of what is good. Further-good parts, strong memory,
receptiveness, quickness of intuition, and the like, for all such faculties are productive of what is good.
Similarly, all the sciences and arts. And life: since, even if no other good were the result of life, it is desirable
in itself. And justice, as the cause of good to the community.

The above are pretty well all the things admittedly good. In dealing with things whose goodness is disputed,
we may argue in the following ways:-That is good of which the contrary is bad. That is good the contrary of

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which is to the advantage of our enemies; for example, if it is to the particular advantage of our enemies that
we should be cowards, clearly courage is of particular value to our countrymen. And generally, the contrary
of that which our enemies desire, or of that at which they rejoice, is evidently valuable. Hence the passage
beginning:

Surely would Priam exult.

This principle usually holds good, but not always, since it may well be that our interest is sometimes the same
as that of our enemies. Hence it is said that 'evils draw men together'; that is, when the same thing is hurtful to
them both.

Further: that which is not in excess is good, and that which is greater than it should be is bad. That also is
good on which much labour or money has been spent; the mere fact of this makes it seem good, and such a
good is assumed to be an end- an end reached through a long chain of means; and any end is a good. Hence
the lines beginning:

And for Priam (and Troy-town's folk) should
they leave behind them a boast;

and

Oh, it were shame

To have tarried so long and return empty-handed
as erst we came;

and there is also the proverb about 'breaking the pitcher at the door'.

That which most people seek after, and which is obviously an object of contention, is also a good; for, as has
been shown, that is good which is sought after by everybody, and 'most people' is taken to be equivalent to
'everybody'. That which is praised is good, since no one praises what is not good. So, again, that which is
praised by our enemies [or by the worthless] for when even those who have a grievance think a thing good, it
is at once felt that every one must agree with them; our enemies can admit the fact only because it is evident,
just as those must be worthless whom their friends censure and their enemies do not. (For this reason the
Corinthians conceived themselves to be insulted by Simonides when he wrote:

Against the Corinthians hath Ilium no complaint.)

Again, that is good which has been distinguished by the favour of a discerning or virtuous man or woman, as
Odysseus was distinguished by Athena, Helen by Theseus, Paris by the goddesses, and Achilles by Homer.
And, generally speaking, all things are good which men deliberately choose to do; this will include the things
already mentioned, and also whatever may be bad for their enemies or good for their friends, and at the same
time practicable. Things are 'practicable' in two senses: (1) it is possible to do them, (2) it is easy to do them.
Things are done 'easily' when they are done either without pain or quickly: the 'difficulty' of an act lies either
in its painfulness or in the long time it takes. Again, a thing is good if it is as men wish; and they wish to have
either no evil at an or at least a balance of good over evil. This last will happen where the penalty is either
imperceptible or slight. Good, too, are things that are a man's very own, possessed by no one else,
exceptional; for this increases the credit of having them. So are things which befit the possessors, such as
whatever is appropriate to their birth or capacity, and whatever they feel they ought to have but lack-such

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things may indeed be trifling, but none the less men deliberately make them the goal of their action. And
things easily effected; for these are practicable (in the sense of being easy); such things are those in which
every one, or most people, or one's equals, or one's inferiors have succeeded. Good also are the things by
which we shall gratify our friends or annoy our enemies; and the things chosen by those whom we admire:
and the things for which we are fitted by nature or experience, since we think we shall succeed more easily in
these: and those in which no worthless man can succeed, for such things bring greater praise: and those which
we do in fact desire, for what we desire is taken to be not only pleasant but also better. Further, a man of a
given disposition makes chiefly for the corresponding things: lovers of victory make for victory, lovers of
honour for honour, money-loving men for money, and so with the rest. These, then, are the sources from
which we must derive our means of persuasion about Good and Utility.

Since, however, it often happens that people agree that two things are both useful but do not agree about
which is the more so, the next step will be to treat of relative goodness and relative utility.

A thing which surpasses another may be regarded as being that other thing plus something more, and that
other thing which is surpassed as being what is contained in the first thing. Now to call a thing 'greater' or
'more' always implies a comparison of it with one that is 'smaller' or 'less', while 'great' and 'small', 'much' and
'little', are terms used in comparison with normal magnitude. The 'great' is that which surpasses the normal,
the 'small' is that which is surpassed by the normal; and so with 'many' and 'few'.

Now we are applying the term 'good' to what is desirable for its own sake and not for the sake of something
else; to that at which all things aim; to what they would choose if they could acquire understanding and
practical wisdom; and to that which tends to produce or preserve such goods, or is always accompanied by
them. Moreover, that for the sake of which things are done is the end (an end being that for the sake of which
all else is done), and for each individual that thing is a good which fulfils these conditions in regard to
himself. It follows, then, that a greater number of goods is a greater good than one or than a smaller number,
if that one or that smaller number is included in the count; for then the larger number surpasses the smaller,
and the smaller quantity is surpassed as being contained in the larger.

Again, if the largest member of one class surpasses the largest member of another, then the one class
surpasses the other; and if one class surpasses another, then the largest member of the one surpasses the
largest member of the other. Thus, if the tallest man is taller than the tallest woman, then men in general are
taller than women. Conversely, if men in general are taller than women, then the tallest man is taller than the
tallest woman. For the superiority of class over class is proportionate to the superiority possessed by their
largest specimens. Again, where one good is always accompanied by another, but does not always
accompany it, it is greater than the other, for the use of the second thing is implied in the use of the first. A
thing may be accompanied by another in three ways, either simultaneously, subsequently, or potentially. Life
accompanies health simultaneously (but not health life), knowledge accompanies the act of learning
subsequently, cheating accompanies sacrilege potentially, since a man who has committed sacrilege is always
capable of cheating. Again, when two things each surpass a third, that which does so by the greater amount is
the greater of the two; for it must surpass the greater as well as the less of the other two. A thing productive
of a greater good than another is productive of is itself a greater good than that other. For this conception of
'productive of a greater' has been implied in our argument. Likewise, that which is produced by a greater
good is itself a greater good; thus, if what is wholesome is more desirable and a greater good than what gives
pleasure, health too must be a greater good than pleasure. Again, a thing which is desirable in itself is a
greater good than a thing which is not desirable in itself, as for example bodily strength than what is
wholesome, since the latter is not pursued for its own sake, whereas the former is; and this was our definition
of the good. Again, if one of two things is an end, and the other is not, the former is the greater good, as being
chosen for its own sake and not for the sake of something else; as, for example, exercise is chosen for the
sake of physical well-being. And of two things that which stands less in need of the other, or of other things,
is the greater good, since it is more self-sufficing. (That which stands 'less' in need of others is that which

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needs either fewer or easier things.) So when one thing does not exist or cannot come into existence without a
second, while the second can exist without the first, the second is the better. That which does not need
something else is more self-sufficing than that which does, and presents itself as a greater good for that
reason. Again, that which is a beginning of other things is a greater good than that which is not, and that
which is a cause is a greater good than that which is not; the reason being the same in each case, namely that
without a cause and a beginning nothing can exist or come into existence. Again, where there are two sets of
consequences arising from two different beginnings or causes, the consequences of the more important
beginning or cause are themselves the more important; and conversely, that beginning or cause is itself the
more important which has the more important consequences. Now it is plain, from all that has been said, that
one thing may be shown to be more important than another from two opposite points of view: it may appear
the more important (1) because it is a beginning and the other thing is not, and also (2) because it is not a
beginning and the other thing is-on the ground that the end is more important and is not a beginning. So
Leodamas, when accusing Callistratus, said that the man who prompted the deed was more guilty than the
doer, since it would not have been done if he had not planned it. On the other hand, when accusing Chabrias
he said that the doer was worse than the prompter, since there would have been no deed without some one to
do it; men, said he, plot a thing only in order to carry it out.

Further, what is rare is a greater good than what is plentiful. Thus, gold is a better thing than iron, though less
useful: it is harder to get, and therefore better worth getting. Reversely, it may be argued that the plentiful is a
better thing than the rare, because we can make more use of it. For what is often useful surpasses what is
seldom useful, whence the saying:

The best of things is water.

More generally: the hard thing is better than the easy, because it is rarer: and reversely, the easy thing is
better than the hard, for it is as we wish it to be. That is the greater good whose contrary is the greater evil,
and whose loss affects us more. Positive goodness and badness are more important than the mere absence of
goodness and badness: for positive goodness and badness are ends, which the mere absence of them cannot
be. Further, in proportion as the functions of things are noble or base, the things themselves are good or bad:
conversely, in proportion as the things themselves are good or bad, their functions also are good or bad; for
the nature of results corresponds with that of their causes and beginnings, and conversely the nature of causes
and beginnings corresponds with that of their results. Moreover, those things are greater goods, superiority in
which is more desirable or more honourable. Thus, keenness of sight is more desirable than keenness of
smell, sight generally being more desirable than smell generally; and similarly, unusually great love of
friends being more honourable than unusually great love of money, ordinary love of friends is more
honourable than ordinary love of money. Conversely, if one of two normal things is better or nobler than the
other, an unusual degree of that thing is better or nobler than an unusual degree of the other. Again, one thing
is more honourable or better than another if it is more honourable or better to desire it; the importance of the
object of a given instinct corresponds to the importance of the instinct itself; and for the same reason, if one
thing is more honourable or better than another, it is more honourable and better to desire it. Again, if one
science is more honourable and valuable than another, the activity with which it deals is also more
honourable and valuable; as is the science, so is the reality that is its object, each science being authoritative
in its own sphere. So, also, the more valuable and honourable the object of a science, the more valuable and
honourable the science itself is-in consequence. Again, that which would be judged, or which has been
judged, a good thing, or a better thing than something else, by all or most people of understanding, or by the
majority of men, or by the ablest, must be so; either without qualification, or in so far as they use their
understanding to form their judgement. This is indeed a general principle, applicable to all other judgements
also; not only the goodness of things, but their essence, magnitude, and general nature are in fact just what
knowledge and understanding will declare them to be. Here the principle is applied to judgements of

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goodness, since one definition of 'good' was 'what beings that acquire understanding will choose in any given
case': from which it clearly follows that that thing is hetter which understanding declares to be so. That,
again, is a better thing which attaches to better men, either absolutely, or in virtue of their being better; as
courage is better than strength. And that is a greater good which would be chosen by a better man, either
absolutely, or in virtue of his being better: for instance, to suffer wrong rather than to do wrong, for that
would be the choice of the juster man. Again, the pleasanter of two things is the better, since all things pursue
pleasure, and things instinctively desire pleasurable sensation for its own sake; and these are two of the
characteristics by which the 'good' and the 'end' have been defined. One pleasure is greater than another if it is
more unmixed with pain, or more lasting. Again, the nobler thing is better than the less noble, since the noble
is either what is pleasant or what is desirable in itself. And those things also are greater goods which men
desire more earnestly to bring about for themselves or for their friends, whereas those things which they least
desire to bring about are greater evils. And those things which are more lasting are better than those which
are more fleeting, and the more secure than the less; the enjoyment of the lasting has the advantage of being
longer, and that of the secure has the advantage of suiting our wishes, being there for us whenever we like.
Further, in accordance with the rule of co-ordinate terms and inflexions of the same stem, what is true of one
such related word is true of all. Thus if the action qualified by the term 'brave' is more noble and desirable
than the action qualified by the term 'temperate', then 'bravery' is more desirable than 'temperance' and 'being
brave' than 'being temperate'. That, again, which is chosen by all is a greater good than that which is not, and
that chosen by the majority than that chosen by the minority. For that which all desire is good, as we have
said;' and so, the more a thing is desired, the better it is. Further, that is the better thing which is considered so
by competitors or enemies, or, again, by authorized judges or those whom they select to represent them. In
the first two cases the decision is virtually that of every one, in the last two that of authorities and experts.
And sometimes it may be argued that what all share is the better thing, since it is a dishonour not to share in
it; at other times, that what none or few share is better, since it is rarer. The more praiseworthy things are, the
nobler and therefore the better they are. So with the things that earn greater honours than others-honour is, as
it were, a measure of value; and the things whose absence involves comparatively heavy penalties; and the
things that are better than others admitted or believed to be good. Moreover, things look better merely by
being divided into their parts, since they then seem to surpass a greater number of things than before. Hence
Homer says that Meleager was roused to battle by the thought of

All horrors that light on a folk whose city

is ta'en of their foes,
When they slaughter the men, when the burg is

wasted with ravening flame,
When strangers are haling young children to thraldom,

(fair women to shame.)

The same effect is produced by piling up facts in a climax after the manner of Epicharmus. The reason is
partly the same as in the case of division (for combination too makes the impression of great superiority), and
partly that the original thing appears to be the cause and origin of important results. And since a thing is
better when it is harder or rarer than other things, its superiority may be due to seasons, ages, places, times, or
one's natural powers. When a man accomplishes something beyond his natural power, or beyond his years, or
beyond the measure of people like him, or in a special way, or at a special place or time, his deed will have a
high degree of nobleness, goodness, and justice, or of their opposites. Hence the epigram on the victor at the
Olympic games:

In time past, hearing a Yoke on my shoulders,

of wood unshaven,
I carried my loads of fish from, Argos to Tegea town.

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So Iphicrates used to extol himself by describing the low estate from which he had risen. Again, what is
natural is better than what is acquired, since it is harder to come by. Hence the words of Homer:

I have learnt from none but mysell.

And the best part of a good thing is particularly good; as when Pericles in his funeral oration said that the
country's loss of its young men in battle was 'as if the spring were taken out of the year'. So with those things
which are of service when the need is pressing; for example, in old age and times of sickness. And of two
things that which leads more directly to the end in view is the better. So too is that which is better for people
generally as well as for a particular individual. Again, what can be got is better than what cannot, for it is
good in a given case and the other thing is not. And what is at the end of life is better than what is not, since
those things are ends in a greater degree which are nearer the end. What aims at reality is better than what
aims at appearance. We may define what aims at appearance as what a man will not choose if nobody is to
know of his having it. This would seem to show that to receive benefits is more desirable than to confer them,
since a man will choose the former even if nobody is to know of it, but it is not the general view that he will
choose the latter if nobody knows of it. What a man wants to be is better than what a man wants to seem, for
in aiming at that he is aiming more at reality. Hence men say that justice is of small value, since it is more
desirable to seem just than to be just, whereas with health it is not so. That is better than other things which is
more useful than they are for a number of different purposes; for example, that which promotes life, good
life, pleasure, and noble conduct. For this reason wealth and health are commonly thought to be of the highest
value, as possessing all these advantages. Again, that is better than other things which is accompanied both
with less pain and with actual pleasure; for here there is more than one advantage; and so here we have the
good of feeling pleasure and also the good of not feeling pain. And of two good things that is the better
whose addition to a third thing makes a better whole than the addition of the other to the same thing will
make. Again, those things which we are seen to possess are better than those which we are not seen to
possess, since the former have the air of reality. Hence wealth may be regarded as a greater good if its
existence is known to others. That which is dearly prized is better than what is not-the sort of thing that some
people have only one of, though others have more like it. Accordingly, blinding a one-eyed man inflicts
worse injury than half-blinding a man with two eyes; for the one-eyed man has been robbed of what he
dearly prized.

The grounds on which we must base our arguments, when we are speaking for or against a proposal, have
now been set forth more or less completely.

The most important and effective qualification for success in persuading audiences and speaking well on
public affairs is to understand all the forms of government and to discriminate their respective customs,
institutions, and interests. For all men are persuaded by considerations of their interest, and their interest lies
in the maintenance of the established order. Further, it rests with the supreme authority to give authoritative
decisions, and this varies with each form of government; there are as many different supreme authorities as
there are different forms of government. The forms of government are four-democracy, oligarchy,
aristocracy, monarchy. The supreme right to judge and decide always rests, therefore, with either a part or the
whole of one or other of these governing powers.

A Democracy is a form of government under which the citizens distribute the offices of state among
themselves by lot, whereas under oligarchy there is a property qualification, under aristocracy one of
education. By education I mean that education which is laid down by the law; for it is those who have been
loyal to the national institutions that hold office under an aristocracy. These are bound to be looked upon as
'the best men', and it is from this fact that this form of government has derived its name ('the rule of the best').
Monarchy, as the word implies, is the constitution a in which one man has authority over all. There are two

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forms of monarchy: kingship, which is limited by prescribed conditions, and 'tyranny', which is not limited by
anything.

We must also notice the ends which the various forms of government pursue, since people choose in practice
such actions as will lead to the realization of their ends. The end of democracy is freedom; of oligarchy,
wealth; of aristocracy, the maintenance of education and national institutions; of tyranny, the protection of the
tyrant. It is clear, then, that we must distinguish those particular customs, institutions, and interests which
tend to realize the ideal of each constitution, since men choose their means with reference to their ends. But
rhetorical persuasion is effected not only by demonstrative but by ethical argument; it helps a speaker to
convince us, if we believe that he has certain qualities himself, namely, goodness, or goodwill towards us, or
both together. Similarly, we should know the moral qualities characteristic of each form of government, for
the special moral character of each is bound to provide us with our most effective means of persuasion in
dealing with it. We shall learn the qualities of governments in the same way as we learn the qualities of
individuals, since they are revealed in their deliberate acts of choice; and these are determined by the end that
inspires them.

We have now considered the objects, immediate or distant, at which we are to aim when urging any proposal,
and the grounds on which we are to base our arguments in favour of its utility. We have also briefly
considered the means and methods by which we shall gain a good knowledge of the moral qualities and
institutions peculiar to the various forms of government-only, however, to the extent demanded by the
present occasion; a detailed account of the subject has been given in the Politics.

We have now to consider Virtue and Vice, the Noble and the Base, since these are the objects of praise and
blame. In doing so, we shall at the same time be finding out how to make our hearers take the required view
of our own characters-our second method of persuasion. The ways in which to make them trust the goodness
of other people are also the ways in which to make them trust our own. Praise, again, may be serious or
frivolous; nor is it always of a human or divine being but often of inanimate things, or of the humblest of the
lower animals. Here too we must know on what grounds to argue, and must, therefore, now discuss the
subject, though by way of illustration only.

The Noble is that which is both desirable for its own sake and also worthy of praise; or that which is both
good and also pleasant because good. If this is a true definition of the Noble, it follows that virtue must be
noble, since it is both a good thing and also praiseworthy. Virtue is, according to the usual view, a faculty of
providing and preserving good things; or a faculty of conferring many great benefits, and benefits of all kinds
on all occasions. The forms of Virtue are justice, courage, temperance, magnificence, magnanimity,
liberality, gentleness, prudence, wisdom. If virtue is a faculty of beneficence, the highest kinds of it must be
those which are most useful to others, and for this reason men honour most the just and the courageous, since
courage is useful to others in war, justice both in war and in peace. Next comes liberality; liberal people let
their money go instead of fighting for it, whereas other people care more for money than for anything else.
Justice is the virtue through which everybody enjoys his own possessions in accordance with the law; its
opposite is injustice, through which men enjoy the possessions of others in defiance of the law. Courage is
the virtue that disposes men to do noble deeds in situations of danger, in accordance with the law and in
obedience to its commands; cowardice is the opposite. Temperance is the virtue that disposes us to obey the
law where physical pleasures are concerned; incontinence is the opposite. Liberality disposes us to spend
money for others' good; illiberality is the opposite. Magnanimity is the virtue that disposes us to do good to
others on a large scale; [its opposite is meanness of spirit]. Magnificence is a virtue productive of greatness in
matters involving the spending of money. The opposites of these two are smallness of spirit and meanness
respectively. Prudence is that virtue of the understanding which enables men to come to wise decisions about
the relation to happiness of the goods and evils that have been previously mentioned.

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The above is a sufficient account, for our present purpose, of virtue and vice in general, and of their various
forms. As to further aspects of the subject, it is not difficult to discern the facts; it is evident that things
productive of virtue are noble, as tending towards virtue; and also the effects of virtue, that is, the signs of its
presence and the acts to which it leads. And since the signs of virtue, and such acts as it is the mark of a
virtuous man to do or have done to him, are noble, it follows that all deeds or signs of courage, and
everything done courageously, must be noble things; and so with what is just and actions done justly. (Not,
however, actions justly done to us; here justice is unlike the other virtues; justly' does not always mean
'nobly'; when a man is punished, it is more shameful that this should be justly than unjustly done to him). The
same is true of the other virtues. Again, those actions are noble for which the reward is simply honour, or
honour more than money. So are those in which a man aims at something desirable for some one else's sake;
actions good absolutely, such as those a man does for his country without thinking of himself; actions good in
their own nature; actions that are not good simply for the individual, since individual interests are selfish.
Noble also are those actions whose advantage may be enjoyed after death, as opposed to those whose
advantage is enjoyed during one's lifetime: for the latter are more likely to be for one's own sake only. Also,
all actions done for the sake of others, since less than other actions are done for one's own sake; and all
successes which benefit others and not oneself; and services done to one's benefactors, for this is just; and
good deeds generally, since they are not directed to one's own profit. And the opposites of those things of
which men feel ashamed, for men are ashamed of saying, doing, or intending to do shameful things. So when
Alcacus said

Something I fain would say to thee,
Only shame restraineth me,

Sappho wrote

If for things good and noble thou wert yearning,
If to speak baseness were thy tongue not burning,
No load of shame would on thine eyelids weigh;
What thou with honour wishest thou wouldst say.

Those things, also, are noble for which men strive anxiously, without feeling fear; for they feel thus about the
good things which lead to fair fame. Again, one quality or action is nobler than another if it is that of a
naturally finer being: thus a man's will be nobler than a woman's. And those qualities are noble which give
more pleasure to other people than to their possessors; hence the nobleness of justice and just actions. It is
noble to avenge oneself on one's enemies and not to come to terms with them; for requital is just, and the just
is noble; and not to surrender is a sign of courage. Victory, too, and honour belong to the class of noble
things, since they are desirable even when they yield no fruits, and they prove our superiority in good
qualities. Things that deserve to be remembered are noble, and the more they deserve this, the nobler they
are. So are the things that continue even after death; those which are always attended by honour; those which
are exceptional; and those which are possessed by one person alone-these last are more readily remembered
than others. So again are possessions that bring no profit, since they are more fitting than others for a
gentleman. So are the distinctive qualities of a particular people, and the symbols of what it specially
admires, like long hair in Sparta, where this is a mark of a free man, as it is not easy to perform any menial
task when one's hair is long. Again, it is noble not to practise any sordid craft, since it is the mark of a free
man not to live at another's beck and call. We are also to assume when we wish either to praise a man or
blame him that qualities closely allied to those which he actually has are identical with them; for instance,
that the cautious man is cold-blooded and treacherous, and that the stupid man is an honest fellow or the
thick-skinned man a good-tempered one. We can always idealize any given man by drawing on the virtues

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akin to his actual qualities; thus we may say that the passionate and excitable man is 'outspoken'; or that the
arrogant man is 'superb' or 'impressive'. Those who run to extremes will be said to possess the corresponding
good qualities; rashness will be called courage, and extravagance generosity. That will be what most people
think; and at the same time this method enables an advocate to draw a misleading inference from the motive,
arguing that if a man runs into danger needlessly, much more will he do so in a noble cause; and if a man is
open-handed to any one and every one, he will be so to his friends also, since it is the extreme form of
goodness to be good to everybody.

We must also take into account the nature of our particular audience when making a speech of praise; for, as
Socrates used to say, 'it is not difficult to praise the Athenians to an Athenian audience.' If the audience
esteems a given quality, we must say that our hero has that quality, no matter whether we are addressing
Scythians or Spartans or philosophers. Everything, in fact, that is esteemed we are to represent as noble. After
all, people regard the two things as much the same.

All actions are noble that are appropriate to the man who does them: if, for instance, they are worthy of his
ancestors or of his own past career. For it makes for happiness, and is a noble thing, that he should add to the
honour he already has. Even inappropriate actions are noble if they are better and nobler than the appropriate
ones would be; for instance, if one who was just an average person when all went well becomes a hero in
adversity, or if he becomes better and easier to get on with the higher he rises. Compare the saying of
lphicrates, Think what I was and what I am'; and the epigram on the victor at the Olympic games,

In time past, bearing a yoke on my shoulders,
of wood unshaven,

and the encomium of Simonides,

A woman whose father, whose husband, whose
brethren were princes all.

Since we praise a man for what he has actually done, and fine actions are distinguished from others by being
intentionally good, we must try to prove that our hero's noble acts are intentional. This is all the easier if we
can make out that he has often acted so before, and therefore we must assert coincidences and accidents to
have been intended. Produce a number of good actions, all of the same kind, and people will think that they
must have been intended, and that they prove the good qualities of the man who did them.

Praise is the expression in words of the eminence of a man's good qualities, and therefore we must display his
actions as the product of such qualities. Encomium refers to what he has actually done; the mention of
accessories, such as good birth and education, merely helps to make our story credible-good fathers are
likely to have good sons, and good training is likely to produce good character. Hence it is only when a man
has already done something that we bestow encomiums upon him. Yet the actual deeds are evidence of the
doer's character: even if a man has not actually done a given good thing, we shall bestow praise on him, if we
are sure that he is the sort of man who would do it. To call any one blest is, it may be added, the same thing
as to call him happy; but these are not the same thing as to bestow praise and encomium upon him; the two
latter are a part of 'calling happy', just as goodness is a part of happiness.

To praise a man is in one respect akin to urging a course of action. The suggestions which would be made in
the latter case become encomiums when differently expressed. When we know what action or character is
required, then, in order to express these facts as suggestions for action, we have to change and reverse our

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form of words. Thus the statement 'A man should be proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he
owes to himself, if put like this, amounts to a suggestion; to make it into praise we must put it thus, 'Since he
is proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he owes to himself.' Consequently, whenever you want to
praise any one, think what you would urge people to do; and when you want to urge the doing of anything,
think what you would praise a man for having done. Since suggestion may or may not forbid an action, the
praise into which we convert it must have one or other of two opposite forms of expression accordingly.

There are, also, many useful ways of heightening the effect of praise. We must, for instance, point out that a
man is the only one, or the first, or almost the only one who has done something, or that he has done it better
than any one else; all these distinctions are honourable. And we must, further, make much of the particular
season and occasion of an action, arguing that we could hardly have looked for it just then. If a man has often
achieved the same success, we must mention this; that is a strong point; he himself, and not luck, will then be
given the credit. So, too, if it is on his account that observances have been devised and instituted to encourage
or honour such achievements as his own: thus we may praise Hippolochus because the first encomium ever
made was for him, or Harmodius and Aristogeiton because their statues were the first to be put up in the
market-place. And we may censure bad men for the opposite reason.

Again, if you cannot find enough to say of a man himself, you may pit him against others, which is what
Isocrates used to do owing to his want of familiarity with forensic pleading. The comparison should be with
famous men; that will strengthen your case; it is a noble thing to surpass men who are themselves great. It is
only natural that methods of 'heightening the effect' should be attached particularly to speeches of praise; they
aim at proving superiority over others, and any such superiority is a form of nobleness. Hence if you cannot
compare your hero with famous men, you should at least compare him with other people generally, since any
superiority is held to reveal excellence. And, in general, of the lines of argument which are common to all
speeches, this 'heightening of effect' is most suitable for declamations, where we take our hero's actions as
admitted facts, and our business is simply to invest these with dignity and nobility. 'Examples' are most
suitable to deliberative speeches; for we judge of future events by divination from past events. Enthymemes
are most suitable to forensic speeches; it is our doubts about past events that most admit of arguments
showing why a thing must have happened or proving that it did happen.

The above are the general lines on which all, or nearly all, speeches of praise or blame are constructed. We
have seen the sort of thing we must bear in mind in making such speeches, and the materials out of which
encomiums and censures are made. No special treatment of censure and vituperation is needed. Knowing the
above facts, we know their contraries; and it is out of these that speeches of censure are made.

We have next to treat of Accusation and Defence, and to enumerate and describe the ingredients of the
syllogisms used therein. There are three things we must ascertain first, the nature and number of the
incentives to wrong-doing; second, the state of mind of wrongdoers; third, the kind of persons who are
wronged, and their condition. We will deal with these questions in order. But before that let us define the act
of 'wrong-doing'.

We may describe 'wrong-doing' as injury voluntarily inflicted contrary to law. 'Law' is either special or
general. By special law I mean that written law which regulates the life of a particular community; by general
law, all those unwritten principles which are supposed to be acknowledged everywhere. We do things
'voluntarily' when we do them consciously and without constraint. (Not all voluntary acts are deliberate, but
all deliberate acts are conscious-no one is ignorant of what he deliberately intends.) The causes of our
deliberately intending harmful and wicked acts contrary to law are (1) vice, (2) lack of self-control. For the
wrongs a man does to others will correspond to the bad quality or qualities that he himself possesses. Thus it
is the mean man who will wrong others about money, the profligate in matters of physical pleasure, the
effeminate in matters of comfort, and the coward where danger is concerned-his terror makes him abandon
those who are involved in the same danger. The ambitious man does wrong for sake of honour, the

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quick-tempered from anger, the lover of victory for the sake of victory, the embittered man for the sake of
revenge, the stupid man because he has misguided notions of right and wrong, the shameless man because he
does not mind what people think of him; and so with the rest-any wrong that any one does to others
corresponds to his particular faults of character.

However, this subject has already been cleared up in part in our discussion of the virtues and will be further
explained later when we treat of the emotions. We have now to consider the motives and states of mind of
wrongdoers, and to whom they do wrong.

Let us first decide what sort of things people are trying to get or avoid when they set about doing wrong to
others. For it is plain that the prosecutor must consider, out of all the aims that can ever induce us to do
wrong to our neighbours, how many, and which, affect his adversary; while the defendant must consider how
many, and which, do not affect him. Now every action of every person either is or is not due to that person
himself. Of those not due to himself some are due to chance, the others to necessity; of these latter, again,
some are due to compulsion, the others to nature. Consequently all actions that are not due to a man himself
are due either to chance or to nature or to compulsion. All actions that are due to a man himself and caused by
himself are due either to habit or to rational or irrational craving. Rational craving is a craving for good, i.e. a
wish-nobody wishes for anything unless he thinks it good. Irrational craving is twofold, viz. anger and
appetite.

Thus every action must be due to one or other of seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reasoning,
anger, or appetite. It is superfluous further to distinguish actions according to the doers' ages, moral states, or
the like; it is of course true that, for instance, young men do have hot tempers and strong appetites; still, it is
not through youth that they act accordingly, but through anger or appetite. Nor, again, is action due to wealth
or poverty; it is of course true that poor men, being short of money, do have an appetite for it, and that rich
men, being able to command needless pleasures, do have an appetite for such pleasures: but here, again, their
actions will be due not to wealth or poverty but to appetite. Similarly, with just men, and unjust men, and all
others who are said to act in accordance with their moral qualities, their actions will really be due to one of
the causes mentioned-either reasoning or emotion: due, indeed, sometimes to good dispositions and good
emotions, and sometimes to bad; but that good qualities should be followed by good emotions, and bad by
bad, is merely an accessory fact-it is no doubt true that the temperate man, for instance, because he is
temperate, is always and at once attended by healthy opinions and appetites in regard to pleasant things, and
the intemperate man by unhealthy ones. So we must ignore such distinctions. Still we must consider what
kinds of actions and of people usually go together; for while there are no definite kinds of action associated
with the fact that a man is fair or dark, tall or short, it does make a difference if he is young or old, just or
unjust. And, generally speaking, all those accessory qualities that cause distinctions of human character are
important: e.g. the sense of wealth or poverty, of being lucky or unlucky. This shall be dealt with later-let us
now deal first with the rest of the subject before us.

The things that happen by chance are all those whose cause cannot be determined, that have no purpose, and
that happen neither always nor usually nor in any fixed way. The definition of chance shows just what they
are. Those things happen by nature which have a fixed and internal cause; they take place uniformly, either
always or usually. There is no need to discuss in exact detail the things that happen contrary to nature, nor to
ask whether they happen in some sense naturally or from some other cause; it would seem that chance is at
least partly the cause of such events. Those things happen through compulsion which take place contrary to
the desire or reason of the doer, yet through his own agency. Acts are done from habit which men do because
they have often done them before. Actions are due to reasoning when, in view of any of the goods already
mentioned, they appear useful either as ends or as means to an end, and are performed for that reason: 'for
that reason,' since even licentious persons perform a certain number of useful actions, but because they are
pleasant and not because they are useful. To passion and anger are due all acts of revenge. Revenge and
punishment are different things. Punishment is inflicted for the sake of the person punished; revenge for that

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of the punisher, to satisfy his feelings. (What anger is will be made clear when we come to discuss the
emotions.) Appetite is the cause of all actions that appear pleasant. Habit, whether acquired by mere
familiarity or by effort, belongs to the class of pleasant things, for there are many actions not naturally
pleasant which men perform with pleasure, once they have become used to them. To sum up then, all actions
due to ourselves either are or seem to be either good or pleasant. Moreover, as all actions due to ourselves are
done voluntarily and actions not due to ourselves are done involuntarily, it follows that all voluntary actions
must either be or seem to be either good or pleasant; for I reckon among goods escape from evils or apparent
evils and the exchange of a greater evil for a less (since these things are in a sense positively desirable), and
likewise I count among pleasures escape from painful or apparently painful things and the exchange of a
greater pain for a less. We must ascertain, then, the number and nature of the things that are useful and
pleasant. The useful has been previously examined in connexion with political oratory; let us now proceed to
examine the pleasant. Our various definitions must be regarded as adequate, even if they are not exact,
provided they are clear.

We may lay it down that Pleasure is a movement, a movement by which the soul as a whole is consciously
brought into its normal state of being; and that Pain is the opposite. If this is what pleasure is, it is clear that
the pleasant is what tends to produce this condition, while that which tends to destroy it, or to cause the soul
to be brought into the opposite state, is painful. It must therefore be pleasant as a rule to move towards a
natural state of being, particularly when a natural process has achieved the complete recovery of that natural
state. Habits also are pleasant; for as soon as a thing has become habitual, it is virtually natural; habit is a
thing not unlike nature; what happens often is akin to what happens always, natural events happening always,
habitual events often. Again, that is pleasant which is not forced on us; for force is unnatural, and that is why
what is compulsory, painful, and it has been rightly said

All that is done on compulsion is bitterness unto the soul.

So all acts of concentration, strong effort, and strain are necessarily painful; they all involve compulsion and
force, unless we are accustomed to them, in which case it is custom that makes them pleasant. The opposites
to these are pleasant; and hence ease, freedom from toil, relaxation, amusement, rest, and sleep belong to the
class of pleasant things; for these are all free from any element of compulsion. Everything, too, is pleasant for
which we have the desire within us, since desire is the craving for pleasure. Of the desires some are irrational,
some associated with reason. By irrational I mean those which do not arise from any opinion held by the
mind. Of this kind are those known as 'natural'; for instance, those originating in the body, such as the desire
for nourishment, namely hunger and thirst, and a separate kind of desire answering to each kind of
nourishment; and the desires connected with taste and sex and sensations of touch in general; and those of
smell, hearing, and vision. Rational desires are those which we are induced to have; there are many things we
desire to see or get because we have been told of them and induced to believe them good. Further, pleasure is
the consciousness through the senses of a certain kind of emotion; but imagination is a feeble sort of
sensation, and there will always be in the mind of a man who remembers or expects something an image or
picture of what he remembers or expects. If this is so, it is clear that memory and expectation also, being
accompanied by sensation, may be accompanied by pleasure. It follows that anything pleasant is either
present and perceived, past and remembered, or future and expected, since we perceive present pleasures,
remember past ones, and expect future ones. Now the things that are pleasant to remember are not only those
that, when actually perceived as present, were pleasant, but also some things that were not, provided that their
results have subsequently proved noble and good. Hence the words

Sweet 'tis when rescued to remember pain,

and

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers
All that he wrought and endured.

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The reason of this is that it is pleasant even to be merely free from evil. The things it is pleasant to expect are
those that when present are felt to afford us either great delight or great but not painful benefit. And in
general, all the things that delight us when they are present also do so, as a rule, when we merely remember
or expect them. Hence even being angry is pleasant-Homer said of wrath that

Sweeter it is by far than the honeycomb dripping with sweetness- for no one grows angry with a person on
whom there is no prospect of taking vengeance, and we feel comparatively little anger, or none at all, with
those who are much our superiors in power. Some pleasant feeling is associated with most of our appetites we
are enjoying either the memory of a past pleasure or the expectation of a future one, just as persons down
with fever, during their attacks of thirst, enjoy remembering the drinks they have had and looking forward to
having more. So also a lover enjoys talking or writing about his loved one, or doing any little thing connected
with him; all these things recall him to memory and make him actually present to the eye of imagination.
Indeed, it is always the first sign of love, that besides enjoying some one's presence, we remember him when
he is gone, and feel pain as well as pleasure, because he is there no longer. Similarly there is an element of
pleasure even in mourning and lamentation for the departed. There is grief, indeed, at his loss, but pleasure in
remembering him and as it were seeing him before us in his deeds and in his life. We can well believe the
poet when he says

He spake, and in each man's heart he awakened
the love of lament.

Revenge, too, is pleasant; it is pleasant to get anything that it is painful to fail to get, and angry people suffer
extreme pain when they fail to get their revenge; but they enjoy the prospect of getting it. Victory also is
pleasant, and not merely to 'bad losers', but to every one; the winner sees himself in the light of a champion,
and everybody has a more or less keen appetite for being that. The pleasantness of victory implies of course
that combative sports and intellectual contests are pleasant (since in these it often happens that some one
wins) and also games like knuckle-bones, ball, dice, and draughts. And similarly with the serious sports;
some of these become pleasant when one is accustomed to them; while others are pleasant from the first, like
hunting with hounds, or indeed any kind of hunting. For where there is competition, there is victory. That is
why forensic pleading and debating contests are pleasant to those who are accustomed to them and have the
capacity for them. Honour and good repute are among the most pleasant things of all; they make a man see
himself in the character of a fine fellow, especially when he is credited with it by people whom he thinks
good judges. His neighbours are better judges than people at a distance; his associates and
fellow-countrymen better than strangers; his contemporaries better than posterity; sensible persons better
than foolish ones; a large number of people better than a small number: those of the former class, in each
case, are the more likely to be good judges of him. Honour and credit bestowed by those whom you think
much inferior to yourself-e.g. children or animals-you do not value: not for its own sake, anyhow: if you do
value it, it is for some other reason. Friends belong to the class of pleasant things; it is pleasant to love-if you
love wine, you certainly find it delightful: and it is pleasant to be loved, for this too makes a man see himself
as the possessor of goodness, a thing that every being that has a feeling for it desires to possess: to be loved
means to be valued for one's own personal qualities. To be admired is also pleasant, simply because of the
honour implied. Flattery and flatterers are pleasant: the flatterer is a man who, you believe, admires and likes
To do the same thing often is pleasant, since, as we saw, anything habitual is pleasant. And to change is also
pleasant: change means an approach to nature, whereas invariable repetition of anything causes the excessive
prolongation of a settled condition: therefore, says the poet,

Change is in all things sweet.

That is why what comes to us only at long intervals is pleasant, whether it be a person or a thing; for it is a
change from what we had before, and, besides, what comes only at long intervals has the value of rarity.
Learning things and wondering at things are also pleasant as a rule; wondering implies the desire of learning,

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so that the object of wonder is an object of desire; while in learning one is brought into one's natural
condition. Conferring and receiving benefits belong to the class of pleasant things; to receive a benefit is to
get what one desires; to confer a benefit implies both posses sion and superiority, both of which are things we
try to attain. It is because beneficent acts are pleasant that people find it pleasant to put their neighbours
straight again and to supply what they lack. Again, since learning and wondering are pleasant, it follows that
such things as acts of imitation must be pleasant-for instance, painting, sculpture, poetry and every product
of skilful imitation; this latter, even if the object imitated is not itself pleasant; for it is not the object itself
which here gives delight; the spectator draws inferences (That is a so-and-so') and thus learns something
fresh. Dramatic turns of fortune and hairbreadth escapes from perils are pleasant, because we feel all such
things are wonderful.

And since what is natural is pleasant, and things akin to each other seem natural to each other, therefore all
kindred and similar things are usually pleasant to each other; for instance, one man, horse, or young person is
pleasant to another man, horse, or young person. Hence the proverbs 'mate delights mate', 'like to like', 'beast
knows beast', jackdaw to jackdaw', and the rest of them. But since everything like and akin to oneself is
pleasant, and since every man is himself more like and akin to himself than any one else is, it follows that all
of us must be more or less fond of ourselves. For all this resemblance and kinship is present particularly in
the relation of an individual to himself. And because we are all fond of ourselves, it follows that what is our
own is pleasant to all of us, as for instance our own deeds and words. That is why we are usually fond of our
flatterers, [our lovers,] and honour; also of our children, for our children are our own work. It is also pleasant
to complete what is defective, for the whole thing thereupon becomes our own work. And since power over
others is very pleasant, it is pleasant to be thought wise, for practical wisdom secures us power over others.
(Scientific wisdom is also pleasant, because it is the knowledge of many wonderful things.) Again, since
most of us are ambitious, it must be pleasant to disparage our neighbours as well as to have power over them.
It is pleasant for a man to spend his time over what he feels he can do best; just as the poet says,

To that he bends himself,
To that each day allots most time, wherein
He is indeed the best part of himself.

Similarly, since amusement and every kind of relaxation and laughter too belong to the class of pleasant
things, it follows that ludicrous things are pleasant, whether men, words, or deeds. We have discussed the
ludicrous separately in the treatise on the Art of Poetry.

So much for the subject of pleasant things: by considering their opposites we can easily see what things are
unpleasant.

The above are the motives that make men do wrong to others; we are next to consider the states of mind in
which they do it, and the persons to whom they do it.

They must themselves suppose that the thing can be done, and done by them: either that they can do it
without being found out, or that if they are found out they can escape being punished, or that if they are
punished the disadvantage will be less than the gain for themselves or those they care for. The general subject
of apparent possibility and impossibility will be handled later on, since it is relevant not only to forensic but
to all kinds of speaking. But it may here be said that people think that they can themselves most easily do
wrong to others without being punished for it if they possess eloquence, or practical ability, or much legal
experience, or a large body of friends, or a great deal of money. Their confidence is greatest if they
personally possess the advantages mentioned: but even without them they are satisfied if they have friends or
supporters or partners who do possess them: they can thus both commit their crimes and escape being found

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out and punished for committing them. They are also safe, they think, if they are on good terms with their
victims or with the judges who try them. Their victims will in that case not be on their guard against being
wronged, and will make some arrangement with them instead of prosecuting; while their judges will favour
them because they like them, either letting them off altogether or imposing light sentences. They are not
likely to be found out if their appearance contradicts the charges that might be brought against them: for
instance, a weakling is unlikely to be charged with violent assault, or a poor and ugly man with adultery.
Public and open injuries are the easiest to do, because nobody could at all suppose them possible, and
therefore no precautions are taken. The same is true of crimes so great and terrible that no man living could
be suspected of them: here too no precautions are taken. For all men guard against ordinary offences, just as
they guard against ordinary diseases; but no one takes precautions against a disease that nobody has ever had.
You feel safe, too, if you have either no enemies or a great many; if you have none, you expect not to be
watched and therefore not to be detected; if you have a great many, you will be watched, and therefore people
will think you can never risk an attempt on them, and you can defend your innocence by pointing out that you
could never have taken such a risk. You may also trust to hide your crime by the way you do it or the place
you do it in, or by some convenient means of disposal.

You may feel that even if you are found out you can stave off a trial, or have it postponed, or corrupt your
judges: or that even if you are sentenced you can avoid paying damages, or can at least postpone doing so for
a long time: or that you are so badly off that you will have nothing to lose. You may feel that the gain to be
got by wrong-doing is great or certain or immediate, and that the penalty is small or uncertain or distant. It
may be that the advantage to be gained is greater than any possible retribution: as in the case of despotic
power, according to the popular view. You may consider your crimes as bringing you solid profit, while their
punishment is nothing more than being called bad names. Or the opposite argument may appeal to you: your
crimes may bring you some credit (thus you may, incidentally, be avenging your father or mother, like Zeno),
whereas the punishment may amount to a fine, or banishment, or something of that sort. People may be led
on to wrong others by either of these motives or feelings; but no man by both-they will affect people of quite
opposite characters. You may be encouraged by having often escaped detection or punishment already; or by
having often tried and failed; for in crime, as in war, there are men who will always refuse to give up the
struggle. You may get your pleasure on the spot and the pain later, or the gain on the spot and the loss later.
That is what appeals to weak-willed persons — and weakness of will may be shown with regard to all the
objects of desire. It may on the contrary appeal to you as it does appeal to self-controlled and sensible
people — that the pain and loss are immediate, while the pleasure and profit come later and last longer. You
may feel able to make it appear that your crime was due to chance, or to necessity, or to natural causes, or to
habit: in fact, to put it generally, as if you had failed to do right rather than actually done wrong. You may be
able to trust other people to judge you equitably. You may be stimulated by being in want: which may mean
that you want necessaries, as poor people do, or that you want luxuries, as rich people do. You may be
encouraged by having a particularly good reputation, because that will save you from being suspected: or by
having a particularly bad one, because nothing you are likely to do will make it worse.

The above, then, are the various states of mind in which a man sets about doing wrong to others. The kind of
people to whom he does wrong, and the ways in which he does it, must be considered next. The people to
whom he does it are those who have what he wants himself, whether this means necessities or luxuries and
materials for enjoyment. His victims may be far off or near at hand. If they are near, he gets his profit
quickly; if they are far off, vengeance is slow, as those think who plunder the Carthaginians. They may be
those who are trustful instead of being cautious and watchful, since all such people are easy to elude. Or those
who are too easy-going to have enough energy to prosecute an offender. Or sensitive people, who are not apt
to show fight over questions of money. Or those who have been wronged already by many people, and yet
have not prosecuted; such men must surely be the proverbial 'Mysian prey'. Or those who have either never or
often been wronged before; in neither case will they take precautions; if they have never been wronged they
think they never will, and if they have often been wronged they feel that surely it cannot happen again. Or
those whose character has been attacked in the past, or is exposed to attack in the future: they will be too

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much frightened of the judges to make up their minds to prosecute, nor can they win their case if they do: this
is true of those who are hated or unpopular. Another likely class of victim is those who their injurer can
pretend have, themselves or through their ancestors or friends, treated badly, or intended to treat badly, the
man himself, or his ancestors, or those he cares for; as the proverb says, 'wickedness needs but a pretext'. A
man may wrong his enemies, because that is pleasant: he may equally wrong his friends, because that is easy.
Then there are those who have no friends, and those who lack eloquence and practical capacity; these will
either not attempt to prosecute, or they will come to terms, or failing that they will lose their case. There are
those whom it does not pay to waste time in waiting for trial or damages, such as foreigners and small
farmers; they will settle for a trifle, and always be ready to leave off. Also those who have themselves
wronged others, either often, or in the same way as they are now being wronged themselves-for it is felt that
next to no wrong is done to people when it is the same wrong as they have often themselves done to others:
if, for instance, you assault a man who has been accustomed to behave with violence to others. So too with
those who have done wrong to others, or have meant to, or mean to, or are likely to do so; there is something
fine and pleasant in wronging such persons, it seems as though almost no wrong were done. Also those by
doing wrong to whom we shall be gratifying our friends, or those we admire or love, or our masters, or in
general the people by reference to whom we mould our lives. Also those whom we may wrong and yet be
sure of equitable treatment. Also those against whom we have had any grievance, or any previous differences
with them, as Callippus had when he behaved as he did to Dion: here too it seems as if almost no wrong were
being done. Also those who are on the point of being wronged by others if we fail to wrong them ourselves,
since here we feel we have no time left for thinking the matter over. So Aenesidemus is said to have sent the
'cottabus' prize to Gelon, who had just reduced a town to slavery, because Gelon had got there first and
forestalled his own attempt. Also those by wronging whom we shall be able to do many righteous acts; for we
feel that we can then easily cure the harm done. Thus Jason the Thessalian said that it is a duty to do some
unjust acts in order to be able to do many just ones.

Among the kinds of wrong done to others are those that are done universally, or at least commonly: one
expects to be forgiven for doing these. Also those that can easily be kept dark, as where things that can
rapidly be consumed like eatables are concerned, or things that can easily be changed in shape, colour, or
combination, or things that can easily be stowed away almost anywhere-portable objects that you can stow
away in small corners, or things so like others of which you have plenty already that nobody can tell the
difference. There are also wrongs of a kind that shame prevents the victim speaking about, such as outrages
done to the women in his household or to himself or to his sons. Also those for which you would be thought
very litigious to prosecute any one-trifling wrongs, or wrongs for which people are usually excused.

The above is a fairly complete account of the circumstances under which men do wrong to others, of the sort
of wrongs they do, of the sort of persons to whom they do them, and of their reasons for doing them.

It will now be well to make a complete classification of just and unjust actions. We may begin by observing
that they have been defined relatively to two kinds of law, and also relatively to two classes of persons. By
the two kinds of law I mean particular law and universal law. Particular law is that which each community
lays down and applies to its own members: this is partly written and partly unwritten. Universal law is the
law of Nature. For there really is, as every one to some extent divines, a natural justice and injustice that is
binding on all men, even on those who have no association or covenant with each other. It is this that
Sophocles' Antigone clearly means when she says that the burial of Polyneices was a just act in spite of the
prohibition: she means that it was just by nature.

Not of to-day or yesterday it is,

But lives eternal: none can date its birth.

And so Empedocles, when he bids us kill no living creature, says that doing this is not just for some people
while unjust for others,

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Nay, but, an all-embracing law, through the realms of the sky
Unbroken it stretcheth, and over the earth's immensity.

And as Alcidamas says in his Messeniac Oration....

The actions that we ought to do or not to do have also been divided into two classes as affecting either the
whole community or some one of its members. From this point of view we can perform just or unjust acts in
either of two ways-towards one definite person, or towards the community. The man who is guilty of
adultery or assault is doing wrong to some definite person; the man who avoids service in the army is doing
wrong to the community.

Thus the whole class of unjust actions may be divided into two classes, those affecting the community, and
those affecting one or more other persons. We will next, before going further, remind ourselves of what
'being wronged' means. Since it has already been settled that 'doing a wrong' must be intentional, 'being
wronged' must consist in having an injury done to you by some one who intends to do it. In order to be
wronged, a man must (1) suffer actual harm, (2) suffer it against his will. The various possible forms of harm
are clearly explained by our previous, separate discussion of goods and evils. We have also seen that a
voluntary action is one where the doer knows what he is doing. We now see that every accusation must be of
an action affecting either the community or some individual. The doer of the action must either understand
and intend the action, or not understand and intend it. In the former case, he must be acting either from
deliberate choice or from passion. (Anger will be discussed when we speak of the passions the motives for
crime and the state of mind of the criminal have already been discussed.) Now it often happens that a man
will admit an act, but will not admit the prosecutor's label for the act nor the facts which that label implies.
He will admit that he took a thing but not that he 'stole' it; that he struck some one first, but not that he
committed 'outrage'; that he had intercourse with a woman, but not that he committed 'adultery'; that he is
guilty of theft, but not that he is guilty of 'sacrilege', the object stolen not being consecrated; that he has
encroached, but not that he has 'encroached on State lands'; that he has been in communication with the
enemy, but not that he has been guilty of 'treason'. Here therefore we must be able to distinguish what is theft,
outrage, or adultery, from what is not, if we are to be able to make the justice of our case clear, no matter
whether our aim is to establish a man's guilt or to establish his innocence. Wherever such charges are brought
against a man, the question is whether he is or is not guilty of a criminal offence. It is deliberate purpose that
constitutes wickedness and criminal guilt, and such names as 'outrage' or 'theft' imply deliberate purpose as
well as the mere action. A blow does not always amount to 'outrage', but only if it is struck with some such
purpose as to insult the man struck or gratify the striker himself. Nor does taking a thing without the owner's
knowledge always amount to 'theft', but only if it is taken with the intention of keeping it and injuring the
owner. And as with these charges, so with all the others.

We saw that there are two kinds of right and wrong conduct towards others, one provided for by written
ordinances, the other by unwritten. We have now discussed the kind about which the laws have something to
say. The other kind has itself two varieties. First, there is the conduct that springs from exceptional goodness
or badness, and is visited accordingly with censure and loss of honour, or with praise and increase of honour
and decorations: for instance, gratitude to, or requital of, our benefactors, readiness to help our friends, and
the like. The second kind makes up for the defects of a community's written code of law. This is what we call
equity; people regard it as just; it is, in fact, the sort of justice which goes beyond the written law. Its
existence partly is and partly is not intended by legislators; not intended, where they have noticed no defect in
the law; intended, where find themselves unable to define things exactly, and are obliged to legislate as if that
held good always which in fact only holds good usually; or where it is not easy to be complete owing to the
endless possible cases presented, such as the kinds and sizes of weapons that may be used to inflict wounds-a
lifetime would be too short to make out a complete list of these. If, then, a precise statement is impossible and
yet legislation is necessary, the law must be expressed in wide terms; and so, if a man has no more than a
finger-ring on his hand when he lifts it to strike or actually strikes another man, he is guilty of a criminal act

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according to the unwritten words of the law; but he is innocent really, and it is equity that declares him to be
so. From this definition of equity it is plain what sort of actions, and what sort of persons, are equitable or the
reverse. Equity must be applied to forgivable actions; and it must make us distinguish between criminal acts
on the one hand, and errors of judgement, or misfortunes, on the other. (A 'misfortune' is an act, not due to
moral badness, that has unexpected results: an 'error of judgement' is an act, also not due to moral badness,
that has results that might have been expected: a 'criminal act' has results that might have been expected, but
is due to moral badness, for that is the source of all actions inspired by our appetites.) Equity bids us be
merciful to the weakness of human nature; to think less about the laws than about the man who framed them,
and less about what he said than about what he meant; not to consider the actions of the accused so much as
his intentions, nor this or that detail so much as the whole story; to ask not what a man is now but what he has
always or usually been. It bids us remember benefits rather than injuries, and benefits received rather than
benefits conferred; to be patient when we are wronged; to settle a dispute by negotiation and not by force; to
prefer arbitration to motion-for an arbitrator goes by the equity of a case, a judge by the strict law, and
arbitration was invented with the express purpose of securing full power for equity.

The above may be taken as a sufficient account of the nature of equity.

The worse of two acts of wrong done to others is that which is prompted by the worse disposition. Hence the
most trifling acts may be the worst ones; as when Callistratus charged Melanopus with having cheated the
temple-builders of three consecrated half-obols. The converse is true of just acts. This is because the greater
is here potentially contained in the less: there is no crime that a man who has stolen three consecrated
half-obols would shrink from committing. Sometimes, however, the worse act is reckoned not in this way
but by the greater harm that it does. Or it may be because no punishment for it is severe enough to be
adequate; or the harm done may be incurable-a difficult and even hopeless crime to defend; or the sufferer
may not be able to get his injurer legally punished, a fact that makes the harm incurable, since legal
punishment and chastisement are the proper cure. Or again, the man who has suffered wrong may have
inflicted some fearful punishment on himself; then the doer of the wrong ought injustice to receive a still
more fearful punishment. Thus Sophocles, when pleading for retribution to Euctemon, who had cut his own
throat because of the outrage done to him, said he would not fix a penalty less than the victim had fixed for
himself. Again, a man's crime is worse if he has been the first man, or the only man, or almost the only man,
to commit it: or if it is by no means the first time he has gone seriously wrong in the same way: or if his
crime has led to the thinking-out and invention of measures to prevent and punish similar crimes-thus in
Argos a penalty is inflicted on a man on whose account a law is passed, and also on those on whose account
the prison was built: or if a crime is specially brutal, or specially deliberate: or if the report of it awakes more
terror than pity. There are also such rhetorically effective ways of putting it as the following: That the
accused has disregarded and broken not one but many solemn obligations like oaths, promises, pledges, or
rights of intermarriage between states-here the crime is worse because it consists of many crimes; and that
the crime was committed in the very place where criminals are punished, as for example perjurers do-it is
argued that a man who will commit a crime in a law-court would commit it anywhere. Further, the worse
deed is that which involves the doer in special shame; that whereby a man wrongs his benefactors-for he
does more than one wrong, by not merely doing them harm but failing to do them good; that which breaks the
unwritten laws of justice-the better sort of man will be just without being forced to be so, and the written
laws depend on force while the unwritten ones do not. It may however be argued otherwise, that the crime is
worse which breaks the written laws: for the man who commits crimes for which terrible penalties are
provided will not hesitate over crimes for which no penalty is provided at all.-So much, then, for the
comparative badness of criminal actions.

There are also the so-called 'non-technical' means of persuasion; and we must now take a cursory view of
these, since they are specially characteristic of forensic oratory. They are five in number: laws, witnesses,
contracts, tortures, oaths.

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First, then, let us take laws and see how they are to be used in persuasion and dissuasion, in accusation and
defence. If the written law tells against our case, clearly we must appeal to the universal law, and insist on its
greater equity and justice. We must argue that the juror's oath 'I will give my verdict according to honest
opinion' means that one will not simply follow the letter of the written law. We must urge that the principles
of equity are permanent and changeless, and that the universal law does not change either, for it is the law of
nature, whereas written laws often do change. This is the bearing the lines in Sophocles' Antigone, where
Antigone pleads that in burying her brother she had broken Creon's law, but not the unwritten law:

Not of to-day or yesterday they are,

But live eternal: (none can date their birth.)

Not I would fear the wrath of any man

(And brave God's vengeance) for defying these.

We shall argue that justice indeed is true and profitable, but that sham justice is not, and that consequently the
written law is not, because it does not fulfil the true purpose of law. Or that justice is like silver, and must be
assayed by the judges, if the genuine is to be distinguished from the counterfeit. Or that the better a man is,
the more he will follow and abide by the unwritten law in preference to the written. Or perhaps that the law in
question contradicts some other highly-esteemed law, or even contradicts itself. Thus it may be that one law
will enact that all contracts must be held binding, while another forbids us ever to make illegal contracts. Or
if a law is ambiguous, we shall turn it about and consider which construction best fits the interests of justice
or utility, and then follow that way of looking at it. Or if, though the law still exists, the situation to meet
which it was passed exists no longer, we must do our best to prove this and to combat the law thereby. If
however the written law supports our case, we must urge that the oath 'to give my verdict according to my
honest opinion' not meant to make the judges give a verdict that is contrary to the law, but to save them from
the guilt of perjury if they misunderstand what the law really means. Or that no one chooses what is
absolutely good, but every one what is good for himself. Or that not to use the laws is as ahas to have no laws
at all. Or that, as in the other arts, it does not pay to try to be cleverer than the doctor: for less harm comes
from the doctor's mistakes than from the growing habit of disobeying authority. Or that trying to be cleverer
than the laws is just what is forbidden by those codes of law that are accounted best.-So far as the laws are
concerned, the above discussion is probably sufficient.

As to witnesses, they are of two kinds, the ancient and the recent; and these latter, again, either do or do not
share in the risks of the trial. By 'ancient' witnesses I mean the poets and all other notable persons whose
judgements are known to all. Thus the Athenians appealed to Homer as a witness about Salamis; and the men
of Tenedos not long ago appealed to Periander of Corinth in their dispute with the people of Sigeum; and
Cleophon supported his accusation of Critias by quoting the elegiac verse of Solon, maintaining that
discipline had long been slack in the family of Critias, or Solon would never have written,

Pray thee, bid the red-haired Critias do what
his father commands him.

These witnesses are concerned with past events. As to future events we shall also appeal to soothsayers: thus
Themistocles quoted the oracle about 'the wooden wall' as a reason for engaging the enemy's fleet. Further,
proverbs are, as has been said, one form of evidence. Thus if you are urging somebody not to make a friend
of an old man, you will appeal to the proverb,

Never show an old man kindness.

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Or if you are urging that he who has made away with fathers should also make away with their sons, quote,

Fool, who slayeth the father and leaveth his sons to avenge him. 'Recent' witnesses are well-known people
who have expressed their opinions about some disputed matter: such opinions will be useful support for
subsequent disputants on the same oints: thus Eubulus used in the law-courts against the reply Plato had
made to Archibius, 'It has become the regular custom in this country to admit that one is a scoundrel'. There
are also those witnesses who share the risk of punishment if their evidence is pronounced false. These are
valid witnesses to the fact that an action was or was not done, that something is or is not the case; they are not
valid witnesses to the quality of an action, to its being just or unjust, useful or harmful. On such questions of
quality the opinion of detached persons is highly trustworthy. Most trustworthy of all are the 'ancient'
witnesses, since they cannot be corrupted.

In dealing with the evidence of witnesses, the following are useful arguments. If you have no witnesses on
your side, you will argue that the judges must decide from what is probable; that this is meant by 'giving a
verdict in accordance with one's honest opinion'; that probabilities cannot be bribed to mislead the court; and
that probabilities are never convicted of perjury. If you have witnesses, and the other man has not, you will
argue that probabilities cannot be put on their trial, and that we could do without the evidence of witnesses
altogether if we need do no more than balance the pleas advanced on either side.

The evidence of witnesses may refer either to ourselves or to our opponent; and either to questions of fact or
to questions of personal character: so, clearly, we need never be at a loss for useful evidence. For if we have
no evidence of fact supporting our own case or telling against that of our opponent, at least we can always
find evidence to prove our own worth or our opponent's worthlessness. Other arguments about a witness-that
he is a friend or an enemy or neutral, or has a good, bad, or indifferent reputation, and any other such
distinctions-we must construct upon the same general lines as we use for the regular rhetorical proofs.

Concerning contracts argument can be so far employed as to increase or diminish their importance and their
credibility; we shall try to increase both if they tell in our favour, and to diminish both if they tell in favour of
our opponent. Now for confirming or upsetting the credibility of contracts the procedure is just the same as
for dealing with witnesses, for the credit to be attached to contracts depends upon the character of those who
have signed them or have the custody of them. The contract being once admitted genuine, we must insist on
its importance, if it supports our case. We may argue that a contract is a law, though of a special and limited
kind; and that, while contracts do not of course make the law binding, the law does make any lawful contract
binding, and that the law itself as a whole is a of contract, so that any one who disregards or repudiates any
contract is repudiating the law itself. Further, most business relations-those, namely, that are voluntary-are
regulated by contracts, and if these lose their binding force, human intercourse ceases to exist. We need not
go very deep to discover the other appropriate arguments of this kind. If, however, the contract tells against
us and for our opponents, in the first place those arguments are suitable which we can use to fight a law that
tells against us. We do not regard ourselves as bound to observe a bad law which it was a mistake ever to
pass: and it is ridiculous to suppose that we are bound to observe a bad and mistaken contract. Again, we may
argue that the duty of the judge as umpire is to decide what is just, and therefore he must ask where justice
lies, and not what this or that document means. And that it is impossible to pervert justice by fraud or by
force, since it is founded on nature, but a party to a contract may be the victim of either fraud or force.
Moreover, we must see if the contract contravenes either universal law or any written law of our own or
another country; and also if it contradicts any other previous or subsequent contract; arguing that the
subsequent is the binding contract, or else that the previous one was right and the subsequent one
fraudulent-whichever way suits us. Further, we must consider the question of utility, noting whether the
contract is against the interest of the judges or not; and so on-these arguments are as obvious as the others.

Examination by torture is one form of evidence, to which great weight is often attached because it is in a
sense compulsory. Here again it is not hard to point out the available grounds for magnifying its value, if it

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happens to tell in our favour, and arguing that it is the only form of evidence that is infallible; or, on the other
hand, for refuting it if it tells against us and for our opponent, when we may say what is true of torture of
every kind alike, that people under its compulsion tell lies quite as often as they tell the truth, sometimes
persistently refusing to tell the truth, sometimes recklessly making a false charge in order to be let off sooner.
We ought to be able to quote cases, familiar to the judges, in which this sort of thing has actually happened.
[We must say that evidence under torture is not trustworthy, the fact being that many men whether
thick-witted, tough-skinned, or stout of heart endure their ordeal nobly, while cowards and timid men are
full of boldness till they see the ordeal of these others: so that no trust can be placed in evidence under
torture.]

In regard to oaths, a fourfold division can be made. A man may either both offer and accept an oath, or
neither, or one without the other-that is, he may offer an oath but not accept one, or accept an oath but not
offer one. There is also the situation that arises when an oath has already been sworn either by himself or by
his opponent.

If you refuse to offer an oath, you may argue that men do not hesitate to perjure themselves; and that if your
opponent does swear, you lose your money, whereas, if he does not, you think the judges will decide against
him; and that the risk of an unfavourable verdict is prefer, able, since you trust the judges and do not trust
him.

If you refuse to accept an oath, you may argue that an oath is always paid for; that you would of course have
taken it if you had been a rascal, since if you are a rascal you had better make something by it, and you would
in that case have to swear in order to succeed. Thus your refusal, you argue, must be due to high principle,
not to fear of perjury: and you may aptly quote the saying of Xenophanes,

Tis not fair that he who fears not God
should challenge him who doth.

It is as if a strong man were to challenge a weakling to strike, or be struck by, him.

If you agree to accept an oath, you may argue that you trust yourself but not your opponent; and that (to
invert the remark of Xenophanes) the fair thing is for the impious man to offer the oath and for the pious man
to accept it; and that it would be monstrous if you yourself were unwilling to accept an oath in a case where
you demand that the judges should do so before giving their verdict. If you wish to offer an oath, you may
argue that piety disposes you to commit the issue to the gods; and that your opponent ought not to want other
judges than himself, since you leave the decision with him; and that it is outrageous for your opponents to
refuse to swear about this question, when they insist that others should do so.

Now that we see how we are to argue in each case separately, we see also how we are to argue when they
occur in pairs, namely, when you are willing to accept the oath but not to offer it; to offer it but not to accept
it; both to accept and to offer it; or to do neither. These are of course combinations of the cases already
mentioned, and so your arguments also must be combinations of the arguments already mentioned.

If you have already sworn an oath that contradicts your present one, you must argue that it is not perjury,
since perjury is a crime, and a crime must be a voluntary action, whereas actions due to the force or fraud of
others are involuntary. You must further reason from this that perjury depends on the intention and not on the
spoken words. But if it is your opponent who has already sworn an oath that contradicts his present one, you
must say that if he does not abide by his oaths he is the enemy of society, and that this is the reason why men
take an oath before administering the laws. 'My opponents insist that you, the judges, must abide by the oath
you have sworn, and yet they are not abiding by their own oaths.' And there are other arguments which may
be used to magnify the importance of the oath. [So much, then, for the 'non-technical' modes of persuasion.]

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Book II

WE have now considered the materials to be used in supporting or opposing a political measure, in
pronouncing eulogies or censures, and for prosecution and defence in the law courts. We have considered the
received opinions on which we may best base our arguments so as to convince our hearers-those opinions
with which our enthymemes deal, and out of which they are built, in each of the three kinds of oratory,
according to what may be called the special needs of each.

But since rhetoric exists to affect the giving of decisions-the hearers decide between one political speaker
and another, and a legal verdict is a decision-the orator must not only try to make the argument of his speech
demonstrative and worthy of belief; he must also make his own character look right and put his hearers, who
are to decide, into the right frame of mind. Particularly in political oratory, but also in lawsuits, it adds much
to an orator's influence that his own character should look right and that he should be thought to entertain the
right feelings towards his hearers; and also that his hearers themselves should be in just the right frame of
mind. That the orator's own character should look right is particularly important in political speaking: that the
audience should be in the right frame of mind, in lawsuits. When people are feeling friendly and placable,
they think one sort of thing; when they are feeling angry or hostile, they think either something totally
different or the same thing with a different intensity: when they feel friendly to the man who comes before
them for judgement, they regard him as having done little wrong, if any; when they feel hostile, they take the
opposite view. Again, if they are eager for, and have good hopes of, a thing that will be pleasant if it happens,
they think that it certainly will happen and be good for them: whereas if they are indifferent or annoyed, they
do not think so.

There are three things which inspire confidence in the orator's own character-the three, namely, that induce
us to believe a thing apart from any proof of it: good sense, good moral character, and goodwill. False
statements and bad advice are due to one or more of the following three causes. Men either form a false
opinion through want of good sense; or they form a true opinion, but because of their moral badness do not
say what they really think; or finally, they are both sensible and upright, but not well disposed to their
hearers, and may fail in consequence to recommend what they know to be the best course. These are the only
possible cases. It follows that any one who is thought to have all three of these good qualities will inspire
trust in his audience. The way to make ourselves thought to be sensible and morally good must be gathered
from the analysis of goodness already given: the way to establish your own goodness is the same as the way
to establish that of others. Good will and friendliness of disposition will form part of our discussion of the
emotions, to which we must now turn.

The Emotions are all those feelings that so change men as to affect their judgements, and that are also
attended by pain or pleasure. Such are anger, pity, fear and the like, with their opposites. We must arrange
what we have to say about each of them under three heads. Take, for instance, the emotion of anger: here we
must discover (1) what the state of mind of angry people is, (2) who the people are with whom they usually
get angry, and (3) on what grounds they get angry with them. It is not enough to know one or even two of
these points; unless we know all three, we shall be unable to arouse anger in any one. The same is true of the
other emotions. So just as earlier in this work we drew up a list of useful propositions for the orator, let us
now proceed in the same way to analyse the subject before us.

Anger may be defined as an impulse, accompanied by pain, to a conspicuous revenge for a conspicuous slight
directed without justification towards what concerns oneself or towards what concerns one's friends. If this is
a proper definition of anger, it must always be felt towards some particular individual, e.g. Cleon, and not
'man' in general. It must be felt because the other has done or intended to do something to him or one of his
friends. It must always be attended by a certain pleasure-that which arises from the expectation of revenge.
For since nobody aims at what he thinks he cannot attain, the angry man is aiming at what he can attain, and
the belief that you will attain your aim is pleasant. Hence it has been well said about wrath,

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Sweeter it is by far than the honeycomb

dripping with sweetness,
And spreads through the hearts of men.

It is also attended by a certain pleasure because the thoughts dwell upon the act of vengeance, and the images
then called up cause pleasure, like the images called up in dreams.

Now slighting is the actively entertained opinion of something as obviously of no importance. We think bad
things, as well as good ones, have serious importance; and we think the same of anything that tends to
produce such things, while those which have little or no such tendency we consider unimportant. There are
three kinds of slighting-contempt, spite, and insolence. (1) Contempt is one kind of slighting: you feel
contempt for what you consider unimportant, and it is just such things that you slight. (2) Spite is another
kind; it is a thwarting another man's wishes, not to get something yourself but to prevent his getting it. The
slight arises just from the fact that you do not aim at something for yourself: clearly you do not think that he
can do you harm, for then you would be afraid of him instead of slighting him, nor yet that he can do you any
good worth mentioning, for then you would be anxious to make friends with him. (3) Insolence is also a form
of slighting, since it consists in doing and saying things that cause shame to the victim, not in order that
anything may happen to yourself, or because anything has happened to yourself, but simply for the pleasure
involved. (Retaliation is not 'insolence', but vengeance.) The cause of the pleasure thus enjoyed by the
insolent man is that he thinks himself greatly superior to others when ill-treating them. That is why youths
and rich men are insolent; they think themselves superior when they show insolence. One sort of insolence is
to rob people of the honour due to them; you certainly slight them thus; for it is the unimportant, for good or
evil, that has no honour paid to it. So Achilles says in anger:

He hath taken my prize for himself
and hath done me dishonour,

and

Like an alien honoured by none,

meaning that this is why he is angry. A man expects to be specially respected by his inferiors in birth, in
capacity, in goodness, and generally in anything in which he is much their superior: as where money is
concerned a wealthy man looks for respect from a poor man; where speaking is concerned, the man with a
turn for oratory looks for respect from one who cannot speak; the ruler demands the respect of the ruled, and
the man who thinks he ought to be a ruler demands the respect of the man whom he thinks he ought to be
ruling. Hence it has been said

Great is the wrath of kings, whose father is Zeus almighty,

and

Yea, but his rancour abideth long afterward also,

their great resentment being due to their great superiority. Then again a man looks for respect from those who
he thinks owe him good treatment, and these are the people whom he has treated or is treating well, or means
or has meant to treat well, either himself, or through his friends, or through others at his request.

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It will be plain by now, from what has been said, (1) in what frame of mind, (2) with what persons, and (3) on
what grounds people grow angry. (1) The frame of mind is that of one in which any pain is being felt. In that
condition, a man is always aiming at something. Whether, then, another man opposes him either directly in
any way, as by preventing him from drinking when he is thirsty, or indirectly, the act appears to him just the
same; whether some one works against him, or fails to work with him, or otherwise vexes him while he is in
this mood, he is equally angry in all these cases. Hence people who are afflicted by sickness or poverty or
love or thirst or any other unsatisfied desires are prone to anger and easily roused: especially against those
who slight their present distress. Thus a sick man is angered by disregard of his illness, a poor man by
disregard of his poverty, a man aging war by disregard of the war he is waging, a lover by disregard of his
love, and so throughout, any other sort of slight being enough if special slights are wanting. Each man is
predisposed, by the emotion now controlling him, to his own particular anger. Further, we are angered if we
happen to be expecting a contrary result: for a quite unexpected evil is specially painful, just as the quite
unexpected fulfilment of our wishes is specially pleasant. Hence it is plain what seasons, times, conditions,
and periods of life tend to stir men easily to anger, and where and when this will happen; and it is plain that
the more we are under these conditions the more easily we are stirred.

These, then, are the frames of mind in which men are easily stirred to anger. The persons with whom we get
angry are those who laugh, mock, or jeer at us, for such conduct is insolent. Also those who inflict injuries
upon us that are marks of insolence. These injuries must be such as are neither retaliatory nor profitable to the
doers: for only then will they be felt to be due to insolence. Also those who speak ill of us, and show
contempt for us, in connexion with the things we ourselves most care about: thus those who are eager to win
fame as philosophers get angry with those who show contempt for their philosophy; those who pride
themselves upon their appearance get angry with those who show contempt for their appearance and so on in
other cases. We feel particularly angry on this account if we suspect that we are in fact, or that people think
we are, lacking completely or to any effective extent in the qualities in question. For when we are convinced
that we excel in the qualities for which we are jeered at, we can ignore the jeering. Again, we are angrier with
our friends than with other people, since we feel that our friends ought to treat us well and not badly. We are
angry with those who have usually treated us with honour or regard, if a change comes and they behave to us
otherwise: for we think that they feel contempt for us, or they would still be behaving as they did before. And
with those who do not return our kindnesses or fail to return them adequately, and with those who oppose us
though they are our inferiors: for all such persons seem to feel contempt for us; those who oppose us seem to
think us inferior to themselves, and those who do not return our kindnesses seem to think that those
kindnesses were conferred by inferiors. And we feel particularly angry with men of no account at all, if they
slight us. For, by our hypothesis, the anger caused by the slight is felt towards people who are not justified in
slighting us, and our inferiors are not thus justified. Again, we feel angry with friends if they do not speak
well of us or treat us well; and still more, if they do the contrary; or if they do not perceive our needs, which
is why Plexippus is angry with Meleager in Antiphon's play; for this want of perception shows that they are
slighting us-we do not fail to perceive the needs of those for whom we care. Again we are angry with those
who rejoice at our misfortunes or simply keep cheerful in the midst of our misfortunes, since this shows that
they either hate us or are slighting us. Also with those who are indifferent to the pain they give us: this is why
we get angry with bringers of bad news. And with those who listen to stories about us or keep on looking at
our weaknesses; this seems like either slighting us or hating us; for those who love us share in all our
distresses and it must distress any one to keep on looking at his own weaknesses. Further, with those who
slight us before five classes of people: namely, (1) our rivals, (2) those whom we admire, (3) those whom we
wish to admire us, (4) those for whom we feel reverence, (5) those who feel reverence for us: if any one
slights us before such persons, we feel particularly angry. Again, we feel angry with those who slight us in
connexion with what we are as honourable men bound to champion-our parents, children, wives, or subjects.
And with those who do not return a favour, since such a slight is unjustifiable. Also with those who reply
with humorous levity when we are speaking seriously, for such behaviour indicates contempt. And with those
who treat us less well than they treat everybody else; it is another mark of contempt that they should think we
do not deserve what every one else deserves. Forgetfulness, too, causes anger, as when our own names are

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forgotten, trifling as this may be; since forgetfulness is felt to be another sign that we are being slighted; it is
due to negligence, and to neglect us is to slight us.

The persons with whom we feel anger, the frame of mind in which we feel it, and the reasons why we feel it,
have now all been set forth. Clearly the orator will have to speak so as to bring his hearers into a frame of
mind that will dispose them to anger, and to represent his adversaries as open to such charges and possessed
of such qualities as do make people angry.

Since growing calm is the opposite of growing angry, and calmness the opposite of anger, we must ascertain
in what frames of mind men are calm, towards whom they feel calm, and by what means they are made so.
Growing calm may be defined as a settling down or quieting of anger. Now we get angry with those who
slight us; and since slighting is a voluntary act, it is plain that we feel calm towards those who do nothing of
the kind, or who do or seem to do it involuntarily. Also towards those who intended to do the opposite of
what they did do. Also towards those who treat themselves as they have treated us: since no one can be
supposed to slight himself. Also towards those who admit their fault and are sorry: since we accept their grief
at what they have done as satisfaction, and cease to be angry. The punishment of servants shows this: those
who contradict us and deny their offence we punish all the more, but we cease to be incensed against those
who agree that they deserved their punishment. The reason is that it is shameless to deny what is obvious, and
those who are shameless towards us slight us and show contempt for us: anyhow, we do not feel shame
before those of whom we are thoroughly contemptuous. Also we feel calm towards those who humble
themselves before us and do not gainsay us; we feel that they thus admit themselves our inferiors, and
inferiors feel fear, and nobody can slight any one so long as he feels afraid of him. That our anger ceases
towards those who humble themselves before us is shown even by dogs, who do not bite people when they sit
down. We also feel calm towards those who are serious when we are serious, because then we feel that we
are treated seriously and not contemptuously. Also towards those who have done us more kindnesses than we
have done them. Also towards those who pray to us and beg for mercy, since they humble themselves by
doing so. Also towards those who do not insult or mock at or slight any one at all, or not any worthy person
or any one like ourselves. In general, the things that make us calm may be inferred by seeing what the
opposites are of those that make us angry. We are not angry with people we fear or respect, as long as we fear
or respect them; you cannot be afraid of a person and also at the same time angry with him. Again, we feel no
anger, or comparatively little, with those who have done what they did through anger: we do not feel that they
have done it from a wish to slight us, for no one slights people when angry with them, since slighting is
painless, and anger is painful. Nor do we grow angry with those who reverence us.

As to the frame of mind that makes people calm, it is plainly the opposite to that which makes them angry, as
when they are amusing themselves or laughing or feasting; when they are feeling prosperous or successful or
satisfied; when, in fine, they are enjoying freedom from pain, or inoffensive pleasure, or justifiable hope.
Also when time has passed and their anger is no longer fresh, for time puts an end to anger. And vengeance
previously taken on one person puts an end to even greater anger felt against another person. Hence
Philocrates, being asked by some one, at a time when the public was angry with him, 'Why don't you defend
yourself?' did right to reply, The time is not yet.' 'Why, when is the time?' 'When I see someone else
calumniated.' For men become calm when they have spent their anger on somebody else. This happened in
the case of Ergophilus: though the people were more irritated against him than against Callisthenes, they
acquitted him because they had condemned Callisthenes to death the day before. Again, men become calm if
they have convicted the offender; or if he has already suffered worse things than they in their anger would
have themselves inflicted upon him; for they feel as if they were already avenged. Or if they feel that they
themselves are in the wrong and are suffering justly (for anger is not excited by what is just), since men no
longer think then that they are suffering without justification; and anger, as we have seen, means this. Hence
we ought always to inflict a preliminary punishment in words: if that is done, even slaves are less aggrieved
by the actual punishment. We also feel calm if we think that the offender will not see that he is punished on
our account and because of the way he has treated us. For anger has to do with individuals. This is plain from

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the definition. Hence the poet has well written:

Say that it was Odysseus, sacker of cities,

implying that Odysseus would not have considered himself avenged unless the Cyclops perceived both by
whom and for what he had been blinded. Consequently we do not get angry with any one who cannot be
aware of our anger, and in particular we cease to be angry with people once they are dead, for we feel that the
worst has been done to them, and that they will neither feel pain nor anything else that we in our anger aim at
making them feel. And therefore the poet has well made Apollo say, in order to put a stop to the anger of
Achilles against the dead Hector,

For behold in his fury he doeth despite to the senseless clay.

It is now plain that when you wish to calm others you must draw upon these lines of argument; you must put
your hearers into the corresponding frame of mind, and represent those with whom they are angry as
formidable, or as worthy of reverence, or as benefactors, or as involuntary agents, or as much distressed at
what they have done.

Let us now turn to Friendship and Enmity, and ask towards whom these feelings are entertained, and why.
We will begin by defining and friendly feeling. We may describe friendly feeling towards any one as wishing
for him what you believe to be good things, not for your own sake but for his, and being inclined, so far as
you can, to bring these things about. A friend is one who feels thus and excites these feelings in return: those
who think they feel thus towards each other think themselves friends. This being assumed, it follows that
your friend is the sort of man who shares your pleasure in what is good and your pain in what is unpleasant,
for your sake and for no other reason. This pleasure and pain of his will be the token of his good wishes for
you, since we all feel glad at getting what we wish for, and pained at getting what we do not. Those, then, are
friends to whom the same things are good and evil; and those who are, moreover, friendly or unfriendly to the
same people; for in that case they must have the same wishes, and thus by wishing for each other what they
wish for themselves, they show themselves each other's friends. Again, we feel friendly to those who have
treated us well, either ourselves or those we care for, whether on a large scale, or readily, or at some
particular crisis; provided it was for our own sake. And also to those who we think wish to treat us well. And
also to our friends' friends, and to those who like, or are liked by, those whom we like ourselves. And also to
those who are enemies to those whose enemies we are, and dislike, or are disliked by, those whom we dislike.
For all such persons think the things good which we think good, so that they wish what is good for us; and
this, as we saw, is what friends must do. And also to those who are willing to treat us well where money or
our personal safety is concerned: and therefore we value those who are liberal, brave, or just. The just we
consider to be those who do not live on others; which means those who work for their living, especially
farmers and others who work with their own hands. We also like temperate men, because they are not unjust
to others; and, for the same reason, those who mind their own business. And also those whose friends we
wish to be, if it is plain that they wish to be our friends: such are the morally good, and those well thought of
by every one, by the best men, or by those whom we admire or who admire us. And also those with whom it
is pleasant to live and spend our days: such are the good-tempered, and those who are not too ready to show
us our mistakes, and those who are not cantankerous or quarrelsome-such people are always wanting to fight
us, and those who fight us we feel wish for the opposite of what we wish for ourselves-and those who have
the tact to make and take a joke; here both parties have the same object in view, when they can stand being
made fun of as well as do it prettily themselves. And we also feel friendly towards those who praise such
good qualities as we possess, and especially if they praise the good qualities that we are not too sure we do
possess. And towards those who are cleanly in their person, their dress, and all their way of life. And towards
those who do not reproach us with what we have done amiss to them or they have done to help us, for both

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actions show a tendency to criticize us. And towards those who do not nurse grudges or store up grievances,
but are always ready to make friends again; for we take it that they will behave to us just as we find them
behaving to every one else. And towards those who are not evil speakers and who are aware of neither their
neighbours' bad points nor our own, but of our good ones only, as a good man always will be. And towards
those who do not try to thwart us when we are angry or in earnest, which would mean being ready to fight us.
And towards those who have some serious feeling towards us, such as admiration for us, or belief in our
goodness, or pleasure in our company; especially if they feel like this about qualities in us for which we
especially wish to be admired, esteemed, or liked. And towards those who are like ourselves in character and
occupation, provided they do not get in our way or gain their living from the same source as we do-for then it
will be a case of 'potter against potter':

Potter to potter and builder to builder begrudge their reward.

And those who desire the same things as we desire, if it is possible for us both to share them together;
otherwise the same trouble arises here too. And towards those with whom we are on such terms that, while
we respect their opinions, we need not blush before them for doing what is conventionally wrong: as well as
towards those before whom we should be ashamed to do anything really wrong. Again, our rivals, and those
whom we should like to envy us — though without ill-feeling — either we like these people or at least we
wish them to like us. And we feel friendly towards those whom we help to secure good for themselves,
provided we are not likely to suffer heavily by it ourselves. And those who feel as friendly to us when we are
not with them as when we are-which is why all men feel friendly towards those who are faithful to their dead
friends. And, speaking generally, towards those who are really fond of their friends and do not desert them in
trouble; of all good men, we feel most friendly to those who show their goodness as friends. Also towards
those who are honest with us, including those who will tell us of their own weak points: it has just said that
with our friends we are not ashamed of what is conventionally wrong, and if we do have this feeling, we do
not love them; if therefore we do not have it, it looks as if we did love them. We also like those with whom
we do not feel frightened or uncomfortable-nobody can like a man of whom he feels frightened. Friendship
has various forms-comradeship, intimacy, kinship, and so on.

Things that cause friendship are: doing kindnesses; doing them unasked; and not proclaiming the fact when
they are done, which shows that they were done for our own sake and not for some other reason.

Enmity and Hatred should clearly be studied by reference to their opposites. Enmity may be produced by
anger or spite or calumny. Now whereas anger arises from offences against oneself, enmity may arise even
without that; we may hate people merely because of what we take to be their character. Anger is always
concerned with individuals-a Callias or a Socrates-whereas hatred is directed also against classes: we all
hate any thief and any informer. Moreover, anger can be cured by time; but hatred cannot. The one aims at
giving pain to its object, the other at doing him harm; the angry man wants his victims to feel; the hater does
not mind whether they feel or not. All painful things are felt; but the greatest evils, injustice and folly, are the
least felt, since their presence causes no pain. And anger is accompanied by pain, hatred is not; the angry man
feels pain, but the hater does not. Much may happen to make the angry man pity those who offend him, but
the hater under no circumstances wishes to pity a man whom he has once hated: for the one would have the
offenders suffer for what they have done; the other would have them cease to exist.

It is plain from all this that we can prove people to be friends or enemies; if they are not, we can make them
out to be so; if they claim to be so, we can refute their claim; and if it is disputed whether an action was due
to anger or to hatred, we can attribute it to whichever of these we prefer.

To turn next to Fear, what follows will show things and persons of which, and the states of mind in which, we
feel afraid. Fear may be defined as a pain or disturbance due to a mental picture of some destructive or
painful evil in the future. Of destructive or painful evils only; for there are some evils, e.g. wickedness or

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stupidity, the prospect of which does not frighten us: I mean only such as amount to great pains or losses.
And even these only if they appear not remote but so near as to be imminent: we do not fear things that are a
very long way off: for instance, we all know we shall die, but we are not troubled thereby, because death is
not close at hand. From this definition it will follow that fear is caused by whatever we feel has great power
of destroying or of harming us in ways that tend to cause us great pain. Hence the very indications of such
things are terrible, making us feel that the terrible thing itself is close at hand; the approach of what is terrible
is just what we mean by 'danger'. Such indications are the enmity and anger of people who have power to do
something to us; for it is plain that they have the will to do it, and so they are on the point of doing it. Also
injustice in possession of power; for it is the unjust man's will to do evil that makes him unjust. Also outraged
virtue in possession of power; for it is plain that, when outraged, it always has the will to retaliate, and now it
has the power to do so. Also fear felt by those who have the power to do something to us, since such persons
are sure to be ready to do it. And since most men tend to be bad-slaves to greed, and cowards in danger-it is,
as a rule, a terrible thing to be at another man's mercy; and therefore, if we have done anything horrible, those
in the secret terrify us with the thought that they may betray or desert us. And those who can do us wrong are
terrible to us when we are liable to be wronged; for as a rule men do wrong to others whenever they have the
power to do it. And those who have been wronged, or believe themselves to be wronged, are terrible; for they
are always looking out for their opportunity. Also those who have done people wrong, if they possess power,
since they stand in fear of retaliation: we have already said that wickedness possessing power is terrible.
Again, our rivals for a thing cause us fear when we cannot both have it at once; for we are always at war with
such men. We also fear those who are to be feared by stronger people than ourselves: if they can hurt those
stronger people, still more can they hurt us; and, for the same reason, we fear those whom those stronger
people are actually afraid of. Also those who have destroyed people stronger than we are. Also those who are
attacking people weaker than we are: either they are already formidable, or they will be so when they have
thus grown stronger. Of those we have wronged, and of our enemies or rivals, it is not the passionate and
outspoken whom we have to fear, but the quiet, dissembling, unscrupulous; since we never know when they
are upon us, we can never be sure they are at a safe distance. All terrible things are more terrible if they give
us no chance of retrieving a blunder either no chance at all, or only one that depends on our enemies and not
ourselves. Those things are also worse which we cannot, or cannot easily, help. Speaking generally, anything
causes us to feel fear that when it happens to, or threatens, others cause us to feel pity.

The above are, roughly, the chief things that are terrible and are feared. Let us now describe the conditions
under which we ourselves feel fear. If fear is associated with the expectation that something destructive will
happen to us, plainly nobody will be afraid who believes nothing can happen to him; we shall not fear things
that we believe cannot happen to us, nor people who we believe cannot inflict them upon us; nor shall we be
afraid at times when we think ourselves safe from them. It follows therefore that fear is felt by those who
believe something to be likely to happen to them, at the hands of particular persons, in a particular form, and
at a particular time. People do not believe this when they are, or think they a are, in the midst of great
prosperity, and are in consequence insolent, contemptuous, and reckless-the kind of character produced by
wealth, physical strength, abundance of friends, power: nor yet when they feel they have experienced every
kind of horror already and have grown callous about the future, like men who are being flogged and are
already nearly dead-if they are to feel the anguish of uncertainty, there must be some faint expectation of
escape. This appears from the fact that fear sets us thinking what can be done, which of course nobody does
when things are hopeless. Consequently, when it is advisable that the audience should be frightened, the
orator must make them feel that they really are in danger of something, pointing out that it has happened to
others who were stronger than they are, and is happening, or has happened, to people like themselves, at the
hands of unexpected people, in an unexpected form, and at an unexpected time.

Having now seen the nature of fear, and of the things that cause it, and the various states of mind in which it
is felt, we can also see what Confidence is, about what things we feel it, and under what conditions. It is the
opposite of fear, and what causes it is the opposite of what causes fear; it is, therefore, the expectation
associated with a mental picture of the nearness of what keeps us safe and the absence or remoteness of what

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is terrible: it may be due either to the near presence of what inspires confidence or to the absence of what
causes alarm. We feel it if we can take steps-many, or important, or both-to cure or prevent trouble; if we
have neither wronged others nor been wronged by them; if we have either no rivals at all or no strong ones; if
our rivals who are strong are our friends or have treated us well or been treated well by us; or if those whose
interest is the same as ours are the more numerous party, or the stronger, or both.

As for our own state of mind, we feel confidence if we believe we have often succeeded and never suffered
reverses, or have often met danger and escaped it safely. For there are two reasons why human beings face
danger calmly: they may have no experience of it, or they may have means to deal with it: thus when in
danger at sea people may feel confident about what will happen either because they have no experience of
bad weather, or because their experience gives them the means of dealing with it. We also feel confident
whenever there is nothing to terrify other people like ourselves, or people weaker than ourselves, or people
than whom we believe ourselves to be stronger-and we believe this if we have conquered them, or conquered
others who are as strong as they are, or stronger. Also if we believe ourselves superior to our rivals in the
number and importance of the advantages that make men formidable-wealth, physical strength, strong bodies
of supporters, extensive territory, and the possession of all, or the most important, appliances of war. Also if
we have wronged no one, or not many, or not those of whom we are afraid; and generally, if our relations
with the gods are satisfactory, as will be shown especially by signs and oracles. The fact is that anger makes
us confident-that anger is excited by our knowledge that we are not the wrongers but the wronged, and that
the divine power is always supposed to be on the side of the wronged. Also when, at the outset of an
enterprise, we believe that we cannot and shall not fail, or that we shall succeed completely. -So much for the
causes of fear and confidence.

We now turn to Shame and Shamelessness; what follows will explain the things that cause these feelings, and
the persons before whom, and the states of mind under which, they are felt. Shame may be defined as pain or
disturbance in regard to bad things, whether present, past, or future, which seem likely to involve us in
discredit; and shamelessness as contempt or indifference in regard to these same bad things. If this definition
be granted, it follows that we feel shame at such bad things as we think are disgraceful to ourselves or to
those we care for. These evils are, in the first place, those due to moral badness. Such are throwing away
one's shield or taking to flight; for these bad things are due to cowardice. Also, withholding a deposit or
otherwise wronging people about money; for these acts are due to injustice. Also, having carnal intercourse
with forbidden persons, at wrong times, or in wrong places; for these things are due to licentiousness. Also,
making profit in petty or disgraceful ways, or out of helpless persons, e.g. the poor, or the dead-whence the
proverb 'He would pick a corpse's pocket'; for all this is due to low greed and meanness. Also, in money
matters, giving less help than you might, or none at all, or accepting help from those worse off than yourself;
so also borrowing when it will seem like begging; begging when it will seem like asking the return of a
favour; asking such a return when it will seem like begging; praising a man in order that it may seem like
begging; and going on begging in spite of failure: all such actions are tokens of meanness. Also, praising
people to their face, and praising extravagantly a man's good points and glozing over his weaknesses, and
showing extravagant sympathy with his grief when you are in his presence, and all that sort of thing; all this
shows the disposition of a flatterer. Also, refusing to endure hardships that are endured by people who are
older, more delicately brought up, of higher rank, or generally less capable of endurance than ourselves: for
all this shows effeminacy. Also, accepting benefits, especially accepting them often, from another man, and
then abusing him for conferring them: all this shows a mean, ignoble disposition. Also, talking incessantly
about yourself, making loud professions, and appropriating the merits of others; for this is due to
boastfulness. The same is true of the actions due to any of the other forms of badness of moral character, of
the tokens of such badness, they are all disgraceful and shameless. Another sort of bad thing at which we feel
shame is, lacking a share in the honourable things shared by every one else, or by all or nearly all who are
like ourselves. By 'those like ourselves' I mean those of our own race or country or age or family, and
generally those who are on our own level. Once we are on a level with others, it is a disgrace to be, say, less
well educated than they are; and so with other advantages: all the more so, in each case, if it is seen to be our

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own fault: wherever we are ourselves to blame for our present, past, or future circumstances, it follows at
once that this is to a greater extent due to our moral badness. We are moreover ashamed of having done to us,
having had done, or being about to have done to us acts that involve us in dishonour and reproach; as when
we surrender our persons, or lend ourselves to vile deeds, e.g. when we submit to outrage. And acts of
yielding to the lust of others are shameful whether willing or unwilling (yielding to force being an instance of
unwillingness), since unresisting submission to them is due to unmanliness or cowardice.

These things, and others like them, are what cause the feeling of shame. Now since shame is a mental picture
of disgrace, in which we shrink from the disgrace itself and not from its consequences, and we only care what
opinion is held of us because of the people who form that opinion, it follows that the people before whom we
feel shame are those whose opinion of us matters to us. Such persons are: those who admire us, those whom
we admire, those by whom we wish to be admired, those with whom we are competing, and those whose
opinion of us we respect. We admire those, and wish those to admire us, who possess any good thing that is
highly esteemed; or from whom we are very anxious to get something that they are able to give us-as a lover
feels. We compete with our equals. We respect, as true, the views of sensible people, such as our elders and
those who have been well educated. And we feel more shame about a thing if it is done openly, before all
men's eyes. Hence the proverb, 'shame dwells in the eyes'. For this reason we feel most shame before those
who will always be with us and those who notice what we do, since in both cases eyes are upon us. We also
feel it before those not open to the same imputation as ourselves: for it is plain that their opinions about it are
the opposite of ours. Also before those who are hard on any one whose conduct they think wrong; for what a
man does himself, he is said not to resent when his neighbours do it: so that of course he does resent their
doing what he does not do himself. And before those who are likely to tell everybody about you; not telling
others is as good as not be lieving you wrong. People are likely to tell others about you if you have wronged
them, since they are on the look out to harm you; or if they speak evil of everybody, for those who attack the
innocent will be still more ready to attack the guilty. And before those whose main occupation is with their
neighbours' failings-people like satirists and writers of comedy; these are really a kind of evil-speakers and
tell-tales. And before those who have never yet known us come to grief, since their attitude to us has
amounted to admiration so far: that is why we feel ashamed to refuse those a favour who ask one for the first
time-we have not as yet lost credit with them. Such are those who are just beginning to wish to be our
friends; for they have seen our best side only (hence the appropriateness of Euripides' reply to the
Syracusans): and such also are those among our old acquaintances who know nothing to our discredit. And
we are ashamed not merely of the actual shameful conduct mentioned, but also of the evidences of it: not
merely, for example, of actual sexual intercourse, but also of its evidences; and not merely of disgraceful acts
but also of disgraceful talk. Similarly we feel shame not merely in presence of the persons mentioned but also
of those who will tell them what we have done, such as their servants or friends. And, generally, we feel no
shame before those upon whose opinions we quite look down as untrustworthy (no one feels shame before
small children or animals); nor are we ashamed of the same things before intimates as before strangers, but
before the former of what seem genuine faults, before the latter of what seem conventional ones.

The conditions under which we shall feel shame are these: first, having people related to us like those before
whom, as has been said, we feel shame. These are, as was stated, persons whom we admire, or who admire
us, or by whom we wish to be admired, or from whom we desire some service that we shall not obtain if we
forfeit their good opinion. These persons may be actually looking on (as Cydias represented them in his
speech on land assignments in Samos, when he told the Athenians to imagine the Greeks to be standing all
around them, actually seeing the way they voted and not merely going to hear about it afterwards): or again
they may be near at hand, or may be likely to find out about what we do. This is why in misfortune we do not
wish to be seen by those who once wished themselves like us; for such a feeling implies admiration. And men
feel shame when they have acts or exploits to their credit on which they are bringing dishonour, whether
these are their own, or those of their ancestors, or those of other persons with whom they have some close
connexion. Generally, we feel shame before those for whose own misconduct we should also feel it-those
already mentioned; those who take us as their models; those whose teachers or advisers we have been; or

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other people, it may be, like ourselves, whose rivals we are. For there are many things that shame before such
people makes us do or leave undone. And we feel more shame when we are likely to be continually seen by,
and go about under the eyes of, those who know of our disgrace. Hence, when Antiphon the poet was to be
cudgelled to death by order of Dionysius, and saw those who were to perish with him covering their faces as
they went through the gates, he said, 'Why do you cover your faces? Is it lest some of these spectators should
see you to-morrow?'

So much for Shame; to understand Shamelessness, we need only consider the converse cases, and plainly we
shall have all we need.

To take Kindness next: the definition of it will show us towards whom it is felt, why, and in what frames of
mind. Kindness-under the influence of which a man is said to 'be kind' may be defined as helpfulness
towards some one in need, not in return for anything, nor for the advantage of the helper himself, but for that
of the person helped. Kindness is great if shown to one who is in great need, or who needs what is important
and hard to get, or who needs it at an important and difficult crisis; or if the helper is the only, the first, or the
chief person to give the help. Natural cravings constitute such needs; and in particular cravings, accompanied
by pain, for what is not being attained. The appetites are cravings for this kind: sexual desire, for instance,
and those which arise during bodily injuries and in dangers; for appetite is active both in danger and in pain.
Hence those who stand by us in poverty or in banishment, even if they do not help us much, are yet really
kind to us, because our need is great and the occasion pressing; for instance, the man who gave the mat in the
Lyceum. The helpfulness must therefore meet, preferably, just this kind of need; and failing just this kind,
some other kind as great or greater. We now see to whom, why, and under what conditions kindness is
shown; and these facts must form the basis of our arguments. We must show that the persons helped are, or
have been, in such pain and need as has been described, and that their helpers gave, or are giving, the kind of
help described, in the kind of need described. We can also see how to eliminate the idea of kindness and
make our opponents appear unkind: we may maintain that they are being or have been helpful simply to
promote their own interest-this, as has been stated, is not kindness; or that their action was accidental, or was
forced upon them; or that they were not doing a favour, but merely returning one, whether they know this or
not-in either case the action is a mere return, and is therefore not a kindness even if the doer does not know
how the case stands. In considering this subject we must look at all the categories: an act may be an act of
kindness because (1) it is a particular thing, (2) it has a particular magnitude or (3) quality, or (4) is done at a
particular time or (5) place. As evidence of the want of kindness, we may point out that a smaller service had
been refused to the man in need; or that the same service, or an equal or greater one, has been given to his
enemies; these facts show that the service in question was not done for the sake of the person helped. Or we
may point out that the thing desired was worthless and that the helper knew it: no one will admit that he is in
need of what is worthless.

So much for Kindness and Unkindness. Let us now consider Pity, asking ourselves what things excite pity,
and for what persons, and in what states of our mind pity is felt. Pity may be defined as a feeling of pain
caused by the sight of some evil, destructive or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it, and which
we might expect to befall ourselves or some friend of ours, and moreover to befall us soon. In order to feel
pity, we must obviously be capable of supposing that some evil may happen to us or some friend of ours, and
moreover some such evil as is stated in our definition or is more or less of that kind. It is therefore not felt by
those completely ruined, who suppose that no further evil can befall them, since the worst has befallen them
already; nor by those who imagine themselves immensely fortunate-their feeling is rather presumptuous
insolence, for when they think they possess all the good things of life, it is clear that the impossibility of evil
befalling them will be included, this being one of the good things in question. Those who think evil may
befall them are such as have already had it befall them and have safely escaped from it; elderly men, owing to
their good sense and their experience; weak men, especially men inclined to cowardice; and also educated
people, since these can take long views. Also those who have parents living, or children, or wives; for these
are our own, and the evils mentioned above may easily befall them. And those who neither moved by any

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courageous emotion such as anger or confidence (these emotions take no account of the future), nor by a
disposition to presumptuous insolence (insolent men, too, take no account of the possibility that something
evil will happen to them), nor yet by great fear (panic-stricken people do not feel pity, because they are taken
up with what is happening to themselves); only those feel pity who are between these two extremes. In order
to feel pity we must also believe in the goodness of at least some people; if you think nobody good, you will
believe that everybody deserves evil fortune. And, generally, we feel pity whenever we are in the condition of
remembering that similar misfortunes have happened to us or ours, or expecting them to happen in the future.

So much for the mental conditions under which we feel pity. What we pity is stated clearly in the definition.
All unpleasant and painful things excite pity if they tend to destroy pain and annihilate; and all such evils as
are due to chance, if they are serious. The painful and destructive evils are: death in its various forms, bodily
injuries and afflictions, old age, diseases, lack of food. The evils due to chance are: friendlessness, scarcity of
friends (it is a pitiful thing to be torn away from friends and companions), deformity, weakness, mutilation;
evil coming from a source from which good ought to have come; and the frequent repetition of such
misfortunes. Also the coming of good when the worst has happened: e.g. the arrival of the Great King's gifts
for Diopeithes after his death. Also that either no good should have befallen a man at all, or that he should not
be able to enjoy it when it has.

The grounds, then, on which we feel pity are these or like these. The people we pity are: those whom we
know, if only they are not very closely related to us-in that case we feel about them as if we were in danger
ourselves. For this reason Amasis did not weep, they say, at the sight of his son being led to death, but did
weep when he saw his friend begging: the latter sight was pitiful, the former terrible, and the terrible is
different from the pitiful; it tends to cast out pity, and often helps to produce the opposite of pity. Again, we
feel pity when the danger is near ourselves. Also we pity those who are like us in age, character, disposition,
social standing, or birth; for in all these cases it appears more likely that the same misfortune may befall us
also. Here too we have to remember the general principle that what we fear for ourselves excites our pity
when it happens to others. Further, since it is when the sufferings of others are close to us that they excite our
pity (we cannot remember what disasters happened a hundred centuries ago, nor look forward to what will
happen a hundred centuries hereafter, and therefore feel little pity, if any, for such things): it follows that
those who heighten the effect of their words with suitable gestures, tones, dress, and dramatic action
generally, are especially successful in exciting pity: they thus put the disasters before our eyes, and make
them seem close to us, just coming or just past. Anything that has just happened, or is going to happen soon,
is particularly piteous: so too therefore are the tokens and the actions of sufferers-the garments and the like
of those who have already suffered; the words and the like of those actually suffering-of those, for instance,
who are on the point of death. Most piteous of all is it when, in such times of trial, the victims are persons of
noble character: whenever they are so, our pity is especially excited, because their innocence, as well as the
setting of their misfortunes before our eyes, makes their misfortunes seem close to ourselves.

Most directly opposed to pity is the feeling called Indignation. Pain at unmerited good fortune is, in one
sense, opposite to pain at unmerited bad fortune, and is due to the same moral qualities. Both feelings are
associated with good moral character; it is our duty both to feel sympathy and pity for unmerited distress, and
to feel indignation at unmerited prosperity; for whatever is undeserved is unjust, and that is why we ascribe
indignation even to the gods. It might indeed be thought that envy is similarly opposed to pity, on the ground
that envy it closely akin to indignation, or even the same thing. But it is not the same. It is true that it also is a
disturbing pain excited by the prosperity of others. But it is excited not by the prosperity of the undeserving
but by that of people who are like us or equal with us. The two feelings have this in common, that they must
be due not to some untoward thing being likely to befall ourselves, but only to what is happening to our
neighbour. The feeling ceases to be envy in the one case and indignation in the other, and becomes fear, if the
pain and disturbance are due to the prospect of something bad for ourselves as the result of the other man's
good fortune. The feelings of pity and indignation will obviously be attended by the converse feelings of
satisfaction. If you are pained by the unmerited distress of others, you will be pleased, or at least not pained,

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by their merited distress. Thus no good man can be pained by the punishment of parricides or murderers.
These are things we are bound to rejoice at, as we must at the prosperity of the deserving; both these things
are just, and both give pleasure to any honest man, since he cannot help expecting that what has happened to
a man like him will happen to him too. All these feelings are associated with the same type of moral
character. And their contraries are associated with the contrary type; the man who is delighted by others'
misfortunes is identical with the man who envies others' prosperity. For any one who is pained by the
occurrence or existence of a given thing must be pleased by that thing's non-existence or destruction. We can
now see that all these feelings tend to prevent pity (though they differ among themselves, for the reasons
given), so that all are equally useful for neutralizing an appeal to pity.

We will first consider Indignation-reserving the other emotions for subsequent discussion-and ask with
whom, on what grounds, and in what states of mind we may be indignant. These questions are really
answered by what has been said already. Indignation is pain caused by the sight of undeserved good fortune.
It is, then, plain to begin with that there are some forms of good the sight of which cannot cause it. Thus a
man may be just or brave, or acquire moral goodness: but we shall not be indignant with him for that reason,
any more than we shall pity him for the contrary reason. Indignation is roused by the sight of wealth, power,
and the like-by all those things, roughly speaking, which are deserved by good men and by those who
possess the goods of nature-noble birth, beauty, and so on. Again, what is long established seems akin to
what exists by nature; and therefore we feel more indignation at those possessing a given good if they have as
a matter of fact only just got it and the prosperity it brings with it. The newly rich give more offence than
those whose wealth is of long standing and inherited. The same is true of those who have office or power,
plenty of friends, a fine family, We feel the same when these advantages of theirs secure them others. For
here again, the newly rich give us more offence by obtaining office through their riches than do those whose
wealth is of long standing; and so in all other cases. The reason is that what the latter have is felt to be really
their own, but what the others have is not; what appears to have been always what it is is regarded as real, and
so the possessions of the newly rich do not seem to be really their own. Further, it is not any and every man
that deserves any given kind of good; there is a certain correspondence and appropriateness in such things;
thus it is appropriate for brave men, not for just men, to have fine weapons, and for men of family, not for
parvenus, to make distinguished marriages. Indignation may therefore properly be felt when any one gets
what is not appropriate for him, though he may be a good man enough. It may also be felt when any one sets
himself up against his superior, especially against his superior in some particular respect-whence the lines

Only from battle he shrank with Aias Telamon's son;
Zeus had been angered with him,

had he fought with a mightier one;

but also, even apart from that, when the inferior in any sense contends with his superior; a musician, for
instance, with a just man, for justice is a finer thing than music.

Enough has been said to make clear the grounds on which, and the persons against whom, Indignation is
felt-they are those mentioned, and others like him. As for the people who feel it; we feel it if we do ourselves
deserve the greatest possible goods and moreover have them, for it is an injustice that those who are not our
equals should have been held to deserve as much as we have. Or, secondly, we feel it if we are really good
and honest people; our judgement is then sound, and we loathe any kind of injustice. Also if we are ambitious
and eager to gain particular ends, especially if we are ambitious for what others are getting without deserving
to get it. And, generally, if we think that we ourselves deserve a thing and that others do not, we are disposed
to be indignant with those others so far as that thing is concerned. Hence servile, worthless, unambitious
persons are not inclined to Indignation, since there is nothing they can believe themselves to deserve.

From all this it is plain what sort of men those are at whose misfortunes, distresses, or failures we ought to
feel pleased, or at least not pained: by considering the facts described we see at once what their contraries are.

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If therefore our speech puts the judges in such a frame of mind as that indicated and shows that those who
claim pity on certain definite grounds do not deserve to secure pity but do deserve not to secure it, it will be
impossible for the judges to feel pity.

To take Envy next: we can see on what grounds, against what persons, and in what states of mind we feel it.
Envy is pain at the sight of such good fortune as consists of the good things already mentioned; we feel it
towards our equals; not with the idea of getting something for ourselves, but because the other people have it.
We shall feel it if we have, or think we have, equals; and by 'equals' I mean equals in birth, relationship, age,
disposition, distinction, or wealth. We feel envy also if we fall but a little short of having everything; which is
why people in high place and prosperity feel it-they think every one else is taking what belongs to
themselves. Also if we are exceptionally distinguished for some particular thing, and especially if that thing is
wisdom or good fortune. Ambitious men are more envious than those who are not. So also those who profess
wisdom; they are ambitious to be thought wise. Indeed, generally, those who aim at a reputation for anything
are envious on this particular point. And small-minded men are envious, for everything seems great to them.
The good things which excite envy have already been mentioned. The deeds or possessions which arouse the
love of reputation and honour and the desire for fame, and the various gifts of fortune, are almost all subject
to envy; and particularly if we desire the thing ourselves, or think we are entitled to it, or if having it puts us a
little above others, or not having it a little below them. It is clear also what kind of people we envy; that was
included in what has been said already: we envy those who are near us in time, place, age, or reputation.
Hence the line:

Ay, kin can even be jealous of their kin.

Also our fellow-competitors, who are indeed the people just mentioned-we do not compete with men who
lived a hundred centuries ago, or those not yet born, or the dead, or those who dwell near the Pillars of
Hercules, or those whom, in our opinion or that of others, we take to be far below us or far above us. So too
we compete with those who follow the same ends as ourselves: we compete with our rivals in sport or in love,
and generally with those who are after the same things; and it is therefore these whom we are bound to envy
beyond all others. Hence the saying:

Potter against potter.

We also envy those whose possession of or success in a thing is a reproach to us: these are our neighbours
and equals; for it is clear that it is our own fault we have missed the good thing in question; this annoys us,
and excites envy in us. We also envy those who have what we ought to have, or have got what we did have
once. Hence old men envy younger men, and those who have spent much envy those who have spent little on
the same thing. And men who have not got a thing, or not got it yet, envy those who have got it quickly. We
can also see what things and what persons give pleasure to envious people, and in what states of mind they
feel it: the states of mind in which they feel pain are those under which they will feel pleasure in the contrary
things. If therefore we ourselves with whom the decision rests are put into an envious state of mind, and those
for whom our pity, or the award of something desirable, is claimed are such as have been described, it is
obvious that they will win no pity from us.

We will next consider Emulation, showing in what follows its causes and objects, and the state of mind in
which it is felt. Emulation is pain caused by seeing the presence, in persons whose nature is like our own, of
good things that are highly valued and are possible for ourselves to acquire; but it is felt not because others
have these goods, but because we have not got them ourselves. It is therefore a good feeling felt by good
persons, whereas envy is a bad feeling felt by bad persons. Emulation makes us take steps to secure the good
things in question, envy makes us take steps to stop our neighbour having them. Emulation must therefore
tend to be felt by persons who believe themselves to deserve certain good things that they have not got, it
being understood that no one aspires to things which appear impossible. It is accordingly felt by the young

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and by persons of lofty disposition. Also by those who possess such good things as are deserved by men held
in honour-these are wealth, abundance of friends, public office, and the like; on the assumption that they
ought to be good men, they are emulous to gain such goods because they ought, in their belief, to belong to
men whose state of mind is good. Also by those whom all others think deserving. We also feel it about
anything for which our ancestors, relatives, personal friends, race, or country are specially honoured, looking
upon that thing as really our own, and therefore feeling that we deserve to have it. Further, since all good
things that are highly honoured are objects of emulation, moral goodness in its various forms must be such an
object, and also all those good things that are useful and serviceable to others: for men honour those who are
morally good, and also those who do them service. So with those good things our possession of which can
give enjoyment to our neighbours-wealth and beauty rather than health. We can see, too, what persons are
the objects of the feeling. They are those who have these and similar things-those already mentioned, as
courage, wisdom, public office. Holders of public office-generals, orators, and all who possess such
powers-can do many people a good turn. Also those whom many people wish to be like; those who have
many acquaintances or friends; those whom admire, or whom we ourselves admire; and those who have been
praised and eulogized by poets or prose-writers. Persons of the contrary sort are objects of contempt: for the
feeling and notion of contempt are opposite to those of emulation. Those who are such as to emulate or be
emulated by others are inevitably disposed to be contemptuous of all such persons as are subject to those bad
things which are contrary to the good things that are the objects of emulation: despising them for just that
reason. Hence we often despise the fortunate, when luck comes to them without their having those good
things which are held in honour.

This completes our discussion of the means by which the several emotions may be produced or dissipated,
and upon which depend the persuasive arguments connected with the emotions.

Let us now consider the various types of human character, in relation to the emotions and moral qualities,
showing how they correspond to our various ages and fortunes. By emotions I mean anger, desire, and the
like; these we have discussed already. By moral qualities I mean virtues and vices; these also have been
discussed already, as well as the various things that various types of men tend to will and to do. By ages I
mean youth, the prime of life, and old age. By fortune I mean birth, wealth, power, and their opposites-in
fact, good fortune and ill fortune.

To begin with the Youthful type of character. Young men have strong passions, and tend to gratify them
indiscriminately. Of the bodily desires, it is the sexual by which they are most swayed and in which they
show absence of self-control. They are changeable and fickle in their desires, which are violent while they
last, but quickly over: their impulses are keen but not deep-rooted, and are like sick people's attacks of
hunger and thirst. They are hot-tempered, and quick-tempered, and apt to give way to their anger; bad
temper often gets the better of them, for owing to their love of honour they cannot bear being slighted, and
are indignant if they imagine themselves unfairly treated. While they love honour, they love victory still
more; for youth is eager for superiority over others, and victory is one form of this. They love both more than
they love money, which indeed they love very little, not having yet learnt what it means to be without it-this
is the point of Pittacus' remark about Amphiaraus. They look at the good side rather than the bad, not having
yet witnessed many instances of wickedness. They trust others readily, because they have not yet often been
cheated. They are sanguine; nature warms their blood as though with excess of wine; and besides that, they
have as yet met with few disappointments. Their lives are mainly spent not in memory but in expectation; for
expectation refers to the future, memory to the past, and youth has a long future before it and a short past
behind it: on the first day of one's life one has nothing at all to remember, and can only look forward. They
are easily cheated, owing to the sanguine disposition just mentioned. Their hot tempers and hopeful
dispositions make them more courageous than older men are; the hot temper prevents fear, and the hopeful
disposition creates confidence; we cannot feel fear so long as we are feeling angry, and any expectation of
good makes us confident. They are shy, accepting the rules of society in which they have been trained, and
not yet believing in any other standard of honour. They have exalted notions, because they have not yet been

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humbled by life or learnt its necessary limitations; moreover, their hopeful disposition makes them think
themselves equal to great things-and that means having exalted notions. They would always rather do noble
deeds than useful ones: their lives are regulated more by moral feeling than by reasoning; and whereas
reasoning leads us to choose what is useful, moral goodness leads us to choose what is noble. They are fonder
of their friends, intimates, and companions than older men are, because they like spending their days in the
company of others, and have not yet come to value either their friends or anything else by their usefulness to
themselves. All their mistakes are in the direction of doing things excessively and vehemently. They disobey
Chilon's precept by overdoing everything, they love too much and hate too much, and the same thing with
everything else. They think they know everything, and are always quite sure about it; this, in fact, is why they
overdo everything. If they do wrong to others, it is because they mean to insult them, not to do them actual
harm. They are ready to pity others, because they think every one an honest man, or anyhow better than he is:
they judge their neighbour by their own harmless natures, and so cannot think he deserves to be treated in that
way. They are fond of fun and therefore witty, wit being well-bred insolence.

Such, then is the character of the Young. The character of Elderly Men-men who are past their prime-may
be said to be formed for the most part of elements that are the contrary of all these. They have lived many
years; they have often been taken in, and often made mistakes; and life on the whole is a bad business. The
result is that they are sure about nothing and under-do everything. They 'think', but they never 'know'; and
because of their hesitation they always add a 'possibly'or a 'perhaps', putting everything this way and nothing
positively. They are cynical; that is, they tend to put the worse construction on everything. Further, their
experience makes them distrustful and therefore suspicious of evil. Consequently they neither love warmly
nor hate bitterly, but following the hint of Bias they love as though they will some day hate and hate as
though they will some day love. They are small-minded, because they have been humbled by life: their
desires are set upon nothing more exalted or unusual than what will help them to keep alive. They are not
generous, because money is one of the things they must have, and at the same time their experience has
taught them how hard it is to get and how easy to lose. They are cowardly, and are always anticipating
danger; unlike that of the young, who are warm-blooded, their temperament is chilly; old age has paved the
way for cowardice; fear is, in fact, a form of chill. They love life; and all the more when their last day has
come, because the object of all desire is something we have not got, and also because we desire most strongly
that which we need most urgently. They are too fond of themselves; this is one form that small-mindedness
takes. Because of this, they guide their lives too much by considerations of what is useful and too little by
what is noble-for the useful is what is good for oneself, and the noble what is good absolutely. They are not
shy, but shameless rather; caring less for what is noble than for what is useful, they feel contempt for what
people may think of them. They lack confidence in the future; partly through experience-for most things go
wrong, or anyhow turn out worse than one expects; and partly because of their cowardice. They live by
memory rather than by hope; for what is left to them of life is but little as compared with the long past; and
hope is of the future, memory of the past. This, again, is the cause of their loquacity; they are continually
talking of the past, because they enjoy remembering it. Their fits of anger are sudden but feeble. Their
sensual passions have either altogether gone or have lost their vigour: consequently they do not feel their
passions much, and their actions are inspired less by what they do feel than by the love of gain. Hence men at
this time of life are often supposed to have a self-controlled character; the fact is that their passions have
slackened, and they are slaves to the love of gain. They guide their lives by reasoning more than by moral
feeling; reasoning being directed to utility and moral feeling to moral goodness. If they wrong others, they
mean to injure them, not to insult them. Old men may feel pity, as well as young men, but not for the same
reason. Young men feel it out of kindness; old men out of weakness, imagining that anything that befalls any
one else might easily happen to them, which, as we saw, is a thought that excites pity. Hence they are
querulous, and not disposed to jesting or laughter-the love of laughter being the very opposite of
querulousness.

Such are the characters of Young Men and Elderly Men. People always think well of speeches adapted to,
and reflecting, their own character: and we can now see how to compose our speeches so as to adapt both

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them and ourselves to our audiences.

As for Men in their Prime, clearly we shall find that they have a character between that of the young and that
of the old, free from the extremes of either. They have neither that excess of confidence which amounts to
rashness, nor too much timidity, but the right amount of each. They neither trust everybody nor distrust
everybody, but judge people correctly. Their lives will be guided not by the sole consideration either of what
is noble or of what is useful, but by both; neither by parsimony nor by prodigality, but by what is fit and
proper. So, too, in regard to anger and desire; they will be brave as well as temperate, and temperate as well
as brave; these virtues are divided between the young and the old; the young are brave but intemperate, the
old temperate but cowardly. To put it generally, all the valuable qualities that youth and age divide between
them are united in the prime of life, while all their excesses or defects are replaced by moderation and fitness.
The body is in its prime from thirty to five-and-thirty; the mind about forty-nine.

So much for the types of character that distinguish youth, old age, and the prime of life. We will now turn to
those Gifts of Fortune by which human character is affected. First let us consider Good Birth. Its effect on
character is to make those who have it more ambitious; it is the way of all men who have something to start
with to add to the pile, and good birth implies ancestral distinction. The well-born man will look down even
on those who are as good as his own ancestors, because any far-off distinction is greater than the same thing
close to us, and better to boast about. Being well-born, which means coming of a fine stock, must be
distinguished from nobility, which means being true to the family nature-a quality not usually found in the
well-born, most of whom are poor creatures. In the generations of men as in the fruits of the earth, there is a
varying yield; now and then, where the stock is good, exceptional men are produced for a while, and then
decadence sets in. A clever stock will degenerate towards the insane type of character, like the descendants of
Alcibiades or of the elder Dionysius; a steady stock towards the fatuous and torpid type, like the descendants
of Cimon, Pericles, and Socrates.

The type of character produced by Wealth lies on the surface for all to see. Wealthy men are insolent and
arrogant; their possession of wealth affects their understanding; they feel as if they had every good thing that
exists; wealth becomes a sort of standard of value for everything else, and therefore they imagine there is
nothing it cannot buy. They are luxurious and ostentatious; luxurious, because of the luxury in which they
live and the prosperity which they display; ostentatious and vulgar, because, like other people's, their minds
are regularly occupied with the object of their love and admiration, and also because they think that other
people's idea of happiness is the same as their own. It is indeed quite natural that they should be affected thus;
for if you have money, there are always plenty of people who come begging from you. Hence the saying of
Simonides about wise men and rich men, in answer to Hiero's wife, who asked him whether it was better to
grow rich or wise. 'Why, rich,' he said; 'for I see the wise men spending their days at the rich men's doors.'
Rich men also consider themselves worthy to hold public office; for they consider they already have the
things that give a claim to office. In a word, the type of character produced by wealth is that of a prosperous
fool. There is indeed one difference between the type of the newly-enriched and those who have long been
rich: the newly-enriched have all the bad qualities mentioned in an exaggerated and worse form — to be
newly-enriched means, so to speak, no education in riches. The wrongs they do others are not meant to injure
their victims, but spring from insolence or self-indulgence, e.g. those that end in assault or in adultery.

As to Power: here too it may fairly be said that the type of character it produces is mostly obvious enough.
Some elements in this type it shares with the wealthy type, others are better. Those in power are more
ambitious and more manly in character than the wealthy, because they aspire to do the great deeds that their
power permits them to do. Responsibility makes them more serious: they have to keep paying attention to the
duties their position involves. They are dignified rather than arrogant, for the respect in which they are held
inspires them with dignity and therefore with moderation-dignity being a mild and becoming form of
arrogance. If they wrong others, they wrong them not on a small but on a great scale.

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Good fortune in certain of its branches produces the types of character belonging to the conditions just
described, since these conditions are in fact more or less the kinds of good fortune that are regarded as most
important. It may be added that good fortune leads us to gain all we can in the way of family happiness and
bodily advantages. It does indeed make men more supercilious and more reckless; but there is one excellent
quality that goes with it-piety, and respect for the divine power, in which they believe because of events
which are really the result of chance.

This account of the types of character that correspond to differences of age or fortune may end here; for to
arrive at the opposite types to those described, namely, those of the poor, the unfortunate, and the powerless,
we have only to ask what the opposite qualities are.

The use of persuasive speech is to lead to decisions. (When we know a thing, and have decided about it, there
is no further use in speaking about it.) This is so even if one is addressing a single person and urging him to
do or not to do something, as when we scold a man for his conduct or try to change his views: the single
person is as much your 'judge' as if he were one of many; we may say, without qualification, that any one is
your judge whom you have to persuade. Nor does it matter whether we are arguing against an actual
opponent or against a mere proposition; in the latter case we still have to use speech and overthrow the
opposing arguments, and we attack these as we should attack an actual opponent. Our principle holds good of
ceremonial speeches also; the 'onlookers' for whom such a speech is put together are treated as the judges of
it. Broadly speaking, however, the only sort of person who can strictly be called a judge is the man who
decides the issue in some matter of public controversy; that is, in law suits and in political debates, in both of
which there are issues to be decided. In the section on political oratory an account has already been given of
the types of character that mark the different constitutions.

The manner and means of investing speeches with moral character may now be regarded as fully set forth.

Each of the main divisions of oratory has, we have seen, its own distinct purpose. With regard to each
division, we have noted the accepted views and propositions upon which we may base our arguments-for
political, for ceremonial, and for forensic speaking. We have further determined completely by what means
speeches may be invested with the required moral character. We are now to proceed to discuss the arguments
common to all oratory. All orators, besides their special lines of argument, are bound to use, for instance, the
topic of the Possible and Impossible; and to try to show that a thing has happened, or will happen in future.
Again, the topic of Size is common to all oratory; all of us have to argue that things are bigger or smaller than
they seem, whether we are making political speeches, speeches of eulogy or attack, or prosecuting or
defending in the law-courts. Having analysed these subjects, we will try to say what we can about the general
principles of arguing by 'enthymeme' and 'example', by the addition of which we may hope to complete the
project with which we set out. Of the above-mentioned general lines of argument, that concerned with
Amplification is-as has been already said-most appropriate to ceremonial speeches; that concerned with the
Past, to forensic speeches, where the required decision is always about the past; that concerned with
Possibility and the Future, to political speeches.

Let us first speak of the Possible and Impossible. It may plausibly be argued: That if it is possible for one of a
pair of contraries to be or happen, then it is possible for the other: e.g. if a man can be cured, he can also fall
ill; for any two contraries are equally possible, in so far as they are contraries. That if of two similar things
one is possible, so is the other. That if the harder of two things is possible, so is the easier. That if a thing can
come into existence in a good and beautiful form, then it can come into existence generally; thus a house can
exist more easily than a beautiful house. That if the beginning of a thing can occur, so can the end; for
nothing impossible occurs or begins to occur; thus the commensurability of the diagonal of a square with its
side neither occurs nor can begin to occur. That if the end is possible, so is the beginning; for all things that
occur have a beginning. That if that which is posterior in essence or in order of generation can come into
being, so can that which is prior: thus if a man can come into being, so can a boy, since the boy comes first in

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order of generation; and if a boy can, so can a man, for the man also is first. That those things are possible of
which the love or desire is natural; for no one, as a rule, loves or desires impossibilities. That things which are
the object of any kind of science or art are possible and exist or come into existence. That anything is possible
the first step in whose production depends on men or things which we can compel or persuade to produce it,
by our greater strength, our control of them, or our friendship with them. That where the parts are possible,
the whole is possible; and where the whole is possible, the parts are usually possible. For if the slit in front,
the toe-piece, and the upper leather can be made, then shoes can be made; and if shoes, then also the front slit
and toe-piece. That if a whole genus is a thing that can occur, so can the species; and if the species can occur,
so can the genus: thus, if a sailing vessel can be made, so also can a trireme; and if a trireme, then a sailing
vessel also. That if one of two things whose existence depends on each other is possible, so is the other; for
instance, if 'double', then 'half, and if 'half, then 'double'. That if a thing can be produced without art or
preparation, it can be produced still more certainly by the careful application of art to it. Hence Agathon has
said:

To some things we by art must needs attain,
Others by destiny or luck we gain.

That if anything is possible to inferior, weaker, and stupider people, it is more so for their opposites; thus
Isocrates said that it would be a strange thing if he could not discover a thing that Euthynus had found out. As
for Impossibility, we can clearly get what we want by taking the contraries of the arguments stated above.

Questions of Past Fact may be looked at in the following ways: First, that if the less likely of two things has
occurred, the more likely must have occurred also. That if one thing that usually follows another has
happened, then that other thing has happened; that, for instance, if a man has forgotten a thing, he has also
once learnt it. That if a man had the power and the wish to do a thing, he has done it; for every one does do
whatever he intends to do whenever he can do it, there being nothing to stop him. That, further, he has done
the thing in question either if he intended it and nothing external prevented him; or if he had the power to do
it and was angry at the time; or if he had the power to do it and his heart was set upon it-for people as a rule
do what they long to do, if they can; bad people through lack of self-control; good people, because their
hearts are set upon good things. Again, that if a thing was 'going to happen', it has happened; if a man was
'going to do something', he has done it, for it is likely that the intention was carried out. That if one thing has
happened which naturally happens before another or with a view to it, the other has happened; for instance, if
it has lightened, it has also thundered; and if an action has been attempted, it has been done. That if one thing
has happened which naturally happens after another, or with a view to which that other happens, then that
other (that which happens first, or happens with a view to this thing) has also happened; thus, if it has
thundered it has lightened, and if an action has been done it has been attempted. Of all these sequences some
are inevitable and some merely usual. The arguments for the non-occurrence of anything can obviously be
found by considering the opposites of those that have been mentioned.

How questions of Future Fact should be argued is clear from the same considerations: That a thing will be
done if there is both the power and the wish to do it; or if along with the power to do it there is a craving for
the result, or anger, or calculation, prompting it. That the thing will be done, in these cases, if the man is
actually setting about it, or even if he means to do it later-for usually what we mean to do happens rather
than what we do not mean to do. That a thing will happen if another thing which naturally happens before it
has already happened; thus, if it is clouding over, it is likely to rain. That if the means to an end have
occurred, then the end is likely to occur; thus, if there is a foundation, there will be a house.

For arguments about the Greatness and Smallness of things, the greater and the lesser, and generally great
things and small, what we have already said will show the line to take. In discussing deliberative oratory we
have spoken about the relative greatness of various goods, and about the greater and lesser in general. Since
therefore in each type oratory the object under discussion is some kind of good-whether it is utility,

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nobleness, or justice-it is clear that every orator must obtain the materials of amplification through these
channels. To go further than this, and try to establish abstract laws of greatness and superiority, is to argue
without an object; in practical life, particular facts count more than generalizations.

Enough has now been said about these questions of possibility and the reverse, of past or future fact, and of
the relative greatness or smallness of things.

The special forms of oratorical argument having now been discussed, we have next to treat of those which are
common to all kinds of oratory. These are of two main kinds, 'Example' and 'Enthymeme'; for the 'Maxim' is
part of an enthymeme.

We will first treat of argument by Example, for it has the nature of induction, which is the foundation of
reasoning. This form of argument has two varieties; one consisting in the mention of actual past facts, the
other in the invention of facts by the speaker. Of the latter, again, there are two varieties, the illustrative
parallel and the fable (e.g. the fables of Aesop, those from Libya). As an instance of the mention of actual
facts, take the following. The speaker may argue thus: 'We must prepare for war against the king of Persia
and not let him subdue Egypt. For Darius of old did not cross the Aegean until he had seized Egypt; but once
he had seized it, he did cross. And Xerxes, again, did not attack us until he had seized Egypt; but once he had
seized it, he did cross. If therefore the present king seizes Egypt, he also will cross, and therefore we must not
let him.'

The illustrative parallel is the sort of argument Socrates used: e.g. 'Public officials ought not to be selected by
lot. That is like using the lot to select athletes, instead of choosing those who are fit for the contest; or using
the lot to select a steersman from among a ship's crew, as if we ought to take the man on whom the lot falls,
and not the man who knows most about it.'

Instances of the fable are that of Stesichorus about Phalaris, and that of Aesop in defence of the popular
leader. When the people of Himera had made Phalaris military dictator, and were going to give him a
bodyguard, Stesichorus wound up a long talk by telling them the fable of the horse who had a field all to
himself. Presently there came a stag and began to spoil his pasturage. The horse, wishing to revenge himself
on the stag, asked a man if he could help him to do so. The man said, 'Yes, if you will let me bridle you and
get on to your back with javelins in my hand'. The horse agreed, and the man mounted; but instead of getting
his revenge on the stag, the horse found himself the slave of the man. 'You too', said Stesichorus, 'take care
lest your desire for revenge on your enemies, you meet the same fate as the horse. By making Phalaris
military dictator, you have already let yourselves be bridled. If you let him get on to your backs by giving
him a bodyguard, from that moment you will be his slaves.'

Aesop, defending before the assembly at Samos a poular leader who was being tried for his life, told this
story: A fox, in crossing a river, was swept into a hole in the rocks; and, not being able to get out, suffered
miseries for a long time through the swarms of fleas that fastened on her. A hedgehog, while roaming around,
noticed the fox; and feeling sorry for her asked if he might remove the fleas. But the fox declined the offer;
and when the hedgehog asked why, she replied, 'These fleas are by this time full of me and not sucking much
blood; if you take them away, others will come with fresh appetites and drink up all the blood I have left.' 'So,
men of Samos', said Aesop, 'my client will do you no further harm; he is wealthy already. But if you put him
to death, others will come along who are not rich, and their peculations will empty your treasury completely.'

Fables are suitable for addresses to popular assemblies; and they have one advantage-they are comparatively
easy to invent, whereas it is hard to find parallels among actual past events. You will in fact frame them just
as you frame illustrative parallels: all you require is the power of thinking out your analogy, a power
developed by intellectual training. But while it is easier to supply parallels by inventing fables, it is more
valuable for the political speaker to supply them by quoting what has actually happened, since in most

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respects the future will be like what the past has been.

Where we are unable to argue by Enthymeme, we must try to demonstrate our point by this method of
Example, and to convince our hearers thereby. If we can argue by Enthymeme, we should use our Examples
as subsequent supplementary evidence. They should not precede the Enthymemes: that will give the
argument an inductive air, which only rarely suits the conditions of speech-making. If they follow the
enthymemes, they have the effect of witnesses giving evidence, and this alway tells. For the same reason, if
you put your examples first you must give a large number of them; if you put them last, a single one is
sufficient; even a single witness will serve if he is a good one. It has now been stated how many varieties of
argument by Example there are, and how and when they are to be employed.

We now turn to the use of Maxims, in order to see upon what subjects and occasions, and for what kind of
speaker, they will appropriately form part of a speech. This will appear most clearly when we have defined a
maxim. It is a statement; not a particular fact, such as the character of lphicrates, but of a general kind; nor is
it about any and every subject — e.g. 'straight is the contrary of curved' is not a maxim — but only about
questions of practical conduct, courses of conduct to be chosen or avoided. Now an Enthymeme is a
syllogism dealing with such practical subjects. It is therefore roughly true that the premisses or conclusions of
Enthymemes, considered apart from the rest of the argument, are Maxims: e.g.

Never should any man whose wits are sound

Have his sons taught more wisdom than their fellows.

Here we have a Maxim; add the reason or explanation, and the whole thing is an Enthymeme; thus-

It makes them idle; and therewith they earn
Ill-will and jealousy throughout the city.

Again,

There is no man in all things prosperous,

and

There is no man among us all is free,
are maxims; but the latter, taken with what follows it, is an Enthymeme-

For all are slaves of money or of chance.

From this definition of a maxim it follows that there are four kinds of maxims. In the first Place, the maxim
may or may not have a supplement. Proof is needed where the statement is paradoxical or disputable; no
supplement is wanted where the statement contains nothing paradoxical, either because the view expressed is
already a known truth, e.g.

Chiefest of blessings is health for a man, as it seemeth to me,
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this being the general opinion: or because, as soon as the view is stated, it is clear at a glance, e.g.
No love is true save that which loves for ever.

Of the Maxims that do have a supplement attached, some are part of an Enthymeme, e.g.

Never should any man whose wits are sound,

Others have the essential character of Enthymemes, but are not stated as parts of Enthymemes; these latter are
reckoned the best; they are those in which the reason for the view expressed is simply implied, e.g.

O mortal man, nurse not immortal wrath.

To say 'it is not right to nurse immortal wrath' is a maxim; the added words 'mortal man' give the reason.
Similarly, with the words

Mortal creatures ought to cherish mortal, not immortal thoughts.

What has been said has shown us how many kinds of Maxims there are, and to what subjects the various
kinds are appropriate. They must not be given without supplement if they express disputed or paradoxical
views: we must, in that case, either put the supplement first and make a maxim of the conclusion, e.g. you
might say, 'For my part, since both unpopularity and idleness are undesirable, I hold that it is better not to be
educated'; or you may say this first, and then add the previous clause. Where a statement, without being
paradoxical, is not obviously true, the reason should be added as concisely as possible. In such cases both
laconic and enigmatic sayings are suitable: thus one might say what Stesichorus said to the Locrians,
'Insolence is better avoided, lest the cicalas chirp on the ground'.

The use of Maxims is appropriate only to elderly men, and in handling subjects in which the speaker is
experienced. For a young man to use them is-like telling stories-unbecoming; to use them in handling things
in which one has no experience is silly and ill-bred: a fact sufficiently proved by the special fondness of
country fellows for striking out maxims, and their readiness to air them.

To declare a thing to be universally true when it is not is most appropriate when working up feelings of
horror and indignation in our hearers; especially by way of preface, or after the facts have been proved. Even
hackneyed and commonplace maxims are to be used, if they suit one's purpose: just because they are
commonplace, every one seems to agree with them, and therefore they are taken for truth. Thus, any one who
is calling on his men to risk an engagement without obtaining favourable omens may quote

One omen of all is hest, that we fight for our fatherland.

Or, if he is calling on them to attack a stronger force-

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The War-God showeth no favour.

Or, if he is urging people to destroy the innocent children of their enemies-
Fool, who slayeth the father and leaveth his sons to avenge him.

Some proverbs are also maxims, e.g. the proverb 'An Attic neighbour'. You are not to avoid uttering maxims
that contradict such sayings as have become public property (I mean such sayings as 'know thyself and
'nothing in excess') if doing so will raise your hearers' opinion of your character, or convey an effect of strong
emotion — e.g. an angry speaker might well say, 'It is not true that we ought to know ourselves: anyhow, if
this man had known himself, he would never have thought himself fit for an army command.' It will raise
people's opinion of our character to say, for instance, 'We ought not to follow the saying that bids us treat our
friends as future enemies: much better to treat our enemies as future friends.' The moral purpose should be
implied partly by the very wording of our maxim. Failing this, we should add our reason: e.g. having said
'We should treat our friends, not as the saying advises, but as if they were going to be our friends always', we
should add 'for the other behaviour is that of a traitor': or we might put it, I disapprove of that saying. A true
friend will treat his friend as if he were going to be his friend for ever'; and again, 'Nor do I approve of the
saying "nothing in excess": we are bound to hate bad men excessively.' One great advantage of Maxims to a
speaker is due to the want of intelligence in his hearers, who love to hear him succeed in expressing as a
universal truth the opinions which they hold themselves about particular cases. I will explain what I mean by
this, indicating at the same time how we are to hunt down the maxims required. The maxim, as has been
already said, a general statement and people love to hear stated in general terms what they already believe in
some particular connexion: e.g. if a man happens to have bad neighbours or bad children, he will agree with
any one who tells him, 'Nothing is more annoying than having neighbours', or, 'Nothing is more foolish than
to be the parent of children.' The orator has therefore to guess the subjects on which his hearers really hold
views already, and what those views are, and then must express, as general truths, these same views on these
same subjects. This is one advantage of using maxims. There is another which is more important-it invests a
speech with moral character. There is moral character in every speech in which the moral purpose is
conspicuous: and maxims always produce this effect, because the utterance of them amounts to a general
declaration of moral principles: so that, if the maxims are sound, they display the speaker as a man of sound
moral character. So much for the Maxim-its nature, varieties, proper use, and advantages.

We now come to the Enthymemes, and will begin the subject with some general consideration of the proper
way of looking for them, and then proceed to what is a distinct question, the lines of argument to be
embodied in them. It has already been pointed out that the Enthymeme is a syllogism, and in what sense it is
so. We have also noted the differences between it and the syllogism of dialectic. Thus we must not carry its
reasoning too far back, or the length of our argument will cause obscurity: nor must we put in all the steps
that lead to our conclusion, or we shall waste words in saying what is manifest. It is this simplicity that makes
the uneducated more effective than the educated when addressing popular audiences-makes them, as the
poets tell us, 'charm the crowd's ears more finely'. Educated men lay down broad general principles;
uneducated men argue from common knowledge and draw obvious conclusions. We must not, therefore, start
from any and every accepted opinion, but only from those we have defined-those accepted by our judges or
by those whose authority they recognize: and there must, moreover, be no doubt in the minds of most, if not
all, of our judges that the opinions put forward really are of this sort. We should also base our arguments
upon probabilities as well as upon certainties.

The first thing we have to remember is this. Whether our argument concerns public affairs or some other
subject, we must know some, if not all, of the facts about the subject on which we are to speak and argue.

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Otherwise we can have no materials out of which to construct arguments. I mean, for instance, how could we
advise the Athenians whether they should go to war or not, if we did not know their strength, whether it was
naval or military or both, and how great it is; what their revenues amount to; who their friends and enemies
are; what wars, too, they have waged, and with what success; and so on? Or how could we eulogize them if
we knew nothing about the sea-fight at Salamis, or the battle of Marathon, or what they did for the
Heracleidae, or any other facts like that? All eulogy is based upon the noble deeds — real or imaginary — that
stand to the credit of those eulogized. On the same principle, invectives are based on facts of the opposite
kind: the orator looks to see what base deeds — real or imaginary — stand to the discredit of those he is
attacking, such as treachery to the cause of Hellenic freedom, or the enslavement of their gallant allies against
the barbarians (Aegina, Potidaea, or any other misdeeds of this kind that are recorded against them. So, too,
in a court of law: whether we are prosecuting or defending, we must pay attention to the existing facts of the
case. It makes no difference whether the subject is the Lacedaemonians or the Athenians, a man or a god; we
must do the same thing. Suppose it to be Achilles whom we are to advise, to praise or blame, to accuse or
defend; here too we must take the facts, real or imaginary; these must be our material, whether we are to
praise or blame him for the noble or base deeds he has done, to accuse or defend him for his just or unjust
treatment of others, or to advise him about what is or is not to his interest. The same thing applies to any
subject whatever. Thus, in handling the question whether justice is or is not a good, we must start with the
real facts about justice and goodness. We see, then, that this is the only way in which any one ever proves
anything, whether his arguments are strictly cogent or not: not all facts can form his basis, but only those that
bear on the matter in hand: nor, plainly, can proof be effected otherwise by means of the speech.
Consequently, as appears in the Topics, we must first of all have by us a selection of arguments about
questions that may arise and are suitable for us to handle; and then we must try to think out arguments of the
same type for special needs as they emerge; not vaguely and indefinitely, but by keeping our eyes on the
actual facts of the subject we have to speak on, and gathering in as many of them as we can that bear closely
upon it: for the more actual facts we have at our command, the more easily we prove our case; and the more
closely they bear on the subject, the more they will seem to belong to that speech only instead of being
commonplaces. By 'commonplaces' I mean, for example, eulogy of Achilles because he is a human being or a
demi-god, or because he joined the expedition against Troy: these things are true of many others, so that this
kind of eulogy applies no better to Achilles than to Diomede. The special facts here needed are those that are
true of Achilles alone; such facts as that he slew Hector, the bravest of the Trojans, and Cycnus the
invulnerable, who prevented all the Greeks from landing, and again that he was the youngest man who joined
the expedition, and was not bound by oath to join it, and so on.

Here, again, we have our first principle of selection of Enthymemes-that which refers to the lines of
argument selected. We will now consider the various elementary classes of enthymemes. (By an 'elementary
class' of enthymeme I mean the same thing as a 'line of argument'.) We will begin, as we must begin, by
observing that there are two kinds of enthymemes. One kind proves some affirmative or negative proposition;
the other kind disproves one. The difference between the two kinds is the same as that between syllogistic
proof and disproof in dialectic. The demonstrative enthymeme is formed by the conjunction of compatible
propositions; the refutative, by the conjunction of incompatible propositions.

We may now be said to have in our hands the lines of argument for the various special subjects that it is
useful or necessary to handle, having selected the propositions suitable in various cases. We have, in fact,
already ascertained the lines of argument applicable to enthymemes about good and evil, the noble and the
base, justice and injustice, and also to those about types of character, emotions, and moral qualities. Let us
now lay hold of certain facts about the whole subject, considered from a different and more general point of
view. In the course of our discussion we will take note of the distinction between lines of proof and lines of
disproof: and also of those lines of argument used in what seems to be enthymemes, but are not, since they do
not represent valid syllogisms. Having made all this clear, we will proceed to classify Objections and
Refutations, showing how they can be brought to bear upon enthymemes.

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1. One line of positive proof is based upon consideration of the opposite of the thing in question. Observe
whether that opposite has the opposite quality. If it has not, you refute the original proposition; if it has, you
establish it. E.g. 'Temperance is beneficial; for licentiousness is hurtful'. Or, as in the Messenian speech, 'If
war is the cause of our present troubles, peace is what we need to put things right again'. Or-

For if not even evil-doers should

Anger us if they meant not what they did,

Then can we owe no gratitude to such

As were constrained to do the good they did us.

Or-

Since in this world liars may win belief,

Be sure of the opposite likewise-that this world

Hears many a true word and believes it not.

2. Another line of proof is got by considering some modification of the key-word, and arguing that what can

or cannot be said of the one, can or cannot be said of the other: e.g. 'just' does not always mean 'beneficial', or

'justly' would always mean 'beneficially', whereas it is not desirable to be justly put to death.

3. Another line of proof is based upon correlative ideas. If it is true that one man noble or just treatment to

another, you argue that the other must have received noble or just treatment; or that where it is right to

command obedience, it must have been right to obey the command. Thus Diomedon, the tax-farmer, said of

the taxes: 'If it is no disgrace for you to sell them, it is no disgrace for us to buy them'. Further, if 'well' or

'justly' is true of the person to whom a thing is done, you argue that it is true of the doer. But it is possible to

draw a false conclusion here. It may be just that A should be treated in a certain way, and yet not just that he

should be so treated by B. Hence you must ask yourself two distinct questions: (1) Is it right that A should be

thus treated? (2) Is it right that B should thus treat him? and apply your results properly, according as your

answers are Yes or No. Sometimes in such a case the two answers differ: you may quite easily have a

position like that in the Alcmaeon of Theodectes:

And was there none to loathe thy mother's crime?

to which question Alcmaeon in reply says,

Why, there are two things to examine here.

And when Alphesiboea asks what he means, he rejoins:

They judged her fit to die, not me to slay her.

Again there is the lawsuit about Demosthenes and the men who killed Nicanor; as they were judged to have

killed him justly, it was thought that he was killed justly. And in the case of the man who was killed at

Thebes, the judges were requested to decide whether it was unjust that he should be killed, since if it was not,

it was argued that it could not have been unjust to kill him.

4. Another line of proof is the 'a fortiori'. Thus it may be argued that if even the gods are not omniscient,
certainly human beings are not. The principle here is that, if a quality does not in fact exist where it is more
likely to exist, it clearly does not exist where it is less likely. Again, the argument that a man who strikes his

father also strikes his neighbours follows from the principle that, if the less likely thing is true, the more
likely thing is true also; for a man is less likely to strike his father than to strike his neighbours. The

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argument, then, may run thus. Or it may be urged that, if a thing is not true where it is more likely, it is not

true where it is less likely; or that, if it is true where it is less likely, it is true where it is more likely:
according as we have to show that a thing is or is not true. This argument might also be used in a case of

parity, as in the lines:

Thou hast pity for thy sire, who has lost his sons:
Hast none for Oeneus, whose brave son is dead?

And, again, 'if Theseus did no wrong, neither did Paris'; or 'the sons of Tyndareus did no wrong, neither did
Paris'; or 'if Hector did well to slay Patroclus, Paris did well to slay Achilles'. And 'if other followers of an art
are not bad men, neither are philosophers'. And 'if generals are not bad men because it often happens that they

are condemned to death, neither are sophists'. And the remark that 'if each individual among you ought to
think of his own city's reputation, you ought all to think of the reputation of Greece as a whole'.

5. Another line of argument is based on considerations of time. Thus Iphicrates, in the case against

Harmodius, said, 'if before doing the deed I had bargained that, if I did it, I should have a statue, you would

have given me one. Will you not give me one now that I have done the deed? You must not make promises

when you are expecting a thing to be done for you, and refuse to fulfil them when the thing has been done.'

And, again, to induce the Thebans to let Philip pass through their territory into Attica, it was argued that 'if he

had insisted on this before he helped them against the Phocians, they would have promised to do it. It is

monstrous, therefore, that just because he threw away his advantage then, and trusted their honour, they

should not let him pass through now'.

6. Another line is to apply to the other speaker what he has said against yourself. It is an excellent turn to give
to a debate, as may be seen in the Teucer. It was employed by Iphicrates in his reply to Aristophon. 'Would
you', he asked, 'take a bribe to betray the fleet?' 'No', said Aristophon; and Iphicrates replied, 'Very good: if

you, who are Aristophon, would not betray the fleet, would I, who am Iphicrates?' Only, it must be

recognized beforehand that the other man is more likely than you are to commit the crime in question.

Otherwise you will make yourself ridiculous; it is Aristeides who is prosecuting, you cannot say that sort of

thing to him. The purpose is to discredit the prosecutor, who as a rule would have it appear that his character

is better than that of the defendant, a pretension which it is desirable to upset. But the use of such an

argument is in all cases ridiculous if you are attacking others for what you do or would do yourself, or are

urging others to do what you neither do nor would do yourself.

7. Another line of proof is secured by defining your terms. Thus, 'What is the supernatural? Surely it is either

a god or the work of a god. Well, any one who believes that the work of a god exists, cannot help also

believing that gods exist.' Or take the argument of Iphicrates, 'Goodness is true nobility; neither Harmodius

nor Aristogeiton had any nobility before they did a noble deed'. He also argued that he himself was more akin

to Harmodius and Aristogeiton than his opponent was. At any rate, my deeds are more akin to those of

Harmodius and Aristogeiton than yours are'. Another example may be found in the Alexander. 'Every one

will agree that by incontinent people we mean those who are not satisfied with the enjoyment of one love.' A

further example is to be found in the reason given by Socrates for not going to the court of Archelaus. He said

that 'one is insulted by being unable to requite benefits, as well as by being unable to requite injuries'. All the

persons mentioned define their term and get at its essential meaning, and then use the result when reasoning

on the point at issue.

8. Another line of argument is founded upon the various senses of a word. Such a word is 'rightly', as has
been explained in the Topics. Another line is based upon logical division. Thus, All men do wrong from one
of three motives, A, B, or C: in my case A and B are out of the question, and even the accusers do not allege

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10. Another line is based upon induction. Thus from the case of the woman of Peparethus it might be argued

that women everywhere can settle correctly the facts about their children. Another example of this occurred at

Athens in the case between the orator Mantias and his son, when the boy's mother revealed the true facts: and

yet another at Thebes, in the case between Ismenias and Stilbon, when Dodonis proved that it was Ismenias

who was the father of her son Thettaliscus, and he was in consequence always regarded as being so. A further

instance of induction may be taken from the Law of Theodectes: 'If we do not hand over our horses to the

care of men who have mishandled other people's horses, nor ships to those who have wrecked other people's

ships, and if this is true of everything else alike, then men who have failed to secure other people's safety are

not to be employed to secure our own.' Another instance is the argument of Alcidamas: 'Every one honours

the wise'. Thus the Parians have honoured Archilochus, in spite of his bitter tongue; the Chians Homer,

though he was not their countryman; the Mytilenaeans Sappho, though she was a woman; the

Lacedaemonians actually made Chilon a member of their senate, though they are the least literary of men; the

Italian Greeks honoured Pythagoras; the inhabitants of Lampsacus gave public burial to Anaxagoras, though

he was an alien, and honour him even to this day. (It may be argued that peoples for whom philosophers

legislate are always prosperous) on the ground that the Athenians became prosperous under Solon's laws and

the Lacedaemonians under those of Lycurgus, while at Thebes no sooner did the leading men become

philosophers than the country began to prosper.

1 1 . Another line of argument is founded upon some decision already pronounced, whether on the same

subject or on one like it or contrary to it. Such a proof is most effective if every one has always decided thus;

but if not every one, then at any rate most people; or if all, or most, wise or good men have thus decided, or

the actual judges of the present question, or those whose authority they accept, or any one whose decision

they cannot gainsay because he has complete control over them, or those whom it is not seemly to gainsay, as

the gods, or one's father, or one's teachers. Thus Autocles said, when attacking Mixidemides, that it was a

strange thing that the Dread Goddesses could without loss of dignity submit to the judgement of the

Areopagus, and yet Mixidemides could not. Or as Sappho said, 'Death is an evil thing; the gods have so

judged it, or they would die'. Or again as Aristippus said in reply to Plato when he spoke somewhat too

dogmatically, as Aristippus thought: 'Well, anyhow, our friend', meaning Socrates, 'never spoke like that'.

And Hegesippus, having previously consulted Zeus at Olympia, asked Apollo at Delphi 'whether his opinion

was the same as his father's', implying that it would be shameful for him to contradict his father. Thus too
Isocrates argued that Helen must have been a good woman, because Theseus decided that she was; and Paris
a good man, because the goddesses chose him before all others; and Evagoras also, says Isocrates, was good,
since when Conon met with his misfortune he betook himself to Evagoras without trying any one else on the

way.

12. Another line of argument consists in taking separately the parts of a subject. Such is that given in the

Topics: 'What sort of motion is the soul? for it must be this or that.' The Socrates of Theodectes provides an

example: 'What temple has he profaned? What gods recognized by the state has he not honoured?'

13. Since it happens that any given thing usually has both good and bad consequences, another line of

argument consists in using those consequences as a reason for urging that a thing should or should not be

done, for prosecuting or defending any one, for eulogy or censure. E.g. education leads both to unpopularity,

which is bad, and to wisdom, which is good. Hence you either argue, 'It is therefore not well to be educated,

since it is not well to be unpopular': or you answer, 'No, it is well to be educated, since it is well to be wise'.

The Art of Rhetoric of Callippus is made up of this line of argument, with the addition of those of Possibility

and the others of that kind already described.

14. Another line of argument is used when we have to urge or discourage a course of action that may be done

in either of two opposite ways, and have to apply the method just mentioned to both. The difference between

this one and the last is that, whereas in the last any two things are contrasted, here the things contrasted are

opposites. For instance, the priestess enjoined upon her son not to take to public speaking: 'For', she said, 'if

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you say what is right, men will hate you; if you say what is wrong, the gods will hate you.' The reply might

be, 'On the contrary, you ought to take to public speaking: for if you say what is right the gods will love you;

if you say what is wrong, men will love you.' This amounts to the proverbial 'buying the marsh with the salt'.

It is just this situation, viz. when each of two opposites has both a good and a bad consequence opposite

respectively to each other, that has been termed divarication.

15. Another line of argument is this: The things people approve of openly are not those which they approve
of secretly: openly, their chief praise is given to justice and nobleness; but in their hearts they prefer their

own advantage. Try, in face of this, to establish the point of view which your opponent has not adopted. This
is the most effective of the forms of argument that contradict common opinion.

16. Another line is that of rational correspondence. E.g. Iphicrates, when they were trying to compel his son,
a youth under the prescribed age, to perform one of the state duties because he was tall, said 'If you count tall

boys men, you will next be voting short men boys'. And Theodectes in his Law said, 'You make citizens of

such mercenaries as Strabax and Charidemus, as a reward of their merits; will you not make exiles of such

citizens as those who have done irreparable harm among the mercenaries?'

17. Another line is the argument that if two results are the same their antecedents are also the same. For

instance, it was a saying of Xenophanes that to assert that the gods had birth is as impious as to say that they

die; the consequence of both statements is that there is a time when the gods do not exist. This line of proof

assumes generally that the result of any given thing is always the same: e.g. 'you are going to decide not

about Isocrates, but about the value of the whole profession of philosophy.' Or, 'to give earth and water'

means slavery; or, 'to share in the Common Peace' means obeying orders. We are to make either such

assumptions or their opposite, as suits us best.

18. Another line of argument is based on the fact that men do not always make the same choice on a later as
on an earlier occasion, but reverse their previous choice. E.g. the following enthymeme: 'When we were

exiles, we fought in order to return; now we have returned, it would be strange to choose exile in order not to

have to fight.' one occasion, that is, they chose to be true to their homes at the cost of fighting, and on the

other to avoid fighting at the cost of deserting their homes.

19. Another line of argument is the assertion that some possible motive for an event or state of things is the
real one: e.g. that a gift was given in order to cause pain by its withdrawal. This notion underlies the lines:

God gives to many great prosperity,

Not of good God towards them, but to make

The ruin of them more conspicuous.

Or take the passage from the Meleager of Antiphon:

To slay no boar, but to be witnesses
Of Meleager's prowess unto Greece.

Or the argument in the Ajax of Theodectes, that Diomede chose out Odysseus not to do him honour, but in
order that his companion might be a lesser man than himself-such a motive for doing so is quite possible.

20. Another line of argument is common to forensic and deliberative oratory, namely, to consider

inducements and deterrents, and the motives people have for doing or avoiding the actions in question. These

are the conditions which make us bound to act if they are for us, and to refrain from action if they are against

us: that is, we are bound to act if the action is possible, easy, and useful to ourselves or our friends or hurtful

to our enemies; this is true even if the action entails loss, provided the loss is outweighed by the solid

advantage. A speaker will urge action by pointing to such conditions, and discourage it by pointing to the

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opposite. These same arguments also form the materials for accusation or defence-the deterrents being
pointed out by the defence, and the inducements by the prosecution. As for the defence,. ..This topic forms the

whole Art of Rhetoric both of Pamphilus and of Callippus.

21. Another line of argument refers to things which are supposed to happen and yet seem incredible. We may
argue that people could not have believed them, if they had not been true or nearly true: even that they are the

more likely to be true because they are incredible. For the things which men believe are either facts or

probabilities: if, therefore, a thing that is believed is improbable and even incredible, it must be true, since it

is certainly not believed because it is at all probable or credible. An example is what Androcles of the deme

Pitthus said in his well-known arraignment of the law. The audience tried to shout him down when he

observed that the laws required a law to set them right. 'Why', he went on, 'fish need salt, improbable and

incredible as this might seem for creatures reared in salt water; and olive-cakes need oil, incredible as it is

that what produces oil should need it.'

22. Another line of argument is to refute our opponent's case by noting any contrasts or contradictions of

dates, acts, or words that it anywhere displays; and this in any of the three following connexions. (1)

Referring to our opponent's conduct, e.g. 'He says he is devoted to you, yet he conspired with the Thirty.' (2)

Referring to our own conduct, e.g. 'He says I am litigious, and yet he cannot prove that I have been engaged

in a single lawsuit.' (3) Referring to both of us together, e.g. 'He has never even lent any one a penny, but I

have ransomed quite a number of you.'

23. Another line that is useful for men and causes that have been really or seemingly slandered, is to show

why the facts are not as supposed; pointing out that there is a reason for the false impression given. Thus a

woman, who had palmed off her son on another woman, was thought to be the lad's mistress because she

embraced him; but when her action was explained the charge was shown to be groundless. Another example

is from the Ajax of Theodectes, where Odysseus tells Ajax the reason why, though he is really braver than

Ajax, he is not thought so.

24. Another line of argument is to show that if the cause is present, the effect is present, and if absent, absent.

For by proving the cause you at once prove the effect, and conversely nothing can exist without its cause.

Thus Thrasybulus accused Leodamas of having had his name recorded as a criminal on the slab in the

Acropolis, and of erasing the record in the time of the Thirty Tyrants: to which Leodamas replied,

'Impossible: for the Thirty would have trusted me all the more if my quarrel with the commons had been

inscribed on the slab.'

25. Another line is to consider whether the accused person can take or could have taken a better course than

that which he is recommending or taking, or has taken. If he has not taken this better course, it is clear that he

is not guilty, since no one deliberately and consciously chooses what is bad. This argument is, however,

fallacious, for it often becomes clear after the event how the action could have been done better, though

before the event this was far from clear.

26. Another line is, when a contemplated action is inconsistent with any past action, to examine them both
together. Thus, when the people of Elea asked Xenophanes if they should or should not sacrifice to Leucothea

and mourn for her, he advised them not to mourn for her if they thought her a goddess, and not to sacrifice to

her if they thought her a mortal woman.

27. Another line is to make previous mistakes the grounds of accusation or defence. Thus, in the Medea of
Carcinus the accusers allege that Medea has slain her children; 'at all events', they say, 'they are not to be

seen'-Medea having made the mistake of sending her children away. In defence she argues that it is not her

children, but Jason, whom she would have slain; for it would have been a mistake on her part not to do this if

she had done the other. This special line of argument for enthymeme forms the whole of the Art of Rhetoric

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in use before Theodorus.

Another line is to draw meanings from names. Sophocles, for instance, says,

O steel in heart as thou art steel in name.

This line of argument is common in praises of the gods. Thus, too, Conon called Thrasybulus rash in counsel.
And Herodicus said of Thrasymachus, 'You are always bold in battle'; of Polus, 'you are always a colt'; and of
the legislator Draco that his laws were those not of a human being but of a dragon, so savage were they. And,

in Euripides, Hecuba says of Aphrodite,

Her name and Folly's (aphrosuns) lightly begin alike,

and Chaeremon writes

Pentheus-a name foreshadowing grief (penthos) to come.

The Refutative Enthymeme has a greater reputation than the Demonstrative, because within a small space it

works out two opposing arguments, and arguments put side by side are clearer to the audience. But of all

syllogisms, whether refutative or demonstrative, those are most applauded of which we foresee the

conclusions from the beginning, so long as they are not obvious at first sight-for part of the pleasure we feel

is at our own intelligent anticipation; or those which we follow well enough to see the point of them as soon

as the last word has been uttered.

Besides genuine syllogisms, there may be syllogisms that look genuine but are not; and since an enthymeme
is merely a syllogism of a particular kind, it follows that, besides genuine enthymemes, there may be those

that look genuine but are not.

1 . Among the lines of argument that form the Spurious Enthymeme the first is that which arises from the

particular words employed.

(a) One variety of this is when-as in dialectic, without having gone through any reasoning process, we make
a final statement as if it were the conclusion of such a process, Therefore so-and-so is not true', Therefore

also so-and-so must be true'-so too in rhetoric a compact and antithetical utterance passes for an

enthymeme, such language being the proper province of enthymeme, so that it is seemingly the form of

wording here that causes the illusion mentioned. In order to produce the effect of genuine reasoning by our

form of wording it is useful to summarize the results of a number of previous reasonings: as 'some he

saved-others he avenged-the Greeks he freed'. Each of these statements has been previously proved from

other facts; but the mere collocation of them gives the impression of establishing some fresh conclusion.

(b) Another variety is based on the use of similar words for different things; e.g. the argument that the mouse

must be a noble creature, since it gives its name to the most august of all religious rites-for such the
Mysteries are. Or one may introduce, into a eulogy of the dog, the dog-star; or Pan, because Pindar said:

O thou blessed one!
Thou whom they of Olympus call
The hound of manifold shape
That follows the Mother of Heaven:

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or we may argue that, because there is much disgrace in there not being a dog about, there is honour in being

a dog. Or that Hermes is readier than any other god to go shares, since we never say 'shares all round' except

of him. Or that speech is a very excellent thing, since good men are not said to be worth money but to be

worthy of esteem-the phrase 'worthy of esteem' also having the meaning of 'worth speech'.

2. Another line is to assert of the whole what is true of the parts, or of the parts what is true of the whole. A
whole and its parts are supposed to be identical, though often they are not. You have therefore to adopt

whichever of these two lines better suits your purpose. That is how Euthydemus argues: e.g. that any one
knows that there is a trireme in the Peiraeus, since he knows the separate details that make up this statement.
There is also the argument that one who knows the letters knows the whole word, since the word is the same
thing as the letters which compose it; or that, if a double portion of a certain thing is harmful to health, then a

single portion must not be called wholesome, since it is absurd that two good things should make one bad

thing. Put thus, the enthymeme is refutative; put as follows; demonstrative: 'For one good thing cannot be
made up of two bad things.' The whole line of argument is fallacious. Again, there is Polycrates' saying that

Thrasybulus put down thirty tyrants, where the speaker adds them up one by one. Or the argument in the
Orestes of Theodectes, where the argument is from part to whole:

Tis right that she who slays her lord should die.

'It is right, too, that the son should avenge his father. Very good: these two things are what Orestes has done.'

Still, perhaps the two things, once they are put together, do not form a right act. The fallacy might also be

said to be due to omission, since the speaker fails to say by whose hand a husband-slayer should die.

3. Another line is the use of indignant language, whether to support your own case or to overthrow your

opponent's. We do this when we paint a highly-coloured picture of the situation without having proved the

facts of it: if the defendant does so, he produces an impression of his innocence; and if the prosecutor goes

into a passion, he produces an impression of the defendant's guilt. Here there is no genuine enthymeme: the

hearer infers guilt or innocence, but no proof is given, and the inference is fallacious accordingly.

4. Another line is to use a 'Sign', or single instance, as certain evidence; which, again, yields no valid proof.
Thus, it might be said that lovers are useful to their countries, since the love of Harmodius and Aristogeiton

caused the downfall of the tyrant Hipparchus. Or, again, that Dionysius is a thief, since he is a vicious
man-there is, of course, no valid proof here; not every vicious man is a thief, though every thief is a vicious

man.

5. Another line represents the accidental as essential. An instance is what Polycrates says of the mice, that

they 'came to the rescue' because they gnawed through the bowstrings. Or it might be maintained that an

invitation to dinner is a great honour, for it was because he was not invited that Achilles was 'angered' with

the Greeks at Tenedos? As a fact, what angered him was the insult involved; it was a mere accident that this

was the particular form that the insult took.

6. Another is the argument from consequence. In the Alexander, for instance, it is argued that Paris must have

had a lofty disposition, since he despised society and lived by himself on Mount Ida: because lofty people do

this kind of thing, therefore Paris too, we are to suppose, had a lofty soul. Or, if a man dresses fashionably

and roams around at night, he is a rake, since that is the way rakes behave. Another similar argument points

out that beggars sing and dance in temples, and that exiles can live wherever they please, and that such

privileges are at the disposal of those we account happy and therefore every one might be regarded as happy

if only he has those privileges. What matters, however, is the circumstances under which the privileges are

enjoyed. Hence this line too falls under the head of fallacies by omission.

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7. Another line consists in representing as causes things which are not causes, on the ground that they

happened along with or before the event in question. They assume that, because B happens after A, it happens

because of A. Politicians are especially fond of taking this line. Thus Demades said that the policy of

Demosthenes was the cause of all the mischief, 'for after it the war occurred'.

8. Another line consists in leaving out any mention of time and circumstances. E.g. the argument that Paris

was justified in taking Helen, since her father left her free to choose: here the freedom was presumably not

perpetual; it could only refer to her first choice, beyond which her father's authority could not go. Or again,

one might say that to strike a free man is an act of wanton outrage; but it is not so in every case-only when it

is unprovoked.

9. Again, a spurious syllogism may, as in 'eristical' discussions, be based on the confusion of the absolute

with that which is not absolute but particular. As, in dialectic, for instance, it may be argued that what-is-not

is, on the ground that what-is-not is what-is-not: or that the unknown can be known, on the ground that it

can be known to he unknown: so also in rhetoric a spurious enthymeme may be based on the confusion of

some particular probability with absolute probability. Now no particular probability is universally probable:

as Agathon says,

One might perchance say that was probable-
That things improbable oft will hap to men.

For what is improbable does happen, and therefore it is probable that improbable things will happen. Granted

this, one might argue that 'what is improbable is probable'. But this is not true absolutely. As, in eristic, the

imposture comes from not adding any clause specifying relationship or reference or manner; so here it arises

because the probability in question is not general but specific. It is of this line of argument that Corax's Art of

Rhetoric is composed. If the accused is not open to the charge-for instance if a weakling be tried for violent

assault-the defence is that he was not likely to do such a thing. But if he is open to the charge-i.e. if he is a

strong man-the defence is still that he was not likely to do such a thing, since he could be sure that people

would think he was likely to do it. And so with any other charge: the accused must be either open or not open

to it: there is in either case an appearance of probable innocence, but whereas in the latter case the probability

is genuine, in the former it can only be asserted in the special sense mentioned. This sort of argument

illustrates what is meant by making the worse argument seem the better. Hence people were right in objecting

to the training Protagoras undertook to give them. It was a fraud; the probability it handled was not genuine

but spurious, and has a place in no art except Rhetoric and Eristic.

Enthymemes, genuine and apparent, have now been described; the next subject is their Refutation.

An argument may be refuted either by a counter-syllogism or by bringing an objection. It is clear that

counter-syllogisms can be built up from the same lines of arguments as the original syllogisms: for the

materials of syllogisms are the ordinary opinions of men, and such opinions often contradict each other.

Objections, as appears in the Topics, may be raised in four ways-either by directly attacking your opponent's

own statement, or by putting forward another statement like it, or by putting forward a statement contrary to

it, or by quoting previous decisions.

1. By 'attacking your opponent's own statement' I mean, for instance, this: if his enthymeme should assert that

love is always good, the objection can be brought in two ways, either by making the general statement that

'all want is an evil', or by making the particular one that there would be no talk of 'Caunian love' if there were

not evil loves as well as good ones.

2. An objection 'from a contrary statement' is raised when, for instance, the opponent's enthymeme having
concluded that a good man does good to all his friends, you object, 'That proves nothing, for a bad man does

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not do evil to all his friends'.

3. An example of an objection 'from a like statement' is, the enthymeme having shown that ill-used men
always hate their ill-users, to reply, 'That proves nothing, for well-used men do not always love those who

used them well'.

4. The 'decisions' mentioned are those proceeding from well-known men; for instance, if the enthymeme
employed has concluded that 'that allowance ought to be made for drunken offenders, since they did not

know what they were doing', the objection will be, 'Pittacus, then, deserves no approval, or he would not have
prescribed specially severe penalties for offences due to drunkenness'.

Enthymemes are based upon one or other of four kinds of alleged fact: (1) Probabilities, (2) Examples, (3)

Infallible Signs, (4) Ordinary Signs. (1) Enthymemes based upon Probabilities are those which argue from

what is, or is supposed to be, usually true. (2) Enthymemes based upon Example are those which proceed by

induction from one or more similar cases, arrive at a general proposition, and then argue deductively to a

particular inference. (3) Enthymemes based upon Infallible Signs are those which argue from the inevitable

and invariable. (4) Enthymemes based upon ordinary Signs are those which argue from some universal or

particular proposition, true or false.

Now (1) as a Probability is that which happens usually but not always, Enthymemes founded upon

Probabilities can, it is clear, always be refuted by raising some objection. The refutation is not always

genuine: it may be spurious: for it consists in showing not that your opponent's premiss is not probable, but

Only in showing that it is not inevitably true. Hence it is always in defence rather than in accusation that it is

possible to gain an advantage by using this fallacy. For the accuser uses probabilities to prove his case: and to

refute a conclusion as improbable is not the same thing as to refute it as not inevitable. Any argument based

upon what usually happens is always open to objection: otherwise it would not be a probability but an

invariable and necessary truth. But the judges think, if the refutation takes this form, either that the accuser's

case is not probable or that they must not decide it; which, as we said, is a false piece of reasoning. For they

ought to decide by considering not merely what must be true but also what is likely to be true: this is, indeed,

the meaning of 'giving a verdict in accordance with one's honest opinion'. Therefore it is not enough for the

defendant to refute the accusation by proving that the charge is not hound to be true: he must do so by

showing that it is not likely to be true. For this purpose his objection must state what is more usually true than

the statement attacked. It may do so in either of two ways: either in respect of frequency or in respect of

exactness. It will be most convincing if it does so in both respects; for if the thing in question both happens

oftener as we represent it and happens more as we represent it, the probability is particularly great.

(2) Fallible Signs, and Enthymemes based upon them, can be refuted even if the facts are correct, as was said
at the outset. For we have shown in the Analytics that no Fallible Sign can form part of a valid logical proof.

(3) Enthymemes depending on examples may be refuted in the same way as probabilities. If we have a

negative instance, the argument is refuted, in so far as it is proved not inevitable, even though the positive

examples are more similar and more frequent. And if the positive examples are more numerous and more

frequent, we must contend that the present case is dissimilar, or that its conditions are dissimilar, or that it is

different in some way or other.

(4) It will be impossible to refute Infallible Signs, and Enthymemes resting on them, by showing in any way

that they do not form a valid logical proof: this, too, we see from the Analytics. All we can do is to show that

the fact alleged does not exist. If there is no doubt that it does, and that it is an Infallible Sign, refutation now

becomes impossible: for this is equivalent to a demonstration which is clear in every respect.

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Amplification and Depreciation are not an element of enthymeme. By 'an element of enthymeme' I mean the
same thing as a line of enthymematic argument-a general class embracing a large number of particular kinds
of enthymeme. Amplification and Depreciation are one kind of enthymeme, viz. the kind used to show that a

thing is great or small; just as there are other kinds used to show that a thing is good or bad, just or unjust,

and anything else of the sort. All these things are the subject-matter of syllogisms and enthymemes; none of

these is the line of argument of an enthymeme; no more, therefore, are Amplification and Depreciation. Nor

are Refutative Enthymemes a different species from Constructive. For it is clear that refutation consists either

in offering positive proof or in raising an objection. In the first case we prove the opposite of our adversary's

statements. Thus, if he shows that a thing has happened, we show that it has not; if he shows that it has not
happened, we show that it has. This, then, could not be the distinction if there were one, since the same means

are employed by both parties, enthymemes being adduced to show that the fact is or is not so-and-so. An

objection, on the other hand, is not an enthymeme at all, as was said in the Topics, consists in stating some
accepted opinion from which it will be clear that our opponent has not reasoned correctly or has made a false

assumption.

Three points must be studied in making a speech; and we have now completed the account of (1) Examples,
Maxims, Enthymemes, and in general the thought-element the way to invent and refute arguments. We have

next to discuss (2) Style, and (3) Arrangement.

Book III

IN making a speech one must study three points: first, the means of producing persuasion; second, the style,
or language, to be used; third, the proper arrangement of the various parts of the speech. We have already
specified the sources of persuasion. We have shown that these are three in number; what they are; and why
there are only these three: for we have shown that persuasion must in every case be effected either (1) by
working on the emotions of the judges themselves, (2) by giving them the right impression of the speakers'
character, or (3) by proving the truth of the statements made.

Enthymemes also have been described, and the sources from which they should be derived; there being both
special and general lines of argument for enthymemes.

Our next subject will be the style of expression. For it is not enough to know what we ought to say; we must
also say it as we ought; much help is thus afforded towards producing the right impression of a speech. The
first question to receive attention was naturally the one that comes first naturally-how persuasion can be
produced from the facts themselves. The second is how to set these facts out in language. A third would be
the proper method of delivery; this is a thing that affects the success of a speech greatly; but hitherto the
subject has been neglected. Indeed, it was long before it found a way into the arts of tragic drama and epic
recitation: at first poets acted their tragedies themselves. It is plain that delivery has just as much to do with
oratory as with poetry. (In connexion with poetry, it has been studied by Glaucon of Teos among others.) It
is, essentially, a matter of the right management of the voice to express the various emotions-of speaking
loudly, softly, or between the two; of high, low, or intermediate pitch; of the various rhythms that suit various
subjects. These are the three things-volume of sound, modulation of pitch, and rhythm-that a speaker bears
in mind. It is those who do bear them in mind who usually win prizes in the dramatic contests; and just as in
drama the actors now count for more than the poets, so it is in the contests of public life, owing to the defects
of our political institutions. No systematic treatise upon the rules of delivery has yet been composed; indeed,
even the study of language made no progress till late in the day. Besides, delivery is-very properly-not
regarded as an elevated subject of inquiry. Still, the whole business of rhetoric being concerned with
appearances, we must pay attention to the subject of delivery, unworthy though it is, because we cannot do
without it. The right thing in speaking really is that we should be satisfied not to annoy our hearers, without
trying to delight them: we ought in fairness to fight our case with no help beyond the bare facts: nothing,
therefore, should matter except the proof of those facts. Still, as has been already said, other things affect the

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result considerably, owing to the defects of our hearers. The arts of language cannot help having a small but
real importance, whatever it is we have to expound to others: the way in which a thing is said does affect its
intelligibility. Not, however, so much importance as people think. All such arts are fanciful and meant to
charm the hearer. Nobody uses fine language when teaching geometry.

When the principles of delivery have been worked out, they will produce the same effect as on the stage. But
only very slight attempts to deal with them have been made and by a few people, as by Thrasymachus in his
'Appeals to Pity'. Dramatic ability is a natural gift, and can hardly be systematically taught. The principles of
good diction can be so taught, and therefore we have men of ability in this direction too, who win prizes in
their turn, as well as those speakers who excel in delivery-speeches of the written or literary kind owe more
of their effect to their direction than to their thought.

It was naturally the poets who first set the movement going; for words represent things, and they had also the
human voice at their disposal, which of all our organs can best represent other things. Thus the arts of
recitation and acting were formed, and others as well. Now it was because poets seemed to win fame through
their fine language when their thoughts were simple enough, that the language of oratorical prose at first took
a poetical colour, e.g. that of Gorgias. Even now most uneducated people think that poetical language makes
the finest discourses. That is not true: the language of prose is distinct from that of poetry. This is shown by
the state of things to-day, when even the language of tragedy has altered its character. Just as iambics were
adopted, instead of tetrameters, because they are the most prose-like of all metres, so tragedy has given up all
those words, not used in ordinary talk, which decorated the early drama and are still used by the writers of
hexameter poems. It is therefore ridiculous to imitate a poetical manner which the poets themselves have
dropped; and it is now plain that we have not to treat in detail the whole question of style, but may confine
ourselves to that part of it which concerns our present subject, rhetoric. The other — the poetical — part of it
has been discussed in the treatise on the Art of Poetry.

We may, then, start from the observations there made, including the definition of style. Style to be good must
be clear, as is proved by the fact that speech which fails to convey a plain meaning will fail to do just what
speech has to do. It must also be appropriate, avoiding both meanness and undue elevation; poetical language
is certainly free from meanness, but it is not appropriate to prose. Clearness is secured by using the words
(nouns and verbs alike) that are current and ordinary. Freedom from meanness, and positive adornment too,
are secured by using the other words mentioned in the Art of Poetry. Such variation from what is usual makes
the language appear more stately. People do not feel towards strangers as they do towards their own
countrymen, and the same thing is true of their feeling for language. It is therefore well to give to everyday
speech an unfamiliar air: people like what strikes them, and are struck by what is out of the way. In verse
such effects are common, and there they are fitting: the persons and things there spoken of are comparatively
remote from ordinary life. In prose passages they are far less often fitting because the subject-matter is less
exalted. Even in poetry, it is not quite appropriate that fine language should be used by a slave or a very
young man, or about very trivial subjects: even in poetry the style, to be appropriate, must sometimes be
toned down, though at other times heightened. We can now see that a writer must disguise his art and give the
impression of speaking naturally and not artificially. Naturalness is persuasive, artificiality is the contrary; for
our hearers are prejudiced and think we have some design against them, as if we were mixing their wines for
them. It is like the difference between the quality of Theodorus' voice and the voices of all other actors: his
really seems to be that of the character who is speaking, theirs do not. We can hide our purpose successfully
by taking the single words of our composition from the speech of ordinary life. This is done in poetry by
Euripides, who was the first to show the way to his successors.

Language is composed of nouns and verbs. Nouns are of the various kinds considered in the treatise on
Poetry. Strange words, compound words, and invented words must be used sparingly and on few occasions:
on what occasions we shall state later. The reason for this restriction has been already indicated: they depart
from what is suitable, in the direction of excess. In the language of prose, besides the regular and proper

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terms for things, metaphorical terms only can be used with advantage. This we gather from the fact that these
two classes of terms, the proper or regular and the metaphorical-these and no others-are used by everybody
in conversation. We can now see that a good writer can produce a style that is distinguished without being
obtrusive, and is at the same time clear, thus satisfying our definition of good oratorical prose. Words of
ambiguous meaning are chiefly useful to enable the sophist to mislead his hearers. Synonyms are useful to
the poet, by which I mean words whose ordinary meaning is the same, e.g. 'porheueseai' (advancing) and
'badizein' (proceeding); these two are ordinary words and have the same meaning.

In the Art of Poetry, as we have already said, will be found definitions of these kinds of words; a
classification of Metaphors; and mention of the fact that metaphor is of great value both in poetry and in
prose. Prose-writers must, however, pay specially careful attention to metaphor, because their other
resources are scantier than those of poets. Metaphor, moreover, gives style clearness, charm, and distinction
as nothing else can: and it is not a thing whose use can be taught by one man to another. Metaphors, like
epithets, must be fitting, which means that they must fairly correspond to the thing signified: failing this, their
inappropriateness will be conspicuous: the want of harmony between two things is emphasized by their being
placed side by side. It is like having to ask ourselves what dress will suit an old man; certainly not the
crimson cloak that suits a young man. And if you wish to pay a compliment, you must take your metaphor
from something better in the same line; if to disparage, from something worse. To illustrate my meaning:
since opposites are in the same class, you do what I have suggested if you say that a man who begs 'prays',
and a man who prays 'begs'; for praying and begging are both varieties of asking. So Iphicrates called Callias
a 'mendicant priest' instead of a 'torch-bearer', and Callias replied that Iphicrates must be uninitiated or he
would have called him not a 'mendicant priest' but a 'torch-bearer'. Both are religious titles, but one is
honourable and the other is not. Again, somebody calls actors 'hangers-on of Dionysus', but they call
themselves 'artists': each of these terms is a metaphor, the one intended to throw dirt at the actor, the other to
dignify him. And pirates now call themselves 'purveyors'. We can thus call a crime a mistake, or a mistake a
crime. We can say that a thief 'took' a thing, or that he 'plundered' his victim. An expression like that of
Euripides' Telephus,

King of the oar, on Mysia's coast he landed,

is inappropriate; the word 'king' goes beyond the dignity of the subject, and so the art is not concealed. A
metaphor may be amiss because the very syllables of the words conveying it fail to indicate sweetness of
vocal utterance. Thus Dionysius the Brazen in his elegies calls poetry 'Calliope's screech'. Poetry and
screeching are both, to be sure, vocal utterances. But the metaphor is bad, because the sounds of 'screeching',
unlike those of poetry, are discordant and unmeaning. Further, in using metaphors to give names to nameless
things, we must draw them not from remote but from kindred and similar things, so that the kinship is clearly
perceived as soon as the words are said. Thus in the celebrated riddle

I marked how a man glued bronze with fire to another man's body, the process is nameless; but both it and
gluing are a kind of application, and that is why the application of the cupping-glass is here called a 'gluing'.
Good riddles do, in general, provide us with satisfactory metaphors: for metaphors imply riddles, and
therefore a good riddle can furnish a good metaphor. Further, the materials of metaphors must be beautiful;
and the beauty, like the ugliness, of all words may, as Licymnius says, lie in their sound or in their meaning.
Further, there is a third consideration-one that upsets the fallacious argument of the sophist Bryson, that there
is no such thing as foul language, because in whatever words you put a given thing your meaning is the same.
This is untrue. One term may describe a thing more truly than another, may be more like it, and set it more
intimately before our eyes. Besides, two different words will represent a thing in two different lights; so on
this ground also one term must be held fairer or fouler than another. For both of two terms will indicate what
is fair, or what is foul, but not simply their fairness or their foulness, or if so, at any rate not in an equal
degree. The materials of metaphor must be beautiful to the ear, to the understanding, to the eye or some other
physical sense. It is better, for instance, to say 'rosy-fingered morn', than 'crimson-fingered' or, worse still,

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'red-fingered morn'. The epithets that we apply, too, may have a bad and ugly aspect, as when Orestes is
called a 'mother-slayer'; or a better one, as when he is called his 'father's avenger'. Simonides, when the
victor in the mule-race offered him a small fee, refused to write him an ode, because, he said, it was so
unpleasant to write odes to half-asses: but on receiving an adequate fee, he wrote

Hail to you, daughters of storm-footed steeds?

though of course they were daughters of asses too. The same effect is attained by the use of diminutives,
which make a bad thing less bad and a good thing less good. Take, for instance, the banter of Aristophanes in
the Babylonians where he uses 'goldlet' for 'gold', 'cloaklet' for 'cloak, 'scoffiet' for 'scoff, and 'plaguelet'. But
alike in using epithets and in using diminutives we must be wary and must observe the mean.

Bad taste in language may take any of four forms:

(1) The misuse of compound words. Lycophron, for instance, talks of the 'many visaged heaven' above the
'giant-crested earth', and again the 'strait-pathed shore'; and Gorgias of the 'pauper-poet flatterer' and
'oath-breaking and over-oath-keeping'. Alcidamas uses such expressions as 'the soul filling with rage and
face becoming flame-flushed', and 'he thought their enthusiasm would be issue-fraught' and 'issue-fraught
he made the persuasion of his words', and 'sombre-hued is the floor of the sea'.The way all these words are
compounded makes them, we feel, fit for verse only. This, then, is one form in which bad taste is shown.

(2) Another is the employment of strange words. For instance, Lycophron talks of 'the prodigious Xerxes' and
'spoliative Sciron'; Alcidamas of 'a toy for poetry' and 'the witlessness of nature', and says 'whetted with the
unmitigated temper of his spirit'.

(3) A third form is the use of long, unseasonable, or frequent epithets. It is appropriate enough for a poet to
talk of 'white milk', in prose such epithets are sometimes lacking in appropriateness or, when spread too
thickly, plainly reveal the author turning his prose into poetry. Of course we must use some epithets, since
they lift our style above the usual level and give it an air of distinction. But we must aim at the due mean, or
the result will be worse than if we took no trouble at all; we shall get something actually bad instead of
something merely not good. That is why the epithets of Alcidamas seem so tasteless; he does not use them as
the seasoning of the meat, but as the meat itself, so numerous and swollen and aggressive are they. For
instance, he does not say 'sweat', but 'the moist sweat'; not 'to the Isthmian games', but 'to the
world-concourse of the Isthmian games'; not 'laws', but 'the laws that are monarchs of states'; not 'at a run',
but 'his heart impelling him to speed of foot'; not 'a school of the Muses', but 'Nature's school of the Muses
had he inherited'; and so 'frowning care of heart', and 'achiever' not of 'popularity' but of 'universal
popularity', and 'dispenser of pleasure to his audience', and 'he concealed it' not 'with boughs' but 'with boughs
of the forest trees', and 'he clothed' not 'his body' but 'his body's nakedness', and 'his soul's desire was counter
imitative' (this's at one and the same time a compound and an epithet, so that it seems a poet's effort), and 'so
extravagant the excess of his wickedness'. We thus see how the inappropriateness of such poetical language
imports absurdity and tastelessness into speeches, as well as the obscurity that comes from all this
verbosity-for when the sense is plain, you only obscure and spoil its clearness by piling up words.

The ordinary use of compound words is where there is no term for a thing and some compound can be easily
formed, like 'pastime' (chronotribein); but if this is much done, the prose character disappears entirely. We
now see why the language of compounds is just the thing for writers of dithyrambs, who love sonorous
noises; strange words for writers of epic poetry, which is a proud and stately affair; and metaphor for iambic
verse, the metre which (as has been already' said) is widely used to-day.

(4) There remains the fourth region in which bad taste may be shown, metaphor. Metaphors like other things
may be inappropriate. Some are so because they are ridiculous; they are indeed used by comic as well as

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tragic poets. Others are too grand and theatrical; and these, if they are far-fetched, may also be obscure. For
instance, Gorgias talks of 'events that are green and full of sap', and says 'foul was the deed you sowed and
evil the harvest you reaped'. That is too much like poetry. Alcidamas, again, called philosophy 'a fortress that
threatens the power of law', and the Odyssey 'a goodly looking-glass of human life',' talked about 'offering no
such toy to poetry': all these expressions fail, for the reasons given, to carry the hearer with them. The address
of Gorgias to the swallow, when she had let her droppings fall on him as she flew overhead, is in the best
tragic manner. He said, 'Nay, shame, O Philomela'. Considering her as a bird, you could not call her act
shameful; considering her as a girl, you could; and so it was a good gibe to address her as what she was once
and not as what she is.

The Simile also is a metaphor; the difference is but slight. When the poet says of Achilles that he

Leapt on the foe as a lion,

this is a simile; when he says of him 'the lion leapt', it is a metaphor-here, since both are courageous, he has
transferred to Achilles the name of 'lion'. Similes are useful in prose as well as in verse; but not often, since
they are of the nature of poetry. They are to be employed just as metaphors are employed, since they are
really the same thing except for the difference mentioned.

The following are examples of similes. Androtion said of Idrieus that he was like a terrier let off the chain,
that flies at you and bites you-Idrieus too was savage now that he was let out of his chains. Theodamas
compared Archidamus to an Euxenus who could not do geometry-a proportional simile, implying that
Euxenus is an Archidamus who can do geometry. In Plato's Republic those who strip the dead are compared
to curs which bite the stones thrown at them but do not touch the thrower, and there is the simile about the
Athenian people, who are compared to a ship's captain who is strong but a little deaf; and the one about poets'
verses, which are likened to persons who lack beauty but possess youthful freshness-when the freshness has
faded the charm perishes, and so with verses when broken up into prose. Pericles compared the Samians to
children who take their pap but go on crying; and the Boeotians to holm-oaks, because they were ruining one
another by civil wars just as one oak causes another oak's fall. Demosthenes said that the Athenian people
were like sea-sick men on board ship. Again, Demosthenes compared the political orators to nurses who
swallow the bit of food themselves and then smear the children's lips with the spittle. Antisthenes compared
the lean Cephisodotus to frankincense, because it was his consumption that gave one pleasure. All these ideas
may be expressed either as similes or as metaphors; those which succeed as metaphors will obviously do well
also as similes, and similes, with the explanation omitted, will appear as metaphors. But the proportional
metaphor must always apply reciprocally to either of its co-ordinate terms. For instance, if a drinking-bowl
is the shield of Dionysus, a shield may fittingly be called the drinking-bowl of Ares.

Such, then, are the ingredients of which speech is composed. The foundation of good style is correctness of
language, which falls under five heads. (1) First, the proper use of connecting words, and the arrangement of
them in the natural sequence which some of them require. For instance, the connective 'men' (e.g. ego men)
requires the correlative de (e.g. o de). The answering word must be brought in before the first has been
forgotten, and not be widely separated from it; nor, except in the few cases where this is appropriate, is
another connective to be introduced before the one required. Consider the sentence, 'But as soon as he told
me (for Cleon had come begging and praying), took them along and set out.' In this sentence many
connecting words are inserted in front of the one required to complete the sense; and if there is a long interval
before 'set out', the result is obscurity. One merit, then, of good style lies in the right use of connecting words.
(2) The second lies in calling things by their own special names and not by vague general ones. (3) The third
is to avoid ambiguities; unless, indeed, you definitely desire to be ambiguous, as those do who have nothing
to say but are pretending to mean something. Such people are apt to put that sort of thing into verse.
Empedocles, for instance, by his long circumlocutions imposes on his hearers; these are affected in the same
way as most people are when they listen to diviners, whose ambiguous utterances are received with nods of

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acquiescence-
Croesus by crossing the Halys will ruin a mighty realm.

Diviners use these vague generalities about the matter in hand because their predictions are thus, as a rule,
less likely to be falsified. We are more likely to be right, in the game of 'odd and even', if we simply guess
'even' or 'odd' than if we guess at the actual number; and the oracle-monger is more likely to be right if he
simply says that a thing will happen than if he says when it will happen, and therefore he refuses to add a
definite date. All these ambiguities have the same sort of effect, and are to be avoided unless we have some
such object as that mentioned. (4) A fourth rule is to observe Protagoras' classification of nouns into male,
female, and inanimate; for these distinctions also must be correctly given. 'Upon her arrival she said her say
and departed (e d elthousa kai dialechtheisa ocheto).' (5) A fifth rule is to express plurality, fewness, and
unity by the correct wording, e.g. 'Having come, they struck me (oi d elthontes etupton me).'

It is a general rule that a written composition should be easy to read and therefore easy to deliver. This cannot
be so where there are many connecting words or clauses, or where punctuation is hard, as in the writings of
Heracleitus. To punctuate Heracleitus is no easy task, because we often cannot tell whether a particular word
belongs to what precedes or what follows it. Thus, at the outset of his treatise he says, Though this truth is
always men understand it not', where it is not clear with which of the two clauses the word 'always' should be
joined by the punctuation. Further, the following fact leads to solecism, viz. that the sentence does not work
out properly if you annex to two terms a third which does not suit them both. Thus either 'sound' or 'colour'
will fail to work out properly with some verbs: 'perceive' will apply to both, 'see' will not. Obscurity is also
caused if, when you intend to insert a number of details, you do not first make your meaning clear; for
instance, if you say, 'I meant, after telling him this, that and the other thing, to set out', rather than something
of this kind 'I meant to set out after telling him; then this, that, and the other thing occurred.'

The following suggestions will help to give your language impressiveness. (1) Describe a thing instead of
naming it: do not say 'circle', but 'that surface which extends equally from the middle every way'. To achieve
conciseness, do the opposite-put the name instead of the description. When mentioning anything ugly or
unseemly, use its name if it is the description that is ugly, and describe it if it is the name that is ugly. (2)
Represent things with the help of metaphors and epithets, being careful to avoid poetical effects. (3) Use
plural for singular, as in poetry, where one finds

Unto havens Achaean,

though only one haven is meant, and

Here are my letter's many-leaved folds.

(4) Do not bracket two words under one article, but put one article with each; e.g. 'that wife of ours.' The
reverse to secure conciseness; e.g. 'our wife.' Use plenty of connecting words; conversely, to secure
conciseness, dispense with connectives, while still preserving connexion; e.g. 'having gone and spoken', and
'having gone, I spoke', respectively. (6) And the practice of Antimachus, too, is useful-to describe a thing by
mentioning attributes it does not possess; as he does in talking of Teumessus

There is a little wind-swept knoll...

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A subject can be developed indefinitely along these lines. You may apply this method of treatment by
negation either to good or to bad qualities, according to which your subject requires. It is from this source that
the poets draw expressions such as the 'stringless' or 'lyreless' melody, thus forming epithets out of negations.
This device is popular in proportional metaphors, as when the trumpet's note is called 'a lyreless melody'.

Your language will be appropriate if it expresses emotion and character, and if it corresponds to its subject.
'Correspondence to subject' means that we must neither speak casually about weighty matters, nor solemnly
about trivial ones; nor must we add ornamental epithets to commonplace nouns, or the effect will be comic,
as in the works of Cleophon, who can use phrases as absurd as 'O queenly fig-tree'. To express emotion, you
will employ the language of anger in speaking of outrage; the language of disgust and discreet reluctance to
utter a word when speaking of impiety or foulness; the language of exultation for a tale of glory, and that of
humiliation for a tale of and so in all other cases.

This aptness of language is one thing that makes people believe in the truth of your story: their minds draw
the false conclusion that you are to be trusted from the fact that others behave as you do when things are as
you describe them; and therefore they take your story to be true, whether it is so or not. Besides, an emotional
speaker always makes his audience feel with him, even when there is nothing in his arguments; which is why
many speakers try to overwhelm their audience by mere noise.

Furthermore, this way of proving your story by displaying these signs of its genuineness expresses your
personal character. Each class of men, each type of disposition, will have its own appropriate way of letting
the truth appear. Under 'class' I include differences of age, as boy, man, or old man; of sex, as man or woman;
of nationality, as Spartan or Thessalian. By 'dispositions' I here mean those dispositions only which determine
the character of a man's for it is not every disposition that does this. If, then, a speaker uses the very words
which are in keeping with a particular disposition, he will reproduce the corresponding character; for a rustic
and an educated man will not say the same things nor speak in the same way. Again, some impression is
made upon an audience by a device which speech-writers employ to nauseous excess, when they say 'Who
does not know this?' or 'It is known to everybody.' The hearer is ashamed of his ignorance, and agrees with
the speaker, so as to have a share of the knowledge that everybody else possesses.

All the variations of oratorical style are capable of being used in season or out of season. The best way to
counteract any exaggeration is the well-worn device by which the speaker puts in some criticism of himself;
for then people feel it must be all right for him to talk thus, since he certainly knows what he is doing.
Further, it is better not to have everything always just corresponding to everything else-your hearers will see
through you less easily thus. I mean for instance, if your words are harsh, you should not extend this
harshness to your voice and your countenance and have everything else in keeping. If you do, the artificial
character of each detail becomes apparent; whereas if you adopt one device and not another, you are using art
all the same and yet nobody notices it. (To be sure, if mild sentiments are expressed in harsh tones and harsh
sentiments in mild tones, you become comparatively unconvincing.) Compound words, fairly plentiful
epithets, and strange words best suit an emotional speech. We forgive an angry man for talking about a wrong
as 'heaven-high' or 'colossal'; and we excuse such language when the speaker has his hearers already in his
hands and has stirred them deeply either by praise or blame or anger or affection, as Isocrates, for instance,
does at the end of his Panegyric, with his 'name and fame' and 'in that they brooked'. Men do speak in this
strain when they are deeply stirred, and so, once the audience is in a like state of feeling, approval of course
follows. This is why such language is fitting in poetry, which is an inspired thing. This language, then, should
be used either under stress of emotion, or ironically, after the manner of Gorgias and of the passages in the
Phaedrus.

The form of a prose composition should be neither metrical nor destitute of rhythm. The metrical form
destroys the hearer's trust by its artificial appearance, and at the same time it diverts his attention, making him
watch for metrical recurrences, just as children catch up the herald's question, 'Whom does the freedman

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choose as his advocate?', with the answer 'Cleon!' On the other hand, unrhythmical language is too unlimited;
we do not want the limitations of metre, but some limitation we must have, or the effect will be vague and
unsatisfactory. Now it is number that limits all things; and it is the numerical limitation of the forms of a
composition that constitutes rhythm, of which metres are definite sections. Prose, then, is to be rhythmical,
but not metrical, or it will become not prose but verse. It should not even have too precise a prose rhythm,
and therefore should only be rhythmical to a certain extent.

Of the various rhythms, the heroic has dignity, but lacks the tones of the spoken language. The iambic is the
very language of ordinary people, so that in common talk iambic lines occur oftener than any others: but in a
speech we need dignity and the power of taking the hearer out of his ordinary self. The trochee is too much
akin to wild dancing: we can see this in tetrameter verse, which is one of the trochaic rhythms.

There remains the paean, which speakers began to use in the time of Thrasymachus, though they had then no
name to give it. The paean is a third class of rhythm, closely akin to both the two already mentioned; it has in
it the ratio of three to two, whereas the other two kinds have the ratio of one to one, and two to one
respectively. Between the two last ratios comes the ratio of one-and-a-half to one, which is that of the
paean.

Now the other two kinds of rhythm must be rejected in writing prose, partly for the reasons given, and partly
because they are too metrical; and the paean must be adopted, since from this alone of the rhythms mentioned
no definite metre arises, and therefore it is the least obtrusive of them. At present the same form of paean is
employed at the beginning a at the end of sentences, whereas the end should differ from the beginning. There
are two opposite kinds of paean, one of which is suitable to the beginning of a sentence, where it is indeed
actually used; this is the kind that begins with a long syllable and ends with three short ones, as

Dalogenes | eite Luki | an,
and

Chruseokom | a Ekate | pai Dios.
The other paean begins, conversely, with three short syllables and ends with a long one, as

meta de Ian | udata t ok | eanon e | oanise nux.

This kind of paean makes a real close: a short syllable can give no effect of finality, and therefore makes the
rhythm appear truncated. A sentence should break off with the long syllable: the fact that it is over should be
indicated not by the scribe, or by his period-mark in the margin, but by the rhythm itself.

We have now seen that our language must be rhythmical and not destitute of rhythm, and what rhythms, in
what particular shape, make it so.

The language of prose must be either free-running, with its parts united by nothing except the connecting
words, like the preludes in dithyrambs; or compact and antithetical, like the strophes of the old poets. The
free-running style is the ancient one, e.g. 'Herein is set forth the inquiry of Herodotus the Thurian.' Every one
used this method formerly; not many do so now. By 'free-running' style I mean the kind that has no natural
stopping-places, and comes to a stop only because there is no more to say of that subject. This style is
unsatisfying just because it goes on indefinitely-one always likes to sight a stopping-place in front of one: it
is only at the goal that men in a race faint and collapse; while they see the end of the course before them, they
can keep on going. Such, then, is the free-running kind of style; the compact is that which is in periods. By a
period I mean a portion of speech that has in itself a beginning and an end, being at the same time not too big

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to be taken in at a glance. Language of this kind is satisfying and easy to follow. It is satisfying, because it is
just the reverse of indefinite; and moreover, the hearer always feels that he is grasping something and has
reached some definite conclusion; whereas it is unsatisfactory to see nothing in front of you and get nowhere.
It is easy to follow, because it can easily be remembered; and this because language when in periodic form
can be numbered, and number is the easiest of all things to remember. That is why verse, which is measured,
is always more easily remembered than prose, which is not: the measures of verse can be numbered. The
period must, further, not be completed until the sense is complete: it must not be capable of breaking off
abruptly, as may happen with the following iambic lines of Sophocles-

Calydon's soil is this; of Pelops' land

(The smiling plains face us across the strait.)

By a wrong division of the words the hearer may take the meaning to be the reverse of what it is: for instance,
in the passage quoted, one might imagine that Calydon is in the Peloponnesus.

A Period may be either divided into several members or simple. The period of several members is a portion
of speech (1) complete in itself, (2) divided into parts, and (3) easily delivered at a single breath-as a whole,
that is; not by fresh breath being taken at the division. A member is one of the two parts of such a period. By
a 'simple' period, I mean that which has only one member. The members, and the whole periods, should be
neither curt nor long. A member which is too short often makes the listener stumble; he is still expecting the
rhythm to go on to the limit his mind has fixed for it; and if meanwhile he is pulled back by the speaker's
stopping, the shock is bound to make him, so to speak, stumble. If, on the other hand, you go on too long, you
make him feel left behind, just as people who when walking pass beyond the boundary before turning back
leave their companions behind So too if a period is too long you turn it into a speech, or something like a
dithyrambic prelude. The result is much like the preludes that Democritus of Chios jeered at Melanippides for
writing instead of antistrophic stanzas-
He that sets traps for another man's feet
Is like to fall into them first;
And long-winded preludes do harm to us all,
But the preluder catches it worst.

Which applies likewise to long-membered orators. Periods whose members are altogether too short are not
periods at all; and the result is to bring the hearer down with a crash.

The periodic style which is divided into members is of two kinds. It is either simply divided, as in 'I have
often wondered at the conveners of national gatherings and the founders of athletic contests'; or it is
antithetical, where, in each of the two members, one of one pair of opposites is put along with one of another
pair, or the same word is used to bracket two opposites, as 'They aided both parties-not only those who
stayed behind but those who accompanied them: for the latter they acquired new territory larger than that at
home, and to the former they left territory at home that was large enough'. Here the contrasted words are
'staying behind' and 'accompanying', 'enough' and 'larger'. So in the example, 'Both to those who want to get
property and to those who desire to enjoy it' where 'enjoyment' is contrasted with 'getting'. Again, 'it often
happens in such enterprises that the wise men fail and the fools succeed'; 'they were awarded the prize of
valour immediately, and won the command of the sea not long afterwards'; 'to sail through the mainland and
march through the sea, by bridging the Hellespont and cutting through Athos'; 'nature gave them their country
and law took it away again'; 'of them perished in misery, others were saved in disgrace'; Athenian citizens
keep foreigners in their houses as servants, while the city of Athens allows her allies by thousands to live as
the foreigner's slaves'; and 'to possess in life or to bequeath at death'. There is also what some one said about

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Peitholaus and Lycophron in a law-court, 'These men used to sell you when they were at home, and now they
have come to you here and bought you'. All these passages have the structure described above. Such a form
of speech is satisfying, because the significance of contrasted ideas is easily felt, especially when they are
thus put side by side, and also because it has the effect of a logical argument; it is by putting two opposing
conclusions side by side that you prove one of them false.

Such, then, is the nature of antithesis. Parisosis is making the two members of a period equal in length.
Paromoeosis is making the extreme words of both members like each other. This must happen either at the
beginning or at the end of each member. If at the beginning, the resemblance must always be between whole
words; at the end, between final syllables or inflexions of the same word or the same word repeated. Thus, at
the beginning

agron gar elaben arlon par' autou

and

dorhetoi t epelonto pararretoi t epeessin

At the end

ouk wethesan auton paidion tetokenai,
all autou aitlon lelonenai,

and

en pleiotals de opontisi kai en elachistais elpisin
An example of inflexions of the same word is

axios de staoenai chalkous ouk axios on chalkou;
Of the same word repeated,

su d' auton kai zonta eleges kakos kai nun grafeis kakos.
Of one syllable,

ti d' an epaoes deinon, ei andrh' eides arhgon;

It is possible for the same sentence to have all these features together-antithesis, parison, and
homoeoteleuton. (The possible beginnings of periods have been pretty fully enumerated in the Theodectea.)
There are also spurious antitheses, like that of Epicharmus-

There one time I as their guest did stay,
And they were my hosts on another day.

We may now consider the above points settled, and pass on to say something about the way to devise lively
and taking sayings. Their actual invention can only come through natural talent or long practice; but this
treatise may indicate the way it is done. We may deal with them by enumerating the different kinds of them.
We will begin by remarking that we all naturally find it agreeable to get hold of new ideas easily: words

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express ideas, and therefore those words are the most agreeable that enable us to get hold of new ideas. Now
strange words simply puzzle us; ordinary words convey only what we know already; it is from metaphor that
we can best get hold of something fresh. When the poet calls 'old age a withered stalk', he conveys a new
idea, a new fact, to us by means of the general notion of bloom, which is common to both things. The similes
of the poets do the same, and therefore, if they are good similes, give an effect of brilliance. The simile, as
has been said before, is a metaphor, differing from it only in the way it is put; and just because it is longer it
is less attractive. Besides, it does not say outright that 'this' is 'that', and therefore the hearer is less interested
in the idea. We see, then, that both speech and reasoning are lively in proportion as they make us seize a new
idea promptly. For this reason people are not much taken either by obvious arguments (using the word
'obvious' to mean what is plain to everybody and needs no investigation), nor by those which puzzle us when
we hear them stated, but only by those which convey their information to us as soon as we hear them,
provided we had not the information already; or which the mind only just fails to keep up with. These two
kinds do convey to us a sort of information: but the obvious and the obscure kinds convey nothing, either at
once or later on. It is these qualities, then, that, so far as the meaning of what is said is concerned, make an
argument acceptable. So far as the style is concerned, it is the antithetical form that appeals to us, e.g.
judging that the peace common to all the rest was a war upon their own private interests', where there is an
antithesis between war and peace. It is also good to use metaphorical words; but the metaphors must not be
far-fetched, or they will be difficult to grasp, nor obvious, or they will have no effect. The words, too, ought
to set the scene before our eyes; for events ought to be seen in progress rather than in prospect. So we must
aim at these three points: Antithesis, Metaphor, and Actuality.

Of the four kinds of Metaphor the most taking is the proportional kind. Thus Pericles, for instance, said that
the vanishing from their country of the young men who had fallen in the war was 'as if the spring were taken
out of the year'. Leptines, speaking of the Lacedaemonians, said that he would not have the Athenians let
Greece 'lose one of her two eyes'. When Chares was pressing for leave to be examined upon his share in the
Olynthiac war, Cephisodotus was indignant, saying that he wanted his examination to take place 'while he
had his fingers upon the people's throat'. The same speaker once urged the Athenians to march to Euboea,
'with Miltiades' decree as their rations'. Iphicrates, indignant at the truce made by the Athenians with
Epidaurus and the neighbouring sea-board, said that they had stripped themselves of their travelling money
for the journey of war. Peitholaus called the state-galley 'the people's big stick', and Sestos 'the corn-bin of
the Peiraeus'. Pericles bade his countrymen remove Aegina, 'that eyesore of the Peiraeus.' And Moerocles
said he was no more a rascal than was a certain respectable citizen he named, 'whose rascality was worth over
thirty per cent per annum to him, instead of a mere ten like his own'. There is also the iambic line of
Anaxandrides about the way his daughters put off marrying-

My daughters' marriage-bonds are overdue.

Polyeuctus said of a paralytic man named Speusippus that he could not keep quiet, 'though fortune had
fastened him in the pillory of disease'. Cephisodotus called warships 'painted millstones'. Diogenes the Dog
called taverns 'the mess-rooms of Attica'. Aesion said that the Athenians had 'emptied' their town into Sicily:
this is a graphic metaphor. 'Till all Hellas shouted aloud' may be regarded as a metaphor, and a graphic one
again. Cephisodotus bade the Athenians take care not to hold too many 'parades'. Isocrates used the same
word of those who 'parade at the national festivals.' Another example occurs in the Funeral Speech: 'It is
fitting that Greece should cut off her hair beside the tomb of those who fell at Salamis, since her freedom and
their valour are buried in the same grave.' Even if the speaker here had only said that it was right to weep
when valour was being buried in their grave, it would have been a metaphor, and a graphic one; but the
coupling of 'their valour' and 'her freedom' presents a kind of antithesis as well. The course of my words',
said Iphicrates, 'lies straight through the middle of Chares' deeds': this is a proportional metaphor, and the
phrase 'straight through the middle' makes it graphic. The expression 'to call in one danger to rescue us from
another' is a graphic metaphor. Lycoleon said, defending Chabrias, 'They did not respect even that bronze
statue of his that intercedes for him yonder'. This was a metaphor for the moment, though it would not always

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apply; a vivid metaphor, however; Chabrias is in danger, and his statue intercedes for him-that lifeless yet
living thing which records his services to his country. 'Practising in every way littleness of mind' is
metaphorical, for practising a quality implies increasing it. So is 'God kindled our reason to be a lamp within
our soul', for both reason and light reveal things. So is 'we are not putting an end to our wars, but only
postponing them', for both literal postponement and the making of such a peace as this apply to future action.
So is such a saying as 'This treaty is a far nobler trophy than those we set up on fields of battle; they celebrate
small gains and single successes; it celebrates our triumph in the war as a whole'; for both trophy and treaty
are signs of victory. So is 'A country pays a heavy reckoning in being condemned by the judgement of
mankind', for a reckoning is damage deservedly incurred.

It has already been mentioned that liveliness is got by using the proportional type of metaphor and being
making (ie. making your hearers see things). We have still to explain what we mean by their 'seeing things',
and what must be done to effect this. By 'making them see things' I mean using expressions that represent
things as in a state of activity. Thus, to say that a good man is 'four-square' is certainly a metaphor; both the
good man and the square are perfect; but the metaphor does not suggest activity. On the other hand, in the
expression 'with his vigour in full bloom' there is a notion of activity; and so in 'But you must roam as free as
a sacred victim'; and in

Thereas up sprang the Hellenes to their feet,

where 'up sprang' gives us activity as well as metaphor, for it at once suggests swiftness. So with Homer's
common practice of giving metaphorical life to lifeless things: all such passages are distinguished by the
effect of activity they convey. Thus,

Downward anon to the valley rebounded the boulder remorseless;
and

The (bitter) arrow flew;
and

Flying on eagerly;
and

Stuck in the earth, still panting to feed on the flesh of the heroes;

and

And the point of the spear in its fury drove
full through his breastbone.

In all these examples the things have the effect of being active because they are made into living beings;
shameless behaviour and fury and so on are all forms of activity. And the poet has attached these ideas to the
things by means of proportional metaphors: as the stone is to Sisyphus, so is the shameless man to his victim.
In his famous similes, too, he treats inanimate things in the same way:

Curving and crested with white, host following
host without ceasing.

Here he represents everything as moving and living; and activity is movement.

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Metaphors must be drawn, as has been said already, from things that are related to the original thing, and yet
not obviously so related-just as in philosophy also an acute mind will perceive resemblances even in things
far apart. Thus Archytas said that an arbitrator and an altar were the same, since the injured fly to both for
refuge. Or you might say that an anchor and an overhead hook were the same, since both are in a way the
same, only the one secures things from below and the other from above. And to speak of states as 'levelled' is
to identify two widely different things, the equality of a physical surface and the equality of political powers.

Liveliness is specially conveyed by metaphor, and by the further power of surprising the hearer; because the
hearer expected something different, his acquisition of the new idea impresses him all the more. His mind
seems to say, 'Yes, to be sure; I never thought of that'. The liveliness of epigrammatic remarks is due to the
meaning not being just what the words say: as in the saying of Stesichorus that 'the cicalas will chirp to
themselves on the ground'. Well-constructed riddles are attractive for the same reason; a new idea is
conveyed, and there is metaphorical expression. So with the 'novelties' of Theodorus. In these the thought is
startling, and, as Theodorus puts it, does not fit in with the ideas you already have. They are like the
burlesque words that one finds in the comic writers. The effect is produced even by jokes depending upon
changes of the letters of a word; this too is a surprise. You find this in verse as well as in prose. The word
which comes is not what the hearer imagined: thus

Onward he came, and his feet were shod with his— chilblains,

where one imagined the word would be 'sandals'. But the point should be clear the moment the words are
uttered. Jokes made by altering the letters of a word consist in meaning, not just what you say, but something
that gives a twist to the word used; e.g. the remark of Theodorus about Nicon the harpist Thratt' ei su ('you
Thracian slavey'), where he pretends to mean Thratteis su ('you harpplayer'), and surprises us when we find
he means something else. So you enjoy the point when you see it, though the remark will fall flat unless you
are aware that Nicon is Thracian. Or again: Boulei auton persai. In both these cases the saying must fit the
facts. This is also true of such lively remarks as the one to the effect that to the Athenians their empire (arche)
of the sea was not the beginning (arche) of their troubles, since they gained by it. Or the opposite one of
Isocrates, that their empire (arche) was the beginning (arche) of their troubles. Either way, the speaker says
something unexpected, the soundness of which is thereupon recognized. There would be nothing clever is
saying 'empire is empire'. Isocrates means more than that, and uses the word with a new meaning. So too with
the former saying, which denies that arche in one sense was arche in another sense. In all these jokes, whether
a word is used in a second sense or metaphorically, the joke is good if it fits the facts. For instance,
Anaschetos (proper name) ouk anaschetos: where you say that what is so-and-so in one sense is not
so-and-so in another; well, if the man is unpleasant, the joke fits the facts. Again, take-

Thou must not be a stranger stranger than Thou should'st.

Do not the words 'thou must not be', amount to saying that the stranger must not always be strange? Here
again is the use of one word in different senses. Of the same kind also is the much-praised verse of
Anaxandrides:

Death is most fit before you do

Deeds that would make death fit for you.

This amounts to saying 'it is a fit thing to die when you are not fit to die', or 'it is a fit thing to die when death
is not fit for you', i.e. when death is not the fit return for what you are doing. The type of language
employed-is the same in all these examples; but the more briefly and antithetically such sayings can be
expressed, the more taking they are, for antithesis impresses the new idea more firmly and brevity more
quickly. They should always have either some personal application or some merit of expression, if they are to
be true without being commonplace-two requirements not always satisfied simultaneously. Thus 'a man
should die having done no wrong' is true but dull: 'the right man should marry the right woman' is also true

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but dull. No, there must be both good qualities together, as in 'it is fitting to die when you are not fit for
death'. The more a saying has these qualitis, the livelier it appears: if, for instance, its wording is
metaphorical, metaphorical in the right way, antithetical, and balanced, and at the same time it gives an idea
of activity.

Successful similes also, as has been said above, are in a sense metaphors, since they always involve two
relations like the proportional metaphor. Thus: a shield, we say, is the 'drinking-bowl of Ares', and a bow is
the 'chordless lyre'. This way of putting a metaphor is not 'simple', as it would be if we called the bow a lyre
or the shield a drinking-bowl. There are 'simple' similes also: we may say that a flute-player is like a
monkey, or that a short-sighted man's eyes are like a lamp-flame with water dropping on it, since both eyes
and flame keep winking. A simile succeeds best when it is a converted metaphor, for it is possible to say that
a shield is like the drinking-bowl of Ares, or that a ruin is like a house in rags, and to say that Niceratus is
like a Philoctetes stung by Pratys-the simile made by Thrasyniachus when he saw Niceratus, who had been
beaten by Pratys in a recitation competition, still going about unkempt and unwashed. It is in these respects
that poets fail worst when they fail, and succeed best when they succeed, i.e. when they give the resemblance
pat, as in

Those legs of his curl just like parsley leaves;
and

Just like Philammon struggling with his punchball.

These are all similes; and that similes are metaphors has been stated often already.

Proverbs, again, are metaphors from one species to another. Suppose, for instance, a man to start some
undertaking in hope of gain and then to lose by it later on, 'Here we have once more the man of Carpathus
and his hare', says he. For both alike went through the said experience.

It has now been explained fairly completely how liveliness is secured and why it has the effect it has.
Successful hyperboles are also metaphors, e.g. the one about the man with a black eye, 'you would have
thought he was a basket of mulberries'; here the 'black eye' is compared to a mulberry because of its colour,
the exaggeration lying in the quantity of mulberries suggested. The phrase 'like so-and-so' may introduce a
hyperbole under the form of a simile. Thus

Just like Philammon struggling with his punchball

is equivalent to 'you would have thought he was Philammon struggling with his punchball'; and

Those legs of his curl just like parsley leaves

is equivalent to 'his legs are so curly that you would have thought they were not legs but parsley leaves'.
Hyperboles are for young men to use; they show vehemence of character; and this is why angry people use
them more than other people.

Not though he gave me as much as the dust

or the sands of the sea...
But her, the daughter of Atreus' son, I never will marry,
Nay, not though she were fairer than Aphrodite the Golden,
Defter of hand than Athene...

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(The Attic orators are particularly fond of this method of speech.) Consequently it does not suit an elderly
speaker.

It should be observed that each kind of rhetoric has its own appropriate style. The style of written prose is not
that of spoken oratory, nor are those of political and forensic speaking the same. Both written and spoken
have to be known. To know the latter is to know how to speak good Greek. To know the former means that
you are not obliged, as otherwise you are, to hold your tongue when you wish to communicate something to
the general public.

The written style is the more finished: the spoken better admits of dramatic delivery-like the kind of oratory
that reflects character and the kind that reflects emotion. Hence actors look out for plays written in the latter
style, and poets for actors competent to act in such plays. Yet poets whose plays are meant to be read are read
and circulated: Chaeremon, for instance, who is as finished as a professional speech-writer; and Licymnius
among the dithyrambic poets. Compared with those of others, the speeches of professional writers sound thin
in actual contests. Those of the orators, on the other hand, are good to hear spoken, but look amateurish
enough when they pass into the hands of a reader. This is just because they are so well suited for an actual
tussle, and therefore contain many dramatic touches, which, being robbed of all dramatic rendering, fail to do
their own proper work, and consequently look silly. Thus strings of unconnected words, and constant
repetitions of words and phrases, are very properly condemned in written speeches: but not in spoken
speeches-speakers use them freely, for they have a dramatic effect. In this repetition there must be variety of
tone, paving the way, as it were, to dramatic effect; e.g. 'This is the villain among you who deceived you,
who cheated you, who meant to betray you completely'. This is the sort of thing that Philemon the actor used
to do in the Old Men's Madness of Anaxandrides whenever he spoke the words 'Rhadamanthus and
Palamedes', and also in the prologue to the Saints whenever he pronounced the pronoun T. If one does not
deliver such things cleverly, it becomes a case of 'the man who swallowed a poker'. So too with strings of
unconnected words, e.g. 'I came to him; I met him; I besought him'. Such passages must be acted, not
delivered with the same quality and pitch of voice, as though they had only one idea in them. They have the
further peculiarity of suggesting that a number of separate statements have been made in the time usually
occupied by one. Just as the use of conjunctions makes many statements into a single one, so the omission of
conjunctions acts in the reverse way and makes a single one into many. It thus makes everything more
important: e.g. 'I came to him; I talked to him; I entreated him'-what a lot of facts! the hearer thinks-'he paid
no attention to anything I said'. This is the effect which Homer seeks when he writes,

Nireus likewise from Syme (three well-fashioned ships did bring),
Nireus, the son of Aglaia (and Charopus, bright-faced king),
Nireus, the comeliest man (of all that to Ilium's strand).

If many things are said about a man, his name must be mentioned many times; and therefore people think
that, if his name is mentioned many times, many things have been said about him. So that Homer, by means
of this illusion, has made a great deal of though he has mentioned him only in this one passage, and has
preserved his memory, though he nowhere says a word about him afterwards.

Now the style of oratory addressed to public assemblies is really just like scene-painting. The bigger the
throng, the more distant is the point of view: so that, in the one and the other, high finish in detail is
superfluous and seems better away. The forensic style is more highly finished; still more so is the style of
language addressed to a single judge, with whom there is very little room for rhetorical artifices, since he can
take the whole thing in better, and judge of what is to the point and what is not; the struggle is less intense
and so the judgement is undisturbed. This is why the same speakers do not distinguish themselves in all these
branches at once; high finish is wanted least where dramatic delivery is wanted most, and here the speaker
must have a good voice, and above all, a strong one. It is ceremonial oratory that is most literary, for it is

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meant to be read; and next to it forensic oratory.

To analyse style still further, and add that it must be agreeable or magnificent, is useless; for why should it
have these traits any more than 'restraint', 'liberality', or any other moral excellence? Obviously agreeableness
will be produced by the qualities already mentioned, if our definition of excellence of style has been correct.
For what other reason should style be 'clear', and 'not mean' but 'appropriate'? If it is prolix, it is not clear; nor
yet if it is curt. Plainly the middle way suits best. Again, style will be made agreeable by the elements
mentioned, namely by a good blending of ordinary and unusual words, by the rhythm, and by-the
persuasiveness that springs from appropriateness.

This concludes our discussion of style, both in its general aspects and in its special applications to the various
branches of rhetoric. We have now to deal with Arrangement.

A speech has two parts. You must state your case, and you must prove it. You cannot either state your case
and omit to prove it, or prove it without having first stated it; since any proof must be a proof of something,
and the only use of a preliminary statement is the proof that follows it. Of these two parts the first part is
called the Statement of the case, the second part the Argument, just as we distinguish between Enunciation
and Demonstration. The current division is absurd. For 'narration' surely is part of a forensic speech only:
how in a political speech or a speech of display can there be 'narration' in the technical sense? or a reply to a
forensic opponent? or an epilogue in closely-reasoned speeches? Again, introduction, comparison of
conflicting arguments, and recapitulation are only found in political speeches when there is a struggle
between two policies. They may occur then; so may even accusation and defence, often enough; but they
form no essential part of a political speech. Even forensic speeches do not always need epilogues; not, for
instance, a short speech, nor one in which the facts are easy to remember, the effect of an epilogue being
always a reduction in the apparent length. It follows, then, that the only necessary parts of a speech are the
Statement and the Argument. These are the essential features of a speech; and it cannot in any case have more
than Introduction, Statement, Argument, and Epilogue. 'Refutation of the Opponent' is part of the arguments:
so is 'Comparison' of the opponent's case with your own, for that process is a magnifying of your own case
and therefore a part of the arguments, since one who does this proves something. The Introduction does
nothing like this; nor does the Epilogue-it merely reminds us of what has been said already. If we make such
distinctions we shall end, like Theodorus and his followers, by distinguishing 'narration' proper from
'post-narration' and 'pre-narration', and 'refutation' from 'final refutation'. But we ought only to bring in a
new name if it indicates a real species with distinct specific qualities; otherwise the practice is pointless and
silly, like the way Licymnius invented names in his Art of Rhetoric-'Secundation', 'Divagation',
'Ramification'.

The Introduction is the beginning of a speech, corresponding to the prologue in poetry and the prelude in
flute-music; they are all beginnings, paving the way, as it were, for what is to follow. The musical prelude
resembles the introduction to speeches of display; as flute players play first some brilliant passage they know
well and then fit it on to the opening notes of the piece itself, so in speeches of display the writer should
proceed in the same way; he should begin with what best takes his fancy, and then strike up his theme and
lead into it; which is indeed what is always done. (Take as an example the introduction to the Helen of
Isocrates-there is nothing in common between the 'eristics' and Helen.) And here, even if you travel far from
your subject, it is fitting, rather than that there should be sameness in the entire speech.

The usual subject for the introductions to speeches of display is some piece of praise or censure. Thus
Gorgias writes in his Olympic Speech, You deserve widespread admiration, men of Greece', praising thus
those who start,ed the festival gatherings.' Isocrates, on the other hand, censures them for awarding
distinctions to fine athletes but giving no prize for intellectual ability. Or one may begin with a piece of
advice, thus: 'We ought to honour good men and so I myself am praising Aristeides' or 'We ought to honour
those who are unpopular but not bad men, men whose good qualities have never been noticed, like Alexander

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son of Priam.' Here the orator gives advice. Or we may begin as speakers do in the law-courts; that is to say,
with appeals to the audience to excuse us if our speech is about something paradoxical, difficult, or
hackneyed; like Choerilus in the lines-

But now when allotment of all has been made...

Introductions to speeches of display, then, may be composed of some piece of praise or censure, of advice to
do or not to do something, or of appeals to the audience; and you must choose between making these
preliminary passages connected or disconnected with the speech itself.

Introductions to forensic speeches, it must be observed, have the same value as the prologues of dramas and
the introductions to epic poems; the dithyrambic prelude resembling the introduction to a speech of display,
as

For thee, and thy gilts, and thy battle-spoils....

In prologues, and in epic poetry, a foretaste of the theme is given, intended to inform the hearers of it in
advance instead of keeping their minds in suspense. Anything vague puzzles them: so give them a grasp of
the beginning, and they can hold fast to it and follow the argument. So we find-
Sing, O goddess of song, of the Wrath...

Tell me, O Muse, of the hero...
Lead me to tell a new tale, how there came great warfare to Europe
Out of the Asian land...

The tragic poets, too, let us know the pivot of their play; if not at the outset like Euripides, at least somewhere
in the preface to a speech like Sophocles-

Polybus was my father...;

and so in Comedy. This, then, is the most essential function and distinctive property of the introduction, to
show what the aim of the speech is; and therefore no introduction ought to be employed where the subject is
not long or intricate.

The other kinds of introduction employed are remedial in purpose, and may be used in any type of speech.
They are concerned with the speaker, the hearer, the subject, or the speaker's opponent. Those concerned with
the speaker himself or with his opponent are directed to removing or exciting prejudice. But whereas the
defendant will begin by dealing with this sort of thing, the prosecutor will take quite another line and deal
with such matters in the closing part of his speech. The reason for this is not far to seek. The defendant, when
he is going to bring himself on the stage, must clear away any obstacles, and therefore must begin by
removing any prejudice felt against him. But if you are to excite prejudice, you must do so at the close, so
that the judges may more easily remember what you have said.

The appeal to the hearer aims at securing his goodwill, or at arousing his resentment, or sometimes at gaining
his serious attention to the case, or even at distracting it-for gaining it is not always an advantage, and
speakers will often for that reason try to make him laugh.

You may use any means you choose to make your hearer receptive; among others, giving him a good
impression of your character, which always helps to secure his attention. He will be ready to attend to
anything that touches himself and to anything that is important, surprising, or agreeable; and you should
accordingly convey to him the impression that what you have to say is of this nature. If you wish to distract
his attention, you should imply that the subject does not affect him, or is trivial or disagreeable. But observe,

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all this has nothing to do with the speech itself. It merely has to do with the weak-minded tendency of the
hearer to listen to what is beside the point. Where this tendency is absent, no introduction wanted beyond a
summary statement of your subject, to put a sort of head on the main body of your speech. Moreover, calls
for attention, when required, may come equally well in any part of a speech; in fact, the beginning of it is just
where there is least slackness of interest; it is therefore ridiculous to put this kind of thing at the beginning,
when every one is listening with most attention. Choose therefore any point in the speech where such an
appeal is needed, and then say 'Now I beg you to note this point-it concerns you quite as much as myself; or

I will tell you that whose like you have never yet

heard for terror, or for wonder. This is what Prodicus called 'slipping in a bit of the fifty-drachma
show-lecture for the audience whenever they began to nod'. It is plain that such introductions are addressed
not to ideal hearers, but to hearers as we find them. The use of introductions to excite prejudice or to dispel
misgivings is universal-
ity lord, I will not say that eagerly...
or

Why all this preface?

Introductions are popular with those whose case is weak, or looks weak; it pays them to dwell on anything
rather than the actual facts of it. That is why slaves, instead of answering the questions put to them, make
indirect replies with long preambles. The means of exciting in your hearers goodwill and various other
feelings of the same kind have already been described. The poet finely says

May I find in Phaeacian hearts, at my coming, goodwill and compassion;

and these are the two things we should aim at. In speeches of display we must make the hearer feel that the
eulogy includes either himself or his family or his way of life or something or other of the kind. For it is true,
as Socrates says in the Funeral Speech, that 'the difficulty is not to praise the Athenians at Athens but at
Sparta'.

The introductions of political oratory will be made out of the same materials as those of the forensic kind,
though the nature of political oratory makes them very rare. The subject is known already, and therefore the
facts of the case need no introduction; but you may have to say something on account of yourself or to your
opponents; or those present may be inclined to treat the matter either more or less seriously than you wish
them to. You may accordingly have to excite or dispel some prejudice, or to make the matter under
discussion seem more or less important than before: for either of which purposes you will want an
introduction. You may also want one to add elegance to your remarks, feeling that otherwise they will have a
casual air, like Gorgias' eulogy of the Eleans, in which, without any preliminary sparring or fencing, he
begins straight off with 'Happy city of Elis!'

In dealing with prejudice, one class of argument is that whereby you can dispel objectionable suppositions
about yourself. It makes no practical difference whether such a supposition has been put into words or not, so
that this distinction may be ignored. Another way is to meet any of the issues directly: to deny the alleged
fact; or to say that you have done no harm, or none to him, or not as much as he says; or that you have done
him no injustice, or not much; or that you have done nothing disgraceful, or nothing disgraceful enough to
matter: these are the sort of questions on which the dispute hinges. Thus Iphicrates replying to Nausicrates,
admitted that he had done the deed alleged, and that he had done Nausicrates harm, but not that he had done
him wrong. Or you may admit the wrong, but balance it with other facts, and say that, if the deed harmed
him, at any rate it was honourable; or that, if it gave him pain, at least it did him good; or something else like

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that. Another way is to allege that your action was due to mistake, or bad luck, or necessity as Sophocles said
he was not trembling, as his traducer maintained, in order to make people think him an old man, but because
he could not help it; he would rather not be eighty years old. You may balance your motive against your
actual deed; saying, for instance, that you did not mean to injure him but to do so-and-so; that you did not do
what you are falsely charged with doing-the damage was accidental-'I should indeed be a detestable person
if I had deliberately intended this result.' Another way is open when your calumniator, or any of his
connexions, is or has been subject to the same grounds for suspicion. Yet another, when others are subject to
the same grounds for suspicion but are admitted to be in fact innocent of the charge: e.g. 'Must I be a
profligate because I am well-groomed? Then so-and-so must be one too.' Another, if other people have been
calumniated by the same man or some one else, or, without being calumniated, have been suspected, like
yourself now, and yet have been proved innocent. Another way is to return calumny for calumny and say, 'It
is monstrous to trust the man's statements when you cannot trust the man himself.' Another is when the
question has been already decided. So with Euripides' reply to Hygiaenon, who, in the action for an exchange
of properties, accused him of impiety in having written a line encouraging perjury-

My tongue hath sworn: no oath is on my soul.

Euripides said that his opponent himself was guilty in bringing into the law-courts cases whose decision
belonged to the Dionysiac contests. 'If I have not already answered for my words there, I am ready to do so if
you choose to prosecute me there.' Another method is to denounce calumny, showing what an enormity it is,
and in particular that it raises false issues, and that it means a lack of confidence in the merits of his case. The
argument from evidential circumstances is available for both parties: thus in the Teucer Odysseus says that
Teucer is closely bound to Priam, since his mother Hesione was Priam's sister. Teucer replies that Telamon
his father was Priam's enemy, and that he himself did not betray the spies to Priam. Another method, suitable
for the calumniator, is to praise some trifling merit at great length, and then attack some important failing
concisely; or after mentioning a number of good qualities to attack one bad one that really bears on the
question. This is the method of thoroughly skilful and unscrupulous prosecutors. By mixing up the man's
merits with what is bad, they do their best to make use of them to damage him.

There is another method open to both calumniator and apologist. Since a given action can be done from many
motives, the former must try to disparage it by selecting the worse motive of two, the latter to put the better
construction on it. Thus one might argue that Diomedes chose Odysseus as his companion because he
supposed Odysseus to be the best man for the purpose; and you might reply to this that it was, on the
contrary, because he was the only hero so worthless that Diomedes need not fear his rivalry.

We may now pass from the subject of calumny to that of Narration.

Narration in ceremonial oratory is not continuous but intermittent. There must, of course, be some survey of
the actions that form the subject-matter of the speech. The speech is a composition containing two parts. One
of these is not provided by the orator's art, viz. the actions themselves, of which the orator is in no sense
author. The other part is provided by his namely, the proof (where proof is needed) that the actions were
done, the description of their quality or of their extent, or even all these three things together. Now the reason
why sometimes it is not desirable to make the whole narrative continuous is that the case thus expounded is
hard to keep in mind. Show, therefore, from one set of facts that your hero is, e.g. brave, and from other sets
of facts that he is able, just, A speech thus arranged is comparatively simple, instead of being complicated
and elaborate. You will have to recall well-known deeds among others; and because they are well-known,
the hearer usually needs no narration of them; none, for instance, if your object is the praise of Achilles; we
all know the facts of his life-what you have to do is to apply those facts. But if your object is the praise of
Critias, you must narrate his deeds, which not many people know of...

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Nowadays it is said, absurdly enough, that the narration should be rapid. Remember what the man said to the
baker who asked whether he was to make the cake hard or soft: 'What, can't you make it right?' Just so here.
We are not to make long narrations, just as we are not to make long introductions or long arguments. Here,
again, rightness does not consist either in rapidity or in conciseness, but in the happy mean; that is, in saying
just so much as will make the facts plain, or will lead the hearer to believe that the thing has happened, or that
the man has caused injury or wrong to some one, or that the facts are really as important as you wish them to
be thought: or the opposite facts to establish the opposite arguments.

You may also narrate as you go anything that does credit to yourself, e.g. 'I kept telling him to do his duty
and not abandon his children'; or discredit to your adversary, e.g. 'But he answered me that, wherever he
might find himself, there he would find other children', the answer Herodotus' records of the Egyptian
mutineers. Slip in anything else that the judges will enjoy.

The defendant will make less of the narration. He has to maintain that the thing has not happened, or did no
harm, or was not unjust, or not so bad as is alleged. He must therefor snot waste time about what is admitted
fact, unless this bears on his own contention; e.g. that the thing was done, but was not wrong. Further, we
must speak of events as past and gone, except where they excite pity or indignation by being represented as
present. The Story told to Alcinous is an example of a brief chronicle, when it is repeated to Penelope in sixty
lines. Another instance is the Epic Cycle as treated by Phayllus, and the prologue to the Oeneus.

The narration should depict character; to which end you must know what makes it do so. One such thing is
the indication of moral purpose; the quality of purpose indicated determines the quality of character depicted
and is itself determined by the end pursued. Thus it is that mathematical discourses depict no character; they
have nothing to do with moral purpose, for they represent nobody as pursuing any end. On the other hand, the
Socratic dialogues do depict character, being concerned with moral questions. This end will also be gained by
describing the manifestations of various types of character, e.g. 'he kept walking along as he talked', which
shows the man's recklessness and rough manners. Do not let your words seem inspired so much by
intelligence, in the manner now current, as by moral purpose: e.g. 'I willed this; aye, it was my moral
purpose; true, I gained nothing by it, still it is better thus.' For the other way shows good sense, but this shows
good character; good sense making us go after what is useful, and good character after what is noble. Where
any detail may appear incredible, then add the cause of it; of this Sophocles provides an example in the
Antigone, where Antigone says she had cared more for her brother than for husband or children, since if the
latter perished they might be replaced,

But since my father and mother in their graves
Lie dead, no brother can be born to me.

If you have no such cause to suggest, just say that you are aware that no one will believe your words, but the
fact remains that such is our nature, however hard the world may find it to believe that a man deliberately
does anything except what pays him.

Again, you must make use of the emotions. Relate the familiar manifestations of them, and those that
distinguish yourself and your opponent; for instance, 'he went away scowling at me'. So Aeschines described
Cratylus as 'hissing with fury and shaking his fists'. These details carry conviction: the audience take the truth
of what they know as so much evidence for the truth of what they do not. Plenty of such details may be found
in Homer:

Thus did she say: but the old woman buried her face in her hands: a true touch-people beginning to cry do
put their hands over their eyes.

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Bring yourself on the stage from the first in the right character, that people may regard you in that light; and
the same with your adversary; but do not let them see what you are about. How easily such impressions may
be conveyed we can see from the way in which we get some inkling of things we know nothing of by the
mere look of the messenger bringing news of them. Have some narrative in many different parts of your
speech; and sometimes let there be none at the beginning of it.

In political oratory there is very little opening for narration; nobody can 'narrate' what has not yet happened.
If there is narration at all, it will be of past events, the recollection of which is to help the hearers to make
better plans for the future. Or it may be employed to attack some one's character, or to eulogize him-only
then you will not be doing what the political speaker, as such, has to do.

If any statement you make is hard to believe, you must guarantee its truth, and at once offer an explanation,
and then furnish it with such particulars as will be expected. Thus Carcinus' Jocasta, in his Oedipus, keeps
guaranteeing the truth of her answers to the inquiries of the man who is seeking her son; and so with Haemon
in Sophocles.

The duty of the Arguments is to attempt demonstrative proofs. These proofs must bear directly upon the
question in dispute, which must fall under one of four heads. (1) If you maintain that the act was not
committed, your main task in court is to prove this. (2) If you maintain that the act did no harm, prove this. If
you maintain that (3) the act was less than is alleged, or (4) justified, prove these facts, just as you would
prove the act not to have been committed if you were maintaining that.

It should be noted that only where the question in dispute falls under the first of these heads can it be true that
one of the two parties is necessarily a rogue. Here ignorance cannot be pleaded, as it might if the dispute were
whether the act was justified or not. This argument must therefore be used in this case only, not in the others.

In ceremonial speeches you will develop your case mainly by arguing that what has been done is, e.g., noble
and useful. The facts themselves are to be taken on trust; proof of them is only submitted on those rare
occasions when they are not easily credible or when they have been set down to some one else.

In political speeches you may maintain that a proposal is impracticable; or that, though practicable, it is
unjust, or will do no good, or is not so important as its proposer thinks. Note any falsehoods about irrelevant
matters-they will look like proof that his other statements also are false. Argument by 'example' is highly
suitable for political oratory, argument by 'enthymeme' better suits forensic. Political oratory deals with future
events, of which it can do no more than quote past events as examples. Forensic oratory deals with what is or
is not now true, which can better be demonstrated, because not contingent-there is no contingency in what
has now already happened. Do not use a continuous succession of enthymemes: intersperse them with other
matter, or they will spoil one another's effect. There are limits to their number-
Friend, you have spoken as much as a sensible man would have spoken. ,as much' says Homer, not 'as well'.
Nor should you try to make enthymemes on every point; if you do, you will be acting just like some students
of philosophy, whose conclusions are more familiar and believable than the premisses from which they draw
them. And avoid the enthymeme form when you are trying to rouse feeling; for it will either kill the feeling or
will itself fall flat: all simultaneous motions tend to cancel each other either completely or partially. Nor
should you go after the enthymeme form in a passage where you are depicting character-the process of
demonstration can express neither moral character nor moral purpose. Maxims should be employed in the
Arguments-and in the Narration too-since these do express character: 'I have given him this, though I am
quite aware that one should "Trust no man".' Or if you are appealing to the emotions: 'I do not regret it,
though I have been wronged; if he has the profit on his side, I have justice on mine.'

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Political oratory is a more difficult task than forensic; and naturally so, since it deals with the future, whereas
the pleader deals with the past, which, as Epimenides of Crete said, even the diviners already know.
(Epimenides did not practise divination about the future; only about the obscurities of the past.) Besides, in
forensic oratory you have a basis in the law; and once you have a starting-point, you can prove anything with
comparative ease. Then again, political oratory affords few chances for those leisurely digressions in which
you may attack your adversary, talk about yourself, or work on your hearers' emotions; fewer chances indeed,
than any other affords, unless your set purpose is to divert your hearers' attention. Accordingly, if you find
yourself in difficulties, follow the lead of the Athenian speakers, and that of Isocrates, who makes regular
attacks upon people in the course of a political speech, e.g. upon the Lacedaemonians in the Panegyricus, and
upon Chares in the speech about the allies. In ceremonial oratory, intersperse your speech with bits of
episodic eulogy, like Isocrates, who is always bringing some one forward for this purpose. And this is what
Gorgias meant by saying that he always found something to talk about. For if he speaks of Achilles, he
praises Peleus, then Aeacus, then Zeus; and in like manner the virtue of valour, describing its good results,
and saying what it is like.

Now if you have proofs to bring forward, bring them forward, and your moral discourse as well; if you have
no enthymemes, then fall back upon moral discourse: after all, it is more fitting for a good man to display
himself as an honest fellow than as a subtle reasoner. Refutative enthymemes are more popular than
demonstrative ones: their logical cogency is more striking: the facts about two opposites always stand out
clearly when the two are nut side by side.

The 'Reply to the Opponent' is not a separate division of the speech; it is part of the Arguments to break down
the opponent's case, whether by objection or by counter-syllogism. Both in political speaking and when
pleading in court, if you are the first speaker you should put your own arguments forward first, and then meet
the arguments on the other side by refuting them and pulling them to pieces beforehand. If, however, the case
for the other side contains a great variety of arguments, begin with these, like Callistratus in the Messenian
assembly, when he demolished the arguments likely to be used against him before giving his own. If you
speak later, you must first, by means of refutation and counter-syllogism, attempt some answer to your
opponent's speech, especially if his arguments have been well received. For just as our minds refuse a
favourable reception to a person against whom they are prejudiced, so they refuse it to a speech when they
have been favourably impressed by the speech on the other side. You should, therefore, make room in the
minds of the audience for your coming speech; and this will be done by getting your opponent's speech out of
the way. So attack that first-either the whole of it, or the most important, successful, or vulnerable points in
it, and thus inspire confidence in what you have to say yourself-

First, champion will I be of Goddesses...
Never, I ween, would Hera...

where the speaker has attacked the silliest argument first. So much for the Arguments.

With regard to the element of moral character: there are assertions which, if made about yourself, may excite
dislike, appear tedious, or expose you to the risk of contradiction; and other things which you cannot say
about your opponent without seeming abusive or ill-bred. Put such remarks, therefore, into the mouth of
some third person. This is what Isocrates does in the Philippus and in the Antidosis, and Archilochus in his
satires. The latter represents the father himself as attacking his daughter in the lampoon

Think nought impossible at all,
Nor swear that it shall not befall...

and puts into the mouth of Charon the carpenter the lampoon which begins

Not for the wealth of Gyes...

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So too Sophocles makes Haemon appeal to his father on behalf of Antigone as if it were others who were
speaking.

Again, sometimes you should restate your enthymemes in the form of maxims; e.g. 'Wise men will come to
terms in the hour of success; for they will gain most if they do'. Expressed as an enthymeme, this would run,
'If we ought to come to terms when doing so will enable us to gain the greatest advantage, then we ought to
come to terms in the hour of success.'

Next as to Interrogation. The best moment to a employ this is when your opponent has so answered one
question that the putting of just one more lands him in absurdity. Thus Pericles questioned Lampon about the
way of celebrating the rites of the Saviour Goddess. Lampon declared that no uninitiated person could be told
of them. Pericles then asked, 'Do you know them yourself?' 'Yes', answered Lampon. 'Why,' said Pericles,
'how can that be, when you are uninitiated?'

Another good moment is when one premiss of an argument is obviously true, and you can see that your
opponent must say 'yes' if you ask him whether the other is true. Having first got this answer about the other,
do not go on to ask him about the obviously true one, but just state the conclusion yourself. Thus, when
Meletus denied that Socrates believed in the existence of gods but admitted that he talked about a
supernatural power, Socrates proceeded to to ask whether 'supernatural beings were not either children of the
gods or in some way divine?' 'Yes', said Meletus. Then', replied Socrates, 'is there any one who believes in
the existence of children of the gods and yet not in the existence of the gods themselves?' Another good
occasion is when you expect to show that your opponent is contradicting either his own words or what every
one believes. A fourth is when it is impossible for him to meet your question except by an evasive answer. If
he answers 'True, and yet not true', or 'Partly true and partly not true', or 'True in one sense but not in another',
the audience thinks he is in difficulties, and applauds his discomfiture. In other cases do not attempt
interrogation; for if your opponent gets in an objection, you are felt to have been worsted. You cannot ask a
series of questions owing to the incapacity of the audience to follow them; and for this reason you should also
make your enthymemes as compact as possible.

In replying, you must meet ambiguous questions by drawing reasonable distinctions, not by a curt answer. In
meeting questions that seem to involve you in a contradiction, offer the explanation at the outset of your
answer, before your opponent asks the next question or draws his conclusion. For it is not difficult to see the
drift of his argument in advance. This point, however, as well as the various means of refutation, may be
regarded as known to us from the Topics.

When your opponent in drawing his conclusion puts it in the form of a question, you must justify your
answer. Thus when Sophocles was asked by Peisander whether he had, like the other members of the Board
of Safety, voted for setting up the Four Hundred, he said Yes. '-'Why, did you not think it
wicked?'-'Yes.'-'So you committed this wickedness?' Yes', said Sophocles, 'for there was nothing better to
do.' Again, the Lacedaemonian, when he was being examined on his conduct as ephor, was asked whether he
thought that the other ephors had been justly put to death. 'Yes', he said. 'Well then', asked his opponent, 'did
not you propose the same measures as they ?'-'Yes. '-'Well then, would not you too be justly put to
death?'-'Not at all', said he; 'they were bribed to do it, and I did it from conviction'. Hence you should not ask
any further questions after drawing the conclusion, nor put the conclusion itself in the form of a further
question, unless there is a large balance of truth on your side.

As to jests. These are supposed to be of some service in controversy. Gorgias said that you should kill your
opponents' earnestness with jesting and their jesting with earnestness; in which he was right, jests have been
classified in the Poetics. Some are becoming to a gentleman, others are not; see that you choose such as
become you. Irony better befits a gentleman than buffoonery; the ironical man jokes to amuse himself, the
buffoon to amuse other people.

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The Epilogue has four parts. You must (1) make the audience well-disposed towards yourself and
ill-disposed towards your opponent (2) magnify or minimize the leading facts, (3) excite the required state of
emotion in your hearers, and (4) refresh their memories.

(1) Having shown your own truthfulness and the untruthfulness of your opponent, the natural thing is to
commend yourself, censure him, and hammer in your points. You must aim at one of two objects-you must
make yourself out a good man and him a bad one either in yourselves or in relation to your hearers. How this
is to be managed-by what lines of argument you are to represent people as good or bad-this has been already
explained.

(2) The facts having been proved, the natural thing to do next is to magnify or minimize their importance.
The facts must be admitted before you can discuss how important they are; just as the body cannot grow
except from something already present. The proper lines of argument to be used for this purpose of
amplification and depreciation have already been set forth.

(3) Next, when the facts and their importance are clearly understood, you must excite your hearers' emotions.
These emotions are pity, indignation, anger, hatred, envy, emulation, pugnacity. The lines of argument to be
used for these purposes also have been previously mentioned.

(4) Finally you have to review what you have already said. Here you may properly do what some wrongly
recommend doing in the introduction-repeat your points frequently so as to make them easily understood.
What you should do in your introduction is to state your subject, in order that the point to be judged may be
quite plain; in the epilogue you should summarize the arguments by which your case has been proved. The
first step in this reviewing process is to observe that you have done what you undertook to do. You must,
then, state what you have said and why you have said it. Your method may be a comparison of your own case
with that of your opponent; and you may compare either the ways you have both handled the same point or
make your comparison less direct: 'My opponent said so-and-so on this point; I said so-and-so, and this is
why I said it'. Or with modest irony, e.g. 'He certainly said so-and-so, but I said so-and-so'. Or 'How vain
he would have been if he had proved all this instead of that!' Or put it in the form of a question. 'What has not
been proved by me?' or 'What has my opponent proved?' You may proceed then, either in this way by setting
point against point, or by following the natural order of the arguments as spoken, first giving your own, and
then separately, if you wish, those of your opponent.

For the conclusion, the disconnected style of language is appropriate, and will mark the difference between
the oration and the peroration. 'I have done. You have heard me. The facts are before you. I ask for your
judgement.' -THE END-

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ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

by Aristotle

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

Table of Contents

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS 1

by Aristotle 1

_1 1

2 3

3 4

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

by Aristotle

translated by J. I. Beare

• 1
•2
•3

WITH regard to sleep and waking, we must consider what they are: whether they are peculiar to soul or to
body, or common to both; and if common, to what part of soul or body they appertain: further, from what
cause it arises that they are attributes of animals, and whether all animals share in them both, or some partake
of the one only, others of the other only, or some partake of neither and some of both.

Further, in addition to these questions, we must also inquire what the dream is, and from what cause sleepers
sometimes dream, and sometimes do not; or whether the truth is that sleepers always dream but do not always
remember (their dream); and if this occurs, what its explanation is.

Again, [we must inquire] whether it is possible or not to foresee the future (in dreams), and if it be possible,
in what manner; further, whether, supposing it possible, it extends only to things to be accomplished by the
agency of Man, or to those also of which the cause lies in supra-human agency, and which result from the
workings of Nature, or of Spontaneity.

First, then, this much is clear, that waking and sleep appertain to the same part of an animal, inasmuch as they
are opposites, and sleep is evidently a privation of waking. For contraries, in natural as well as in all other
matters, are seen always to present themselves in the same subject, and to be affections of the same: examples
are-health and sickness, beauty and ugliness, strength and weakness, sight and blindness, hearing and
deafness. This is also clear from the following considerations. The criterion by which we know the waking
person to be awake is identical with that by which we know the sleeper to be asleep; for we assume that one
who is exercising sense-perception is awake, and that every one who is awake perceives either some external
movement or else some movement in his own consciousness. If waking, then, consists in nothing else than
the exercise of sense-perception, the inference is clear, that the organ, in virtue of which animals perceive, is
that by which they wake, when they are awake, or sleep, when they are awake, or sleep, when they are asleep.

But since the exercise of sense-perception does not belong to soul or body exclusively, then (since the
subject of actuality is in every case identical with that of potentiality, and what is called sense-perception, as
actuality, is a movement of the soul through the body) it is clear that its affection is not an affection of soul
exclusively, and that a soulless body has not the potentiality of perception. [Thus sleep and waking are not
attributes of pure intelligence, on the one hand, or of inanimate bodies, on the other.]

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS 1

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

Now, whereas we have already elsewhere distinguished what are called the parts of the soul, and whereas the
nutrient is, in all living bodies, capable of existing without the other parts, while none of the others can exist
without the nutrient; it is clear that sleep and waking are not affections of such living things as partake only
of growth and decay, e.g. not of plants, because these have not the faculty of sense-perception, whether or
not this be capable of separate existence; in its potentiality, indeed, and in its relationships, it is separable.

Likewise it is clear that [of those which either sleep or wake] there is no animal which is always awake or
always asleep, but that both these affections belong [alternately] to the same animals. For if there be an
animal not endued with sense-perception, it is impossible that this should either sleep or wake; since both
these are affections of the activity of the primary faculty of sense-perception. But it is equally impossible
also that either of these two affections should perpetually attach itself to the same animal, e.g. that some
species of animal should be always asleep or always awake, without intermission; for all organs which have a
natural function must lose power when they work beyond the natural time-limit of their working period; for
instance, the eyes [must lose power] from [too long continued] seeing, and must give it up; and so it is with
the hand and every other member which has a function. Now, if sense-perception is the function of a special
organ, this also, if it continues perceiving beyond the appointed time-limit of its continuous working period,
will lose its power, and will do its work no longer. Accordingly, if the waking period is determined by this
fact, that in it sense-perception is free; if in the case of some contraries one of the two must be present, while
in the case of others this is not necessary; if waking is the contrary of sleeping, and one of these two must be
present to every animal: it must follow that the state of sleeping is necessary. Finally, if such affection is
Sleep, and this is a state of powerlessness arising from excess of waking, and excess of waking is in its origin
sometimes morbid, sometimes not, so that the powerlessness or dissolution of activity will be so or not; it is
inevitable that every creature which wakes must also be capable of sleeping, since it is impossible that it
should continue actualizing its powers perpetually.

So, also, it is impossible for any animal to continue always sleeping. For sleep is an affection of the organ of
sense-perception — a sort of tie or inhibition of function imposed on it, so that every creature that sleeps must
needs have the organ of sense-perception. Now, that alone which is capable of sense-perception in actuality
has the faculty of sense-perception; but to realize this faculty, in the proper and unqualified sense, is
impossible while one is asleep. All sleep, therefore, must be susceptible of awakening. Accordingly, almost
all other animals are clearly observed to partake in sleep, whether they are aquatic, aerial, or terrestrial, since
fishes of all kinds, and molluscs, as well as all others which have eyes, have been seen sleeping. 'Hard-eyed'
creatures and insects manifestly assume the posture of sleep; but the sleep of all such creatures is of brief
duration, so that often it might well baffle one's observation to decide whether they sleep or not. Of
testaceous animals, on the contrary, no direct sensible evidence is as yet forthcoming to determine whether
they sleep, but if the above reasoning be convincing to any one, he who follows it will admit this [viz. that
they do so.]

That, therefore, all animals sleep may be gathered from these considerations. For an animal is defined as such
by its possessing sense-perception; and we assert that sleep is, in a certain way, an inhibition of function, or,
as it were, a tie, imposed on sense-perception, while its loosening or remission constitutes the being awake.
But no plant can partake in either of these affections, for without sense-perception there is neither sleeping
nor waking. But creatures which have sense-perception have likewise the feeling of pain and pleasure, while
those which have these have appetite as well; but plants have none of these affections. A mark of this is that
the nutrient part does its own work better when (the animal) is asleep than when it is awake. Nutrition and
growth are then especially promoted, a fact which implies that creatures do not need sense-perception to
assist these processes.

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

We must now proceed to inquire into the cause why one sleeps and wakes, and into the particular nature of
the sense-perception, or sense-perceptions, if there be several, on which these affections depend. Since, then,
some animals possess all the modes of sense-perception, and some not all, not, for example, sight, while all
possess touch and taste, except such animals as are imperfectly developed, a class of which we have already
treated in our work on the soul; and since an animal when asleep is unable to exercise, in the simple sense
any particular sensory faculty whatever, it follows that in the state called sleep the same affection must
extend to all the special senses; because, if it attaches itself to one of them but not to another, then an animal
while asleep may perceive with the latter; but this is impossible.

Now, since every sense has something peculiar, and also something common; peculiar, as, e.g. seeing is to
the sense of sight, hearing to the auditory sense, and so on with the other senses severally; while all are
accompanied by a common power, in virtue whereof a person perceives that he sees or hears (for, assuredly,
it is not by the special sense of sight that one sees that he sees; and it is not by mere taste, or sight, or both
together that one discerns, and has the faculty of discerning, that sweet things are different from white things,
but by a faculty connected in common with all the organs of sense; for there is one sensory function, and the
controlling sensory faculty is one, though differing as a faculty of perception in relation to each genus of
sensibles, e.g. sound or colour); and since this [common sensory activity] subsists in association chiefly with
the faculty of touch (for this can exist apart from all the other organs of sense, but none of them can exist
apart from it-a subject of which we have treated in our speculations concerning the Soul); it is therefore
evident that waking and sleeping are an affection of this [common and controlling organ of
sense-perception]. This explains why they belong to all animals, for touch [with which this common organ is
chiefly connected], alone, [is common] to all [animals].

For if sleeping were caused by the special senses having each and all undergone some affection, it would be
strange that these senses, for which it is neither necessary nor in a manner possible to realize their powers
simultaneously, should necessarily all go idle and become motionless simultaneously. For the contrary
experience, viz. that they should not go to rest altogether, would have been more reasonably anticipated. But,
according to the explanation just given, all is quite clear regarding those also. For, when the sense organ
which controls all the others, and to which all the others are tributary, has been in some way affected, that
these others should be all affected at the same time is inevitable, whereas, if one of the tributaries becomes
powerless, that the controlling organ should also become powerless need in no wise follow.

It is indeed evident from many considerations that sleep does not consist in the mere fact that the special
senses do not function or that one does not employ them; and that it does not consist merely in an inability to
exercise the sense-perceptions; for such is what happens in cases of swooning. A swoon means just such
impotence of perception, and certain other cases of unconsciousness also are of this nature. Moreover,
persons who have the bloodvessels in the neck compressed become insensible. But sleep supervenes when
such incapacity of exercise has neither arisen in some casual organ of sense, nor from some chance cause, but
when, as has been just stated, it has its seat in the primary organ with which one perceives objects in general.
For when this has become powerless all the other sensory organs also must lack power to perceive; but when
one of them has become powerless, it is not necessary for this also to lose its power.

We must next state the cause to which it is due, and its quality as an affection. Now, since there are several
types of cause (for we assign equally the 'final', the 'efficient', the 'material', and the 'formal' as causes), in the
first place, then, as we assert that Nature operates for the sake of an end, and that this end is a good; and that
to every creature which is endowed by nature with the power to move, but cannot with pleasure to itself move
always and continuously, rest is necessary and beneficial; and since, taught by experience, men apply to sleep
this metaphorical term, calling it a 'rest' [from the strain of movement implied in sense-perception] : we

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

conclude that its end is the conservation of animals. But the waking state is for an animal its highest end,
since the exercise of sense-perception or of thought is the highest end for all beings to which either of these
appertains; inasmuch as these are best, and the highest end is what is best: whence it follows that sleep
belongs of necessity to each animal. I use the term 'necessity' in its conditional sense, meaning that if an
animal is to exist and have its own proper nature, it must have certain endowments; and, if these are to belong
to it, certain others likewise must belong to it [as their condition.]

The next question to be discussed is that of the kind of movement or action, taking place within their bodies,
from which the affection of waking or sleeping arises in animals. Now, we must assume that the causes of
this affection in all other animals are identical with, or analogous to, those which operate in sanguineous
animals; and that the causes operating in sanguineous animals generally are identical with those operating in
man. Hence we must consider the entire subject in the light of these instances [afforded by sanguineous
animals, especially man]. Now, it has been definitely settled already in another work that sense-perception in
animals originates ill the same part of the organism in which movement originates. This locus of origination
is one of three determinate loci, viz. that which lies midway between the head and the abdomen. This is
sanguineous animals is the region of the heart; for all sanguineous animals have a heart; and from this it is
that both motion and the controlling sense-perception originate. Now, as regards movement, it is obvious that
that of breathing and of the cooling process generally takes its rise there; and it is with a view to the
conservation of the [due amount of] heat in this part that nature has formed as she has both the animals which
respire, and those which cool themselves by moisture. Of this [cooling process] per se we shall treat
hereafter. In bloodless animals, and insects, and such as do not respire, the 'connatural spirit' is seen
alternately puffed up and subsiding in the part which is in them analogous [to the region of the heart in
sanguineous animals]. This is clearly observable in the holoptera [insects with undivided wings] as wasps and
bees; also in flies and such creatures. And since to move anything, or do anything, is impossible without
strength, and holding the breath produces strength-in creatures which inhale, the holding of that breath which
comes from without, but, in creatures which do not respire, of that which is connatural (which explains why
winged insects of the class holoptera, when they move, are perceived to make a humming noise, due to the
friction of the connatural spirit colliding with the diaphragm); and since movement is, in every animal,
attended with some sense-perception, either internal or external, in the primary organ of sense, [we conclude]
accordingly that if sleeping and waking are affections of this organ, the place in which, or the organ in which,
sleep and waking originate, is self-evident [being that in which movement and sense-perception originate,
viz. the heart].

Some persons move in their sleep, and perform many acts like waking acts, but not without a phantasm or an
exercise of sense-perception; for a dream is in a certain way a sense-impression. But of them we have to
speak later on. Why it is that persons when aroused remember their dreams, but do not remember these acts
which are like waking acts, has been already explained in the work 'Of Problems'.

The point for consideration next in order to the preceding is:-What are the processes in which the affection of
waking and sleeping originates, and whence do they arise? Now, since it is when it has sense-perception that
an animal must first take food and receive growth, and in all cases food in its ultimate form is, in sanguineous
animals, the natural substance blood, or, in bloodless animals, that which is analogous to this; and since the
veins are the place of the blood, while the origin of these is the heart-an assertion which is proved by
anatomy-it is manifest that, when the external nutriment enters the parts fitted for its reception, the
evaporation arising from it enters into the veins, and there, undergoing a change, is converted into blood, and
makes its way to their source [the heart]. We have treated of all this when discussing the subject of nutrition,
but must here recapitulate what was there said, in order that we may obtain a scientific view of the beginnings
of the process, and come to know what exactly happens to the primary organ of sense-perception to account

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

for the occurrence of waking and sleep. For sleep, as has been shown, is not any given impotence of the
perceptive faculty; for unconsciousness, a certain form of asphyxia, and swooning, all produce such
impotence. Moreover it is an established fact that some persons in a profound trance have still had the
imaginative faculty in play. This last point, indeed, gives rise to a difficulty; for if it is conceivable that one
who had swooned should in this state fall asleep, the phantasm also which then presented itself to his mind
might be regarded as a dream. Persons, too, who have fallen into a deep trance, and have come to be regarded
as dead, say many things while in this condition. The same view, however, is to be taken of all these cases,
[i.e. that they are not cases of sleeping or dreaming].

As we observed above, sleep is not co-extensive with any and every impotence of the perceptive faculty, but
this affection is one which arises from the evaporation attendant upon the process of nutrition. The matter
evaporated must be driven onwards to a certain point, then turn back, and change its current to and fro, like a
tide-race in a narrow strait. Now, in every animal the hot naturally tends to move [and carry other things]
upwards, but when it has reached the parts above [becoming cool], it turns back again, and moves downwards
in a mass. This explains why fits of drowsiness are especially apt to come on after meals; for the matter, both
the liquid and the corporeal, which is borne upwards in a mass, is then of considerable quantity. When,
therefore, this comes to a stand it weighs a person down and causes him to nod, but when it has actually sunk
downwards, and by its return has repulsed the hot, sleep comes on, and the animal so affected is presently
asleep. A confirmation of this appears from considering the things which induce sleep; they all, whether
potable or edible, for instance poppy, mandragora, wine, darnel, produce a heaviness in the head; and persons
borne down [by sleepiness] and nodding [drowsily] all seem affected in this way, i.e. they are unable to lift
up the head or the eye-lids. And it is after meals especially that sleep comes on like this, for the evaporation
from the foods eaten is then copious. It also follows certain forms of fatigue; for fatigue operates as a solvent,
and the dissolved matter acts, if not cold, like food prior to digestion. Moreover, some kinds of illness have
this same effect; those arising from moist and hot secretions, as happens with fever-patients and in cases of
lethargy. Extreme youth also has this effect; infants, for example, sleep a great deal, because of the food
being all borne upwards-a mark whereof appears in the disproportionately large size of the upper parts
compared with the lower during infancy, which is due to the fact that growth predominates in the direction of
the former. Hence also they are subject to epileptic seizures; for sleep is like epilepsy, and, in a sense,
actually is a seizure of this sort. Accordingly, the beginning of this malady takes place with many during
sleep, and their subsequent habitual seizures occur in sleep, not in waking hours. For when the spirit
[evaporation] moves upwards in a volume, on its return downwards it distends the veins, and forcibly
compresses the passage through which respiration is effected. This explains why wines are not good for
infants or for wet nurses (for it makes no difference, doubtless, whether the infants themselves, or their
nurses, drink them), but such persons should drink them [if at all] diluted with water and in small quantity.
For wine is spirituous, and of all wines the dark more so than any other. The upper parts, in infants, are so
filled with nutriment that within five months [after birth] they do not even turn the neck [sc. to raise the
head]; for in them, as in persons deeply intoxicated, there is ever a large quantity of moisture ascending. It is
reasonable, too, to think that this affection is the cause of the embryo's remaining at rest in the womb at first.
Also, as a general rule, persons whose veins are inconspicuous, as well as those who are dwarf-like, or have
abnormally large heads, are addicted to sleep. For in the former the veins are narrow, so that it is not easy for
the moisture to flow down through them; while in the case of dwarfs and those whose heads are abnormally
large, the impetus of the evaporation upwards is excessive. Those [on the contrary] whose veins are large are,
thanks to the easy flow through the veins, not addicted to sleep, unless, indeed, they labour under some other
affection which counteracts [this easy flow]. Nor are the 'atrabilious' addicted to sleep, for in them the inward
region is cooled so that the quantity of evaporation in their case is not great. For this reason they have large
appetites, though spare and lean; for their bodily condition is as if they derived no benefit from what they eat.
The dark bile, too, being itself naturally cold, cools also the nutrient tract, and the other parts wheresoever
such secretion is potentially present [i.e. tends to be formed] .

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

Hence it is plain from what has been said that sleep is a sort of concentration, or natural recoil, of the hot
matter inwards [towards its centre], due to the cause above mentioned. Hence restless movement is a marked
feature in the case of a person when drowsy. But where it [the heat in the upper and outer parts] begins to fail,
he grows cool, and owing to this cooling process his eye-lids droop. Accordingly [in sleep] the upper and
outward parts are cool, but the inward and lower, i.e. the parts at the feet and in the interior of the body, are
hot.

Yet one might found a difficulty on the facts that sleep is most oppressive in its onset after meals, and that
wine, and other such things, though they possess heating properties, are productive of sleep, for it is not
probable that sleep should be a process of cooling while the things that cause sleeping are themselves hot. Is
the explanation of this, then, to be found in the fact that, as the stomach when empty is hot, while
replenishment cools it by the movement it occasions, so the passages and tracts in the head are cooled as the
'evaporation' ascends thither? Or, as those who have hot water poured on them feel a sudden shiver of cold,
just so in the case before us, may it be that, when the hot substance ascends, the cold rallying to meet it cools
[the aforesaid parts] deprives their native heat of all its power, and compels it to retire? Moreover, when
much food is taken, which [i.e. the nutrient evaporation from which] the hot substance carries upwards, this
latter, like a fire when fresh logs are laid upon it, is itself cooled, until the food has been digested.

For, as has been observed elsewhere, sleep comes on when the corporeal element [in the 'evaporation']
conveyed upwards by the hot, along the veins, to the head. But when that which has been thus carried up can
no longer ascend, but is too great in quantity [to do so], it forces the hot back again and flows downwards.
Hence it is that men sink down [as they do in sleep] when the heat which tends to keep them erect (man
alone, among animals, being naturally erect) is withdrawn; and this, when it befalls them, causes
unconsciousness, and afterwards phantasy.

Or are the solutions thus proposed barely conceivable accounts of the refrigeration which takes place, while,
as a matter of fact, the region of the brain is, as stated elsewhere, the main determinant of the matter? For the
brain, or in creatures without a brain that which corresponds to it, is of all parts of the body the coolest.
Therefore, as moisture turned into vapour by the sun's heat is, when it has ascended to the upper regions,
cooled by the coldness of the latter, and becoming condensed, is carried downwards, and turned into water
once more; just so the excrementitious evaporation, when carried up by the heat to the region of the brain, is
condensed into a 'phlegm' (which explains why catarrhs are seen to proceed from the head); while that
evaporation which is nutrient and not unwholesome, becoming condensed, descends and cools the hot. The
tenuity or narrowness of the veins about the brain itself contributes to its being kept cool, and to its not
readily admitting the evaporation. This, then, is a sufficient explanation of the cooling which takes place,
despite the fact that the evaporation is exceedingly hot.

A person awakes from sleep when digestion is completed: when the heat, which had been previously forced
together in large quantity within a small compass from out the surrounding part, has once more prevailed, and
when a separation has been effected between the more corporeal and the purer blood. The finest and purest
blood is that contained in the head, while the thickest and most turbid is that in the lower parts. The source of
all the blood is, as has been stated both here and elsewhere, the heart. Now of the chambers in the heart the
central communicates with each of the two others. Each of the latter again acts as receiver from each,
respectively, of the two vessels, called the 'great' and the 'aorta'. It is in the central chamber that the
[above-mentioned] separation takes place. To go into these matters in detail would, however, be more
properly the business of a different treatise from the present. Owing to the fact that the blood formed after the
assimilation of food is especially in need of separation, sleep [then especially] occurs [and lasts] until the
purest part of this blood has been separated off into the upper parts of the body, and the most turbid into the
lower parts. When this has taken place animals awake from sleep, being released from the heaviness
consequent on taking food. We have now stated the cause of sleeping, viz. that it consists in the recoil by the
corporeal element, upborne by the connatural heat, in a mass upon the primary sense-organ; we have also

ON SLEEP AND SLEEPLESSNESS

stated what sleep is, having shown that it is a seizure of the primary sense-organ, rendering it unable to
actualize its powers; arising of necessity (for it is impossible for an animal to exist if the conditions which
render it an animal be not fulfilled), i.e. for the sake of its conservation; since remission of movement tends to
the conservation of animals.

-THE END-

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

by Aristotle

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

Table of Contents

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS . 1

by Aristotle 1

Book 1 2

2 2

_3 3

A 3

_5 5

6 6

1 8

1 9

_9 9

JO 10

11 11

12 13

J3 14

J4 14

15 15

J6 16

17 17

18 19

19 19

10 20

11 21

22 21

23 22

14 23

15 24

16 25

17 25

18 26

19 26

10 26

11 26

12 27

13 28

34 29

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

by Aristotle

translated by W. A. Pickard-Cambridge

Book I

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5

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ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

Book I

LET us now discuss sophistic refutations, i.e. what appear to be refutations but are really fallacies instead.
We will begin in the natural order with the first.

That some reasonings are genuine, while others seem to be so but are not, is evident. This happens with
arguments, as also elsewhere, through a certain likeness between the genuine and the sham. For physically
some people are in a vigorous condition, while others merely seem to be so by blowing and rigging
themselves out as the tribesmen do their victims for sacrifice; and some people are beautiful thanks to their
beauty, while others seem to be so, by dint of embellishing themselves. So it is, too, with inanimate things;
for of these, too, some are really silver and others gold, while others are not and merely seem to be such to
our sense; e.g. things made of litharge and tin seem to be of silver, while those made of yellow metal look
golden. In the same way both reasoning and refutation are sometimes genuine, sometimes not, though
inexperience may make them appear so: for inexperienced people obtain only, as it were, a distant view of
these things. For reasoning rests on certain statements such that they involve necessarily the assertion of
something other than what has been stated, through what has been stated: refutation is reasoning involving
the contradictory of the given conclusion. Now some of them do not really achieve this, though they seem to
do so for a number of reasons; and of these the most prolific and usual domain is the argument that turns
upon names only. It is impossible in a discussion to bring in the actual things discussed: we use their names
as symbols instead of them; and therefore we suppose that what follows in the names, follows in the things as
well, just as people who calculate suppose in regard to their counters. But the two cases (names and things)
are not alike. For names are finite and so is the sum-total of formulae, while things are infinite in number.
Inevitably, then, the same formulae, and a single name, have a number of meanings. Accordingly just as, in
counting, those who are not clever in manipulating their counters are taken in by the experts, in the same way
in arguments too those who are not well acquainted with the force of names misreason both in their own
discussions and when they listen to others. For this reason, then, and for others to be mentioned later, there
exists both reasoning and refutation that is apparent but not real. Now for some people it is better worth while
to seem to be wise, than to be wise without seeming to be (for the art of the sophist is the semblance of
wisdom without the reality, and the sophist is one who makes money from an apparent but unreal wisdom);
for them, then, it is clearly essential also to seem to accomplish the task of a wise man rather than to
accomplish it without seeming to do so. To reduce it to a single point of contrast it is the business of one who
knows a thing, himself to avoid fallacies in the subjects which he knows and to be able to show up the man
who makes them; and of these accomplishments the one depends on the faculty to render an answer, and the
other upon the securing of one. Those, then, who would be sophists are bound to study the class of arguments
aforesaid: for it is worth their while: for a faculty of this kind will make a man seem to be wise, and this is the
purpose they happen to have in view.

Clearly, then, there exists a class of arguments of this kind, and it is at this kind of ability that those aim
whom we call sophists. Let us now go on to discuss how many kinds there are of sophistical arguments, and
how many in number are the elements of which this faculty is composed, and how many branches there
happen to be of this inquiry, and the other factors that contribute to this art.

Of arguments in dialogue form there are four classes:

Didactic, Dialectical, Examination-arguments, and Contentious arguments. Didactic arguments are those that
reason from the principles appropriate to each subject and not from the opinions held by the answerer (for the

Book I 2

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

learner should take things on trust): dialectical arguments are those that reason from premisses generally
accepted, to the contradictory of a given thesis: examination-arguments are those that reason from premisses
which are accepted by the answerer and which any one who pretends to possess knowledge of the subject is
bound to know-in what manner, has been defined in another treatise: contentious arguments are those that
reason or appear to reason to a conclusion from premisses that appear to be generally accepted but are not so.
The subject, then, of demonstrative arguments has been discussed in the Analytics, while that of dialectic
arguments and examination- arguments has been discussed elsewhere: let us now proceed to speak of the
arguments used in competitions and contests.

First we must grasp the number of aims entertained by those who argue as competitors and rivals to the death.
These are five in number, refutation, fallacy, paradox, solecism, and fifthly to reduce the opponent in the
discussion to babbling-i.e. to constrain him to repeat himself a number of times: or it is to produce the
appearance of each of these things without the reality. For they choose if possible plainly to refute the other
party, or as the second best to show that he is committing some fallacy, or as a third best to lead him into
paradox, or fourthly to reduce him to solecism, i.e. to make the answerer, in consequence of the argument, to
use an ungrammatical expression; or, as a last resort, to make him repeat himself.

There are two styles of refutation: for some depend on the language used, while some are independent of
language. Those ways of producing the false appearance of an argument which depend on language are six in
number: they are ambiguity, amphiboly, combination, division of words, accent, form of expression. Of this
we may assure ourselves both by induction, and by syllogistic proof based on this-and it may be on other
assumptions as well-that this is the number of ways in which we might fall to mean the same thing by the
same names or expressions. Arguments such as the following depend upon ambiguity. 'Those learn who
know: for it is those who know their letters who learn the letters dictated to them'. For to 'learn' is ambiguous;
it signifies both 'to understand' by the use of knowledge, and also 'to acquire knowledge'. Again, 'Evils are
good: for what needs to be is good, and evils must needs be'. For 'what needs to be' has a double meaning: it
means what is inevitable, as often is the case with evils, too (for evil of some kind is inevitable), while on the
other hand we say of good things as well that they 'need to be'. Moreover, 'The same man is both seated and
standing and he is both sick and in health: for it is he who stood up who is standing, and he who is recovering
who is in health: but it is the seated man who stood up, and the sick man who was recovering'. For 'The sick
man does so and so', or 'has so and so done to him' is not single in meaning: sometimes it means 'the man
who is sick or is seated now', sometimes 'the man who was sick formerly'. Of course, the man who was
recovering was the sick man, who really was sick at the time: but the man who is in health is not sick at the
same time: he is 'the sick man' in the sense not that he is sick now, but that he was sick formerly. Examples
such as the following depend upon amphiboly: 'I wish that you the enemy may capture'. Also the thesis,
'There must be knowledge of what one knows': for it is possible by this phrase to mean that knowledge
belongs to both the knower and the known. Also, 'There must be sight of what one sees: one sees the pillar:
ergo the pillar has sight'. Also, 'What you profess to-be, that you profess to-be: you profess a stone to-be:
ergo you profess-to-be a stone'. Also, 'Speaking of the silent is possible': for 'speaking of the silent' also has
a double meaning: it may mean that the speaker is silent or that the things of which he speaks are so. There
are three varieties of these ambiguities and amphibolies: (1) When either the expression or the name has
strictly more than one meaning, e.g. aetos and the 'dog'; (2) when by custom we use them so; (3) when words
that have a simple sense taken alone have more than one meaning in combination; e.g. knowing letters'. For
each word, both knowing' and 'letters', possibly has a single meaning: but both together have more than
one-either that the letters themselves have knowledge or that someone else has it of them.

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

Amphiboly and ambiguity, then, depend on these modes of speech. Upon the combination of words there
depend instances such as the following: 'A man can walk while sitting, and can write while not writing'. For
the meaning is not the same if one divides the words and if one combines them in saying that 'it is possible to
walk-while-sitting' and write while not writing]. The same applies to the latter phrase, too, if one combines
the words 'to write-while-not-writing': for then it means that he has the power to write and not to write at
once; whereas if one does not combine them, it means that when he is not writing he has the power to write.
Also, 'He now if he has learnt his letters'. Moreover, there is the saying that 'One single thing if you can carry
a crowd you can carry too'.

Upon division depend the propositions that 5 is 2 and 3, and odd, and that the greater is equal: for it is that
amount and more besides. For the same phrase would not be thought always to have the same meaning when
divided and when combined, e.g. 'I made thee a slave once a free man', and 'God-like Achilles left fifty a
hundred men'.

An argument depending upon accent it is not easy to construct in unwritten discussion; in written discussions
and in poetry it is easier. Thus (e.g.) some people emend Homer against those who criticize as unnatural his
expression to men ou kataputhetai ombro. For they solve the difficulty by a change of accent, pronouncing
the ou with an acuter accent. Also, in the passage about Agamemnon's dream, they say that Zeus did not
himself say 'We grant him the fulfilment of his prayer', but that he bade the dream grant it. Instances such as
these, then, turn upon the accentuation.

Others come about owing to the form of expression used, when what is really different is expressed in the
same form, e.g. a masculine thing by a feminine termination, or a feminine thing by a masculine, or a neuter
by either a masculine or a feminine; or, again, when a quality is expressed by a termination proper to quantity
or vice versa, or what is active by a passive word, or a state by an active word, and so forth with the other
divisions previously' laid down. For it is possible to use an expression to denote what does not belong to the
class of actions at all as though it did so belong. Thus (e.g.) 'flourishing' is a word which in the form of its
expression is like 'cutting' or 'building': yet the one denotes a certain quality-i.e. a certain condition-while the
other denotes a certain action. In the same manner also in the other instances.

Refutations, then, that depend upon language are drawn from these common-place rules. Of fallacies, on the
other hand, that are independent of language there are seven kinds:

(1) that which depends upon Accident:

(2) the use of an expression absolutely or not absolutely but with some qualification of respect or place, or
time, or relation:

(3) that which depends upon ignorance of what 'refutation' is:

(4) that which depends upon the consequent:

(5) that which depends upon assuming the original conclusion:

(6) stating as cause what is not the cause:

(7) the making of more than one question into one.

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

Fallacies, then, that depend on Accident occur whenever any attribute is claimed to belong in like manner to a
thing and to its accident. For since the same thing has many accidents there is no necessity that all the same
attributes should belong to all of a thing's predicates and to their subject as well. Thus (e.g.), 'If Coriscus be
different from "man", he is different from himself: for he is a man': or 'If he be different from Socrates, and
Socrates be a man, then', they say, 'he has admitted that Coriscus is different from a man, because it so
happens (accidit) that the person from whom he said that he (Coriscus) is different is a man'.

Those that depend on whether an expression is used absolutely or in a certain respect and not strictly, occur
whenever an expression used in a particular sense is taken as though it were used absolutely, e.g. in the
argument 'If what is not is the object of an opinion, then what is not is': for it is not the same thing 'to be x'
and 'to be' absolutely. Or again, 'What is, is not, if it is not a particular kind of being, e.g. if it is not a man.'
For it is not the same thing 'not to be x' and 'not to be' at all: it looks as if it were, because of the closeness of
the expression, i.e. because 'to be x' is but little different from 'to be', and 'not to be x' from 'not to be'.
Likewise also with any argument that turns upon the point whether an expression is used in a certain respect
or used absolutely. Thus e.g. 'Suppose an Indian to be black all over, but white in respect of his teeth; then he
is both white and not white.' Or if both characters belong in a particular respect, then, they say, 'contrary
attributes belong at the same time'. This kind of thing is in some cases easily seen by any one, e.g. suppose a
man were to secure the statement that the Ethiopian is black, and were then to ask whether he is white in
respect of his teeth; and then, if he be white in that respect, were to suppose at the conclusion of his questions
that therefore he had proved dialectically that he was both white and not white. But in some cases it often
passes undetected, viz. in all cases where, whenever a statement is made of something in a certain respect, it
would be generally thought that the absolute statement follows as well; and also in all cases where it is not
easy to see which of the attributes ought to be rendered strictly. A situation of this kind arises, where both the
opposite attributes belong alike: for then there is general support for the view that one must agree absolutely
to the assertion of both, or of neither: e.g. if a thing is half white and half black, is it white or black?

Other fallacies occur because the terms 'proof or 'refutation' have not been defined, and because something is
left out in their definition. For to refute is to contradict one and the same attribute-not merely the name, but
the reality-and a name that is not merely synonymous but the same name-and to confute it from the
propositions granted, necessarily, without including in the reckoning the original point to be proved, in the
same respect and relation and manner and time in which it was asserted. A 'false assertion' about anything has
to be defined in the same way. Some people, however, omit some one of the said conditions and give a
merely apparent refutation, showing (e.g.) that the same thing is both double and not double: for two is
double of one, but not double of three. Or, it may be, they show that it is both double and not double of the
same thing, but not that it is so in the same respect: for it is double in length but not double in breadth. Or, it
may be, they show it to be both double and not double of the same thing and in the same respect and manner,
but not that it is so at the same time: and therefore their refutation is merely apparent. One might, with some
violence, bring this fallacy into the group of fallacies dependent on language as well.

Those that depend on the assumption of the original point to be proved, occur in the same way, and in as
many ways, as it is possible to beg the original point; they appear to refute because men lack the power to
keep their eyes at once upon what is the same and what is different.

The refutation which depends upon the consequent arises because people suppose that the relation of
consequence is convertible. For whenever, suppose A is, B necessarily is, they then suppose also that if B is,
A necessarily is. This is also the source of the deceptions that attend opinions based on sense-perception. For
people often suppose bile to be honey because honey is attended by a yellow colour: also, since after rain the
ground is wet in consequence, we suppose that if the ground is wet, it has been raining; whereas that does not

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necessarily follow. In rhetoric proofs from signs are based on consequences. For when rhetoricians wish to
show that a man is an adulterer, they take hold of some consequence of an adulterous life, viz. that the man is
smartly dressed, or that he is observed to wander about at night. There are, however, many people of whom
these things are true, while the charge in question is untrue. It happens like this also in real reasoning; e.g.
Melissus' argument, that the universe is eternal, assumes that the universe has not come to be (for from what
is not nothing could possibly come to be) and that what has come to be has done so from a first beginning. If,
therefore, the universe has not come to be, it has no first beginning, and is therefore eternal. But this does not
necessarily follow: for even if what has come to be always has a first beginning, it does not also follow that
what has a first beginning has come to be; any more than it follows that if a man in a fever be hot, a man who
is hot must be in a fever.

The refutation which depends upon treating as cause what is not a cause, occurs whenever what is not a cause
is inserted in the argument, as though the refutation depended upon it. This kind of thing happens in
arguments that reason ad impossible: for in these we are bound to demolish one of the premisses. If, then, the
false cause be reckoned in among the questions that are necessary to establish the resulting impossibility, it
will often be thought that the refutation depends upon it, e.g. in the proof that the 'soul' and 'life' are not the
same: for if coming-to-be be contrary to perishing, then a particular form of perishing will have a particular
form of coming-to-be as its contrary: now death is a particular form of perishing and is contrary to life: life,
therefore, is a coming to-be, and to live is to come-to-be. But this is impossible: accordingly, the 'soul' and
'life' are not the same. Now this is not proved: for the impossibility results all the same, even if one does not
say that life is the same as the soul, but merely says that life is contrary to death, which is a form of perishing,
and that perishing has 'coming-to-be' as its contrary. Arguments of that kind, then, though not inconclusive
absolutely, are inconclusive in relation to the proposed conclusion. Also even the questioners themselves
often fail quite as much to see a point of that kind.

Such, then, are the arguments that depend upon the consequent and upon false cause. Those that depend upon
the making of two questions into one occur whenever the plurality is undetected and a single answer is
returned as if to a single question. Now, in some cases, it is easy to see that there is more than one, and that
an answer is not to be given, e.g. 'Does the earth consist of sea, or the sky?' But in some cases it is less easy,
and then people treat the question as one, and either confess their defeat by failing to answer the question, or
are exposed to an apparent refutation. Thus 'Is A and is B a man?' 'Yes.' 'Then if any one hits A and B, he will
strike a man' (singular), 'not men' (plural). Or again, where part is good and part bad, 'is the whole good or
bad?' For whichever he says, it is possible that he might be thought to expose himself to an apparent
refutation or to make an apparently false statement: for to say that something is good which is not good, or
not good which is good, is to make a false statement. Sometimes, however, additional premisses may actually
give rise to a genuine refutation; e.g. suppose a man were to grant that the descriptions 'white' and 'naked' and
'blind' apply to one thing and to a number of things in a like sense. For if 'blind' describes a thing that cannot
see though nature designed it to see, it will also describe things that cannot see though nature designed them
to do so. Whenever, then, one thing can see while another cannot, they will either both be able to see or else
both be blind; which is impossible.

The right way, then, is either to divide apparent proofs and refutations as above, or else to refer them all to
ignorance of what 'refutation' is, and make that our starting-point: for it is possible to analyse all the
aforesaid modes of fallacy into breaches of the definition of a refutation. In the first place, we may see if they
are inconclusive: for the conclusion ought to result from the premisses laid down, so as to compel us
necessarily to state it and not merely to seem to compel us. Next we should also take the definition bit by bit,
and try the fallacy thereby. For of the fallacies that consist in language, some depend upon a double meaning,
e.g. ambiguity of words and of phrases, and the fallacy of like verbal forms (for we habitually speak of

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everything as though it were a particular substance)-while fallacies of combination and division and accent
arise because the phrase in question or the term as altered is not the same as was intended. Even this,
however, should be the same, just as the thing signified should be as well, if a refutation or proof is to be
effected; e.g. if the point concerns a doublet, then you should draw the conclusion of a 'doublet', not of a
'cloak'. For the former conclusion also would be true, but it has not been proved; we need a further question
to show that 'doublet' means the same thing, in order to satisfy any one who asks why you think your point
proved.

Fallacies that depend on Accident are clear cases of ignoratio elenchi when once 'proof has been defined. For
the same definition ought to hold good of 'refutation' too, except that a mention of 'the contradictory' is here
added: for a refutation is a proof of the contradictory. If, then, there is no proof as regards an accident of
anything, there is no refutation. For supposing, when A and B are, C must necessarily be, and C is white,
there is no necessity for it to be white on account of the syllogism. So, if the triangle has its angles equal to
two right-angles, and it happens to be a figure, or the simplest element or starting point, it is not because it is
a figure or a starting point or simplest element that it has this character. For the demonstration proves the
point about it not qua figure or qua simplest element, but qua triangle. Likewise also in other cases. If, then,
refutation is a proof, an argument which argued per accidens could not be a refutation. It is, however, just in
this that the experts and men of science generally suffer refutation at the hand of the unscientific: for the latter
meet the scientists with reasonings constituted per accidens; and the scientists for lack of the power to draw
distinctions either say 'Yes' to their questions, or else people suppose them to have said 'Yes', although they
have not.

Those that depend upon whether something is said in a certain respect only or said absolutely, are clear cases
of ignoratio elenchi because the affirmation and the denial are not concerned with the same point. For of
'white in a certain respect' the negation is 'not white in a certain respect', while of 'white absolutely' it is 'not
white, absolutely'. If, then, a man treats the admission that a thing is 'white in a certain respect' as though it
were said to be white absolutely, he does not effect a refutation, but merely appears to do so owing to
ignorance of what refutation is.

The clearest cases of all, however, are those that were previously described' as depending upon the definition
of a 'refutation': and this is also why they were called by that name. For the appearance of a refutation is
produced because of the omission in the definition, and if we divide fallacies in the above manner, we ought
to set 'Defective definition' as a common mark upon them all.

Those that depend upon the assumption of the original point and upon stating as the cause what is not the
cause, are clearly shown to be cases of ignoratio elenchi through the definition thereof. For the conclusion
ought to come about 'because these things are so', and this does not happen where the premisses are not
causes of it: and again it should come about without taking into account the original point, and this is not the
case with those arguments which depend upon begging the original point.

Those that depend upon the consequent are a branch of Accident: for the consequent is an accident, only it
differs from the accident in this, that you may secure an admission of the accident in the case of one thing
only (e.g. the identity of a yellow thing and honey and of a white thing and swan), whereas the consequent
always involves more than one thing: for we claim that things that are the same as one and the same thing are
also the same as one another, and this is the ground of a refutation dependent on the consequent. It is,

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

however, not always true, e.g. suppose that and B are the same as C per accidens; for both 'snow' and the
'swan' are the same as something white'. Or again, as in Melissus' argument, a man assumes that to 'have been
generated' and to 'have a beginning' are the same thing, or to 'become equal' and to 'assume the same
magnitude'. For because what has been generated has a beginning, he claims also that what has a beginning
has been generated, and argues as though both what has been generated and what is finite were the same
because each has a beginning. Likewise also in the case of things that are made equal he assumes that if
things that assume one and the same magnitude become equal, then also things that become equal assume one
magnitude: i.e. he assumes the consequent. Inasmuch, then, as a refutation depending on accident consists in
ignorance of what a refutation is, clearly so also does a refutation depending on the consequent. We shall
have further to examine this in another way as well.

Those fallacies that depend upon the making of several questions into one consist in our failure to dissect the
definition of 'proposition'. For a proposition is a single statement about a single thing. For the same definition
applies to 'one single thing only' and to the 'thing', simply, e.g. to 'man' and to 'one single man only' and
likewise also in other cases. If, then, a 'single proposition' be one which claims a single thing of a single
thing, a 'proposition', simply, will also be the putting of a question of that kind. Now since a proof starts from
propositions and refutation is a proof, refutation, too, will start from propositions. If, then, a proposition is a
single statement about a single thing, it is obvious that this fallacy too consists in ignorance of what a
refutation is: for in it what is not a proposition appears to be one. If, then, the answerer has returned an
answer as though to a single question, there will be a refutation; while if he has returned one not really but
apparently, there will be an apparent refutation of his thesis. All the types of fallacy, then, fall under
ignorance of what a refutation is, some of them because the contradiction, which is the distinctive mark of a
refutation, is merely apparent, and the rest failing to conform to the definition of a proof.

The deception comes about in the case of arguments that depend on ambiguity of words and of phrases
because we are unable to divide the ambiguous term (for some terms it is not easy to divide, e.g. 'unity',
'being', and 'sameness'), while in those that depend on combination and division, it is because we suppose that
it makes no difference whether the phrase be combined or divided, as is indeed the case with most phrases.
Likewise also with those that depend on accent: for the lowering or raising of the voice upon a phrase is
thought not to alter its meaning-with any phrase, or not with many. With those that depend on the of
expression it is because of the likeness of expression. For it is hard to distinguish what kind of things are
signified by the same and what by different kinds of expression: for a man who can do this is practically next
door to the understanding of the truth. A special reason why a man is liable to be hurried into assent to the
fallacy is that we suppose every predicate of everything to be an individual thing, and we understand it as
being one with the thing: and we therefore treat it as a substance: for it is to that which is one with a thing or
substance, as also to substance itself, that 'individually' and 'being' are deemed to belong in the fullest sense.
For this reason, too, this type of fallacy is to be ranked among those that depend on language; in the first
place, because the deception is effected the more readily when we are inquiring into a problem in company
with others than when we do so by ourselves (for an inquiry with another person is carried on by means of
speech, whereas an inquiry by oneself is carried on quite as much by means of the object itself); secondly a
man is liable to be deceived, even when inquiring by himself, when he takes speech as the basis of his
inquiry: moreover the deception arises out of the likeness (of two different things), and the likeness arises out
of the language. With those fallacies that depend upon Accident, deception comes about because we cannot
distinguish the sameness and otherness of terms, i.e. their unity and multiplicity, or what kinds of predicate
have all the same accidents as their subject. Likewise also with those that depend on the Consequent: for the
consequent is a branch of Accident. Moreover, in many cases appearances point to this-and the claim is
made that if is inseparable from B, so also is B from With those that depend upon an imperfection in the
definition of a refutation, and with those that depend upon the difference between a qualified and an absolute

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statement, the deception consists in the smallness of the difference involved; for we treat the limitation to the
particular thing or respect or manner or time as adding nothing to the meaning, and so grant the statement
universally. Likewise also in the case of those that assume the original point, and those of false cause, and all
that treat a number of questions as one: for in all of them the deception lies in the smallness of the difference:
for our failure to be quite exact in our definition of 'premiss' and of 'proof is due to the aforesaid reason.

Since we know on how many points apparent syllogisms depend, we know also on how many sophistical
syllogisms and refutations may depend. By a sophistical refutation and syllogism I mean not only a syllogism
or refutation which appears to be valid but is not, but also one which, though it is valid, only appears to be
appropriate to the thing in question. These are those which fail to refute and prove people to be ignorant
according to the nature of the thing in question, which was the function of the art of examination. Now the art
of examining is a branch of dialectic: and this may prove a false conclusion because of the ignorance of the
answerer. Sophistic refutations on the other hand, even though they prove the contradictory of his thesis, do
not make clear whether he is ignorant: for sophists entangle the scientist as well with these arguments.

That we know them by the same line of inquiry is clear: for the same considerations which make it appear to
an audience that the points required for the proof were asked in the questions and that the conclusion was
proved, would make the answerer think so as well, so that false proof will occur through all or some of these
means: for what a man has not been asked but thinks he has granted, he would also grant if he were asked. Of
course, in some cases the moment we add the missing question, we also show up its falsity, e.g. in fallacies
that depend on language and on solecism. If then, fallacious proofs of the contradictory of a thesis depend on
their appearing to refute, it is clear that the considerations on which both proofs of false conclusions and an
apparent refutation depend must be the same in number. Now an apparent refutation depends upon the
elements involved in a genuine one: for the failure of one or other of these must make the refutation merely
apparent, e.g. that which depends on the failure of the conclusion to follow from the argument (the argument
ad impossible) and that which treats two questions as one and so depends upon a flaw in the premiss, and that
which depends on the substitution of an accident for an essential attribute, and-a branch of the last-that
which depends upon the consequent: more over, the conclusion may follow not in fact but only verbally:
then, instead of proving the contradictory universally and in the same respect and relation and manner, the
fallacy may be dependent on some limit of extent or on one or other of these qualifications: moreover, there
is the assumption of the original point to be proved, in violation of the clause 'without reckoning in the
original point'. Thus we should have the number of considerations on which the fallacious proofs depend: for
they could not depend on more, but all will depend on the points aforesaid.

A sophistical refutation is a refutation not absolutely but relatively to some one: and so is a proof, in the same
way. For unless that which depends upon ambiguity assumes that the ambiguous term has a single meaning,
and that which depends on like verbal forms assumes that substance is the only category, and the rest in the
same way, there will be neither refutations nor proofs, either absolutely or relatively to the answerer: whereas
if they do assume these things, they will stand, relatively to the answerer; but absolutely they will not stand:
for they have not secured a statement that does have a single meaning, but only one that appears to have, and
that only from this particular man.

The number of considerations on which depend the refutations of those who are refuted, we ought not to try
to grasp without a knowledge of everything that is. This, however, is not the province of any special study:
for possibly the sciences are infinite in number, so that obviously demonstrations may be infinite too. Now
refutations may be true as well as false: for whenever it is possible to demonstrate something, it is also

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

possible to refute the man who maintains the contradictory of the truth; e.g. if a man has stated that the
diagonal is commensurate with the side of the square, one might refute him by demonstrating that it is
incommensurate. Accordingly, to exhaust all possible refutations we shall have to have scientific knowledge
of everything: for some refutations depend upon the principles that rule in geometry and the conclusions that
follow from these, others upon those that rule in medicine, and others upon those of the other sciences. For
the matter of that, the false refutations likewise belong to the number of the infinite: for according to every art
there is false proof, e.g. according to geometry there is false geometrical proof, and according to medicine
there is false medical proof. By 'according to the art', I mean 'according to the principles of it'. Clearly, then, it
is not of all refutations, but only of those that depend upon dialectic that we need to grasp the common-place
rules: for these stand in a common relation to every art and faculty. And as regards the refutation that is
according to one or other of the particular sciences it is the task of that particular scientist to examine whether
it is merely apparent without being real, and, if it be real, what is the reason for it: whereas it is the business
of dialecticians so to examine the refutation that proceeds from the common first principles that fall under no
particular special study. For if we grasp the startingpoints of the accepted proofs on any subject whatever we
grasp those of the refutations current on that subject. For a refutation is the proof of the contradictory of a
given thesis, so that either one or two proofs of the contradictory constitute a refutation. We grasp, then, the
number of considerations on which all such depend: if, however, we grasp this, we also grasp their solutions
as well; for the objections to these are the solutions of them. We also grasp the number of considerations on
which those refutations depend, that are merely apparent-apparent, I mean, not to everybody, but to people of
a certain stamp; for it is an indefinite task if one is to inquire how many are the considerations that make them
apparent to the man in the street. Accordingly it is clear that the dialectician's business is to be able to grasp
on how many considerations depends the formation, through the common first principles, of a refutation that
is either real or apparent, i.e. either dialectical or apparently dialectical, or suitable for an examination.

It is no true distinction between arguments which some people draw when they say that some arguments are
directed against the expression, and others against the thought expressed: for it is absurd to suppose that some
arguments are directed against the expression and others against the thought, and that they are not the same.
For what is failure to direct an argument against the thought except what occurs whenever a man does not in
using the expression think it to be used in his question in the same sense in which the person questioned
granted it? And this is the same thing as to direct the argument against the expression. On the other hand, it is
directed against the thought whenever a man uses the expression in the same sense which the answerer had in
mind when he granted it. If now any (i.e. both the questioner and the person questioned), in dealing with an
expression with more than one meaning, were to suppose it to have one meaning-as e.g. it may be that
'Being' and 'One' have many meanings, and yet both the answerer answers and the questioner puts his
question supposing it to be one, and the argument is to the effect that All things are one'-will this discussion
be directed any more against the expression than against the thought of the person questioned? If, on the other
hand, one of them supposes the expression to have many meanings, it is clear that such a discussion will not
be directed against the thought. Such being the meanings of the phrases in question, they clearly cannot
describe two separate classes of argument. For, in the first place, it is possible for any such argument as bears
more than one meaning to be directed against the expression and against the thought, and next it is possible
for any argument whatsoever; for the fact of being directed against the thought consists not in the nature of
the argument, but in the special attitude of the answerer towards the points he concedes. Next, all of them
may be directed to the expression. For 'to be directed against the expression' means in this doctrine 'not to be
directed against the thought'. For if not all are directed against either expression or thought, there will be
certain other arguments directed neither against the expression nor against the thought, whereas they say that
all must be one or the other, and divide them all as directed either against the expression or against the
thought, while others (they say) there are none. But in point of fact those that depend on mere expression are
only a branch of those syllogisms that depend on a multiplicity of meanings. For the absurd statement has

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actually been made that the description 'dependent on mere expression' describes all the arguments that
depend on language: whereas some of these are fallacies not because the answerer adopts a particular attitude
towards them, but because the argument itself involves the asking of a question such as bears more than one
meaning.

It is, too, altogether absurd to discuss Refutation without first discussing Proof: for a refutation is a proof, so
that one ought to discuss proof as well before describing false refutation: for a refutation of that kind is a
merely apparent proof of the contradictory of a thesis. Accordingly, the reason of the falsity will be either in
the proof or in the contradiction (for mention of the 'contradiction' must be added), while sometimes it is in
both, if the refutation be merely apparent. In the argument that speaking of the silent is possible it lies in the
contradiction, not in the proof; in the argument that one can give what one does not possess, it lies in both; in
the proof that Homer's poem is a figure through its being a cycle it lies in the proof. An argument that does
not fail in either respect is a true proof.

But, to return to the point whence our argument digressed, are mathematical reasonings directed against the
thought, or not? And if any one thinks 'triangle' to be a word with many meanings, and granted it in some
different sense from the figure which was proved to contain two right angles, has the questioner here directed
his argument against the thought of the former or not?

Moreover, if the expression bears many senses, while the answerer does not understand or suppose it to have
them, surely the questioner here has directed his argument against his thought! Or how else ought he to put
his question except by suggesting a distinction-suppose one's question to be speaking of the silent possible or
not?'-as follows, 'Is the answer "No" in one sense, but "Yes" in another?' If, then, any one were to answer
that it was not possible in any sense and the other were to argue that it was, has not his argument been
directed against the thought of the answerer? Yet his argument is supposed to be one of those that depend on
the expression. There is not, then, any definite kind of arguments that is directed against the thought. Some
arguments are, indeed, directed against the expression: but these are not all even apparent refutations, let
alone all refutations. For there are also apparent refutations which do not depend upon language, e.g. those
that depend upon accident, and others.

If, however, any one claims that one should actually draw the distinction, and say, 'By "speaking of the
silent" I mean, in one sense this and in the other sense that', surely to claim this is in the first place absurd (for
sometimes the questioner does not see the ambiguity of his question, and he cannot possibly draw a
distinction which he does not think to be there): in the second place, what else but this will didactic argument
be? For it will make manifest the state of the case to one who has never considered, and does not know or
suppose that there is any other meaning but one. For what is there to prevent the same thing also happening to
us in cases where there is no double meaning? Are the units in four equal to the twos? Observe that the twos
are contained in four in one sense in this way, in another sense in that'. Also, 'Is the knowledge of contraries
one or not? Observe that some contraries are known, while others are unknown'. Thus the man who makes
this claim seems to be unaware of the difference between didactic and dialectical argument, and of the fact
that while he who argues didactically should not ask questions but make things clear himself, the other should
merely ask questions.

Moreover, to claim a 'Yes' or 'No' answer is the business not of a man who is showing something, but of one
who is holding an examination. For the art of examining is a branch of dialectic and has in view not the man
who has knowledge, but the ignorant pretender. He, then, is a dialectician who regards the common principles
with their application to the particular matter in hand, while he who only appears to do this is a sophist. Now
for contentious and sophistical reasoning: (1) one such is a merely apparent reasoning, on subjects on which

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dialectical reasoning is the proper method of examination, even though its conclusion be true: for it misleads
us in regard to the cause: also (2) there are those misreasonings which do not conform to the line of inquiry
proper to the particular subject, but are generally thought to conform to the art in question. For false diagrams
of geometrical figures are not contentious (for the resulting fallacies conform to the subject of the art)-any
more than is any false diagram that may be offered in proof of a truth-e.g. Hippocrates' figure or the squaring
of the circle by means of the lunules. But Bryson's method of squaring the circle, even if the circle is thereby
squared, is still sophistical because it does not conform to the subject in hand. So, then, any merely apparent
reasoning about these things is a contentious argument, and any reasoning that merely appears to conform to
the subject in hand, even though it be genuine reasoning, is a contentious argument: for it is merely apparent
in its conformity to the subject-matter, so that it is deceptive and plays foul. For just as a foul in a race is a
definite type of fault, and is a kind of foul fighting, so the art of contentious reasoning is foul fighting in
disputation: for in the former case those who are resolved to win at all costs snatch at everything, and so in
the latter case do contentious reasoners. Those, then, who do this in order to win the mere victory are
generally considered to be contentious and quarrelsome persons, while those who do it to win a reputation
with a view to making money are sophistical. For the art of sophistry is, as we said,' a kind of art of
money-making from a merely apparent wisdom, and this is why they aim at a merely apparent
demonstration: and quarrelsome persons and sophists both employ the same arguments, but not with the same
motives: and the same argument will be sophistical and contentious, but not in the same respect; rather, it will
be contentious in so far as its aim is an apparent victory, while in so far as its aim is an apparent wisdom, it
will be sophistical: for the art of sophistry is a certain appearance of wisdom without the reality. The
contentious argument stands in somewhat the same relation to the dialectical as the drawer of false diagrams
to the geometrician; for it beguiles by misreasoning from the same principles as dialectic uses, just as the
drawer of a false diagram beguiles the geometrician. But whereas the latter is not a contentious reasoner,
because he bases his false diagram on the principles and conclusions that fall under the art of geometry, the
argument which is subordinate to the principles of dialectic will yet clearly be contentious as regards other
subjects. Thus, e.g. though the squaring of the circle by means of the lunules is not contentious, Bryson's
solution is contentious: and the former argument cannot be adapted to any subject except geometry, because
it proceeds from principles that are peculiar to geometry, whereas the latter can be adapted as an argument
against all the number of people who do not know what is or is not possible in each particular context: for it
will apply to them all. Or there is the method whereby Antiphon squared the circle. Or again, an argument
which denied that it was better to take a walk after dinner, because of Zeno's argument, would not be a proper
argument for a doctor, because Zeno's argument is of general application. If, then, the relation of the
contentious argument to the dialectical were exactly like that of the drawer of false diagrams to the
geometrician, a contentious argument upon the aforesaid subjects could not have existed. But, as it is, the
dialectical argument is not concerned with any definite kind of being, nor does it show anything, nor is it
even an argument such as we find in the general philosophy of being. For all beings are not contained in any
one kind, nor, if they were, could they possibly fall under the same principles. Accordingly, no art that is a
method of showing the nature of anything proceeds by asking questions: for it does not permit a man to grant
whichever he likes of the two alternatives in the question: for they will not both of them yield a proof.
Dialectic, on the other hand, does proceed by questioning, whereas if it were concerned to show things, it
would have refrained from putting questions, even if not about everything, at least about the first principles
and the special principles that apply to the particular subject in hand. For suppose the answerer not to grant
these, it would then no longer have had any grounds from which to argue any longer against the objection.
Dialectic is at the same time a mode of examination as well. For neither is the art of examination an
accomplishment of the same kind as geometry, but one which a man may possess, even though he has not
knowledge. For it is possible even for one without knowledge to hold an examination of one who is without
knowledge, if also the latter grants him points taken not from thing that he knows or from the special
principles of the subject under discussion but from all that range of consequences attaching to the subject
which a man may indeed know without knowing the theory of the subject, but which if he do not know, he is
bound to be ignorant of the theory. So then clearly the art of examining does not consist in knowledge of any
definite subject. For this reason, too, it deals with everything: for every 'theory' of anything employs also

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certain common principles. Hence everybody, including even amateurs, makes use in a way of dialectic and
the practice of examining: for all undertake to some extent a rough trial of those who profess to know things.
What serves them here is the general principles: for they know these of themselves just as well as the
scientist, even if in what they say they seem to the latter to go wildly astray from them. All, then, are engaged
in refutation; for they take a hand as amateurs in the same task with which dialectic is concerned
professionally; and he is a dialectician who examines by the help of a theory of reasoning. Now there are
many identical principles which are true of everything, though they are not such as to constitute a particular
nature, i.e. a particular kind of being, but are like negative terms, while other principles are not of this kind
but are special to particular subjects; accordingly it is possible from these general principles to hold an
examination on everything, and that there should be a definite art of so doing, and, moreover, an art which is
not of the same kind as those which demonstrate. This is why the contentious reasoner does not stand in the
same condition in all respects as the drawer of a false diagram: for the contentious reasoner will not be given
to misreasoning from any definite class of principles, but will deal with every class.

These, then, are the types of sophistical refutations: and that it belongs to the dialectician to study these, and
to be able to effect them, is not difficult to see: for the investigation of premisses comprises the whole of this
study.

So much, then, for apparent refutations. As for showing that the answerer is committing some fallacy, and
drawing his argument into paradox-for this was the second item of the sophist's programme-in the first
place, then, this is best brought about by a certain manner of questioning and through the question. For to put
the question without framing it with reference to any definite subject is a good bait for these purposes: for
people are more inclined to make mistakes when they talk at large, and they talk at large when they have no
definite subject before them. Also the putting of several questions, even though the position against which
one is arguing be quite definite, and the claim that he shall say only what he thinks, create abundant
opportunity for drawing him into paradox or fallacy, and also, whether to any of these questions he replies
'Yes' or replies 'No', of leading him on to statements against which one is well off for a line of attack.
Nowadays, however, men are less able to play foul by these means than they were formerly: for people rejoin
with the question, 'What has that to do with the original subject?' It is, too, an elementary rule for eliciting
some fallacy or paradox that one should never put a controversial question straight away, but say that one
puts it from the wish for information: for the process of inquiry thus invited gives room for an attack.

A rule specially appropriate for showing up a fallacy is the sophistic rule, that one should draw the answerer
on to the kind of statements against which one is well supplied with arguments: this can be done both
properly and improperly, as was said before.' Again, to draw a paradoxical statement, look and see to what
school of philosophers the person arguing with you belongs, and then question him as to some point wherein
their doctrine is paradoxical to most people: for with every school there is some point of that kind. It is an
elementary rule in these matters to have a collection of the special 'theses' of the various schools among your
propositions. The solution recommended as appropriate here, too, is to point out that the paradox does not
come about because of the argument: whereas this is what his opponent always really wants.

Moreover, argue from men's wishes and their professed opinions. For people do not wish the same things as
they say they wish: they say what will look best, whereas they wish what appears to be to their interest: e.g.
they say that a man ought to die nobly rather than to live in pleasure, and to live in honest poverty rather than
in dishonourable riches; but they wish the opposite. Accordingly, a man who speaks according to his wishes
must be led into stating the professed opinions of people, while he who speaks according to these must be led
into admitting those that people keep hidden away: for in either case they are bound to introduce a paradox;
for they will speak contrary either to men's professed or to their hidden opinions.

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The widest range of common-place argument for leading men into paradoxical statement is that which
depends on the standards of Nature and of the Law: it is so that both Callicles is drawn as arguing in the
Gorgias, and that all the men of old supposed the result to come about: for nature (they said) and law are
opposites, and justice is a fine thing by a legal standard, but not by that of nature. Accordingly, they said, the
man whose statement agrees with the standard of nature you should meet by the standard of the law, but the
man who agrees with the law by leading him to the facts of nature: for in both ways paradoxical statements
may be committed. In their view the standard of nature was the truth, while that of the law was the opinion
held by the majority. So that it is clear that they, too, used to try either to refute the answerer or to make him
make paradoxical statements, just as the men of to-day do as well.

Some questions are such that in both forms the answer is paradoxical; e.g. 'Ought one to obey the wise or
one's father?' and 'Ought one to do what is expedient or what is just?' and 'Is it preferable to suffer injustice or
to do an injury?' You should lead people, then, into views opposite to the majority and to the philosophers; if
any one speaks as do the expert reasoners, lead him into opposition to the majority, while if he speaks as do
the majority, then into opposition to the reasoners. For some say that of necessity the happy man is just,
whereas it is paradoxical to the many that a king should be happy. To lead a man into paradoxes of this sort is
the same as to lead him into the opposition of the standards of nature and law: for the law represents the
opinion of the majority, whereas philosophers speak according to the standard of nature and the truth.

Paradoxes, then, you should seek to elicit by means of these common-place rules. Now as for making any
one babble, we have already said what we mean by 'to babble'. This is the object in view in all arguments of
the following kind: If it is all the same to state a term and to state its definition, the 'double' and 'double of
half are the same: if then 'double' be the 'double of half, it will be the 'double of half of half. And if, instead
of 'double', 'double of half be again put, then the same expression will be repeated three times, 'double of half
of half of half. Also 'desire is of the pleasant, isn't it?' desire is conation for the pleasant: accordingly, 'desire'
is 'conation for the pleasant for the pleasant'.

All arguments of this kind occur in dealing (1) with any relative terms which not only have relative genera,
but are also themselves relative, and are rendered in relation to one and the same thing, as e.g. conation is
conation for something, and desire is desire of something, and double is double of something, i.e. double of
half: also in dealing (2) with any terms which, though they be not relative terms at all, yet have their
substance, viz. the things of which they are the states or affections or what not, indicated as well in their
definition, they being predicated of these things. Thus e.g. 'odd' is a 'number containing a middle': but there is
an 'odd number': therefore there is a 'number-containing-a-middle number'. Also, if snubness be a concavity
of the nose, and there be a snub nose, there is therefore a 'concave-nose nose'.

People sometimes appear to produce this result, without really producing it, because they do not add the
question whether the expression 'double', just by itself, has any meaning or no, and if so, whether it has the
same meaning, or a different one; but they draw their conclusion straight away. Still it seems, inasmuch as the
word is the same, to have the same meaning as well.

We have said before what kind of thing 'solecism' is.' It is possible both to commit it, and to seem to do so
without doing so, and to do so without seeming to do so. Suppose, as Protagoras used to say that menis
('wrath') and pelex ('helmet') are masculine: according to him a man who calls wrath a 'destructress'
(oulomenen) commits a solecism, though he does not seem to do so to other people, where he who calls it a
'destructor' (oulomenon) commits no solecism though he seems to do so. It is clear, then, that any one could

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produce this effect by art as well: and for this reason many arguments seem to lead to solecism which do not
really do so, as happens in the case of refutations.

Almost all apparent solecisms depend upon the word 'this' (tode), and upon occasions when the inflection
denotes neither a masculine nor a feminine object but a neuter. For 'he' (outos) signifies a masculine, and 'she'
(aute) feminine; but 'this' (touto), though meant to signify a neuter, often also signifies one or other of the
former: e.g. 'What is this?' 'It is Calliope'; 'it is a log'; 'it is Coriscus'. Now in the masculine and feminine the
inflections are all different, whereas in the neuter some are and some are not. Often, then, when 'this' (touto)
has been granted, people reason as if 'him' (touton) had been said: and likewise also they substitute one
inflection for another. The fallacy comes about because 'this' (touto) is a common form of several inflections:
for 'this' signifies sometimes 'he' (outos) and sometimes 'him' (touton). It should signify them alternately;
when combined with 'is' (esti) it should be 'he', while with 'being' it should be 'him': e.g. 'Coriscus (Kopiskos)
is', but 'being Coriscus' (Kopiskon). It happens in the same way in the case of feminine nouns as well, and in
the case of the so-called 'chattels' that have feminine or masculine designations. For only those names which
end in o and n, have the designation proper to a chattel, e.g. xulon ('log'), schoinion ('rope'); those which do
not end so have that of a masculine or feminine object, though some of them we apply to chattels: e.g. askos
('wineskin') is a masculine noun, and kline ('bed') a feminine. For this reason in cases of this kind as well
there will be a difference of the same sort between a construction with 'is' (esti) or with 'being' (to einai).
Also, Solecism resembles in a certain way those refutations which are said to depend on the like expression
of unlike things. For, just as there we come upon a material solecism, so here we come upon a verbal: for
'man' is both a 'matter' for expression and also a 'word': and so is white'.

It is clear, then, that for solecisms we must try to construct our argument out of the aforesaid inflections.

These, then, are the types of contentious arguments, and the subdivisions of those types, and the methods for
conducting them aforesaid. But it makes no little difference if the materials for putting the question be
arranged in a certain manner with a view to concealment, as in the case of dialectics. Following then upon
what we have said, this must be discussed first.

With a view then to refutation, one resource is length-for it is difficult to keep several things in view at once;
and to secure length the elementary rules that have been stated before' should be employed. One resource, on
the other hand, is speed; for when people are left behind they look ahead less. Moreover, there is anger and
contentiousness, for when agitated everybody is less able to take care of himself. Elementary rules for
producing anger are to make a show of the wish to play foul, and to be altogether shameless. Moreover, there
is the putting of one's questions alternately, whether one has more than one argument leading to the same
conclusion, or whether one has arguments to show both that something is so, and that it is not so: for the
result is that he has to be on his guard at the same time either against more than one line, or against contrary
lines, of argument. In general, all the methods described before of producing concealment are useful also for
purposes of contentious argument: for the object of concealment is to avoid detection, and the object of this is
to deceive.

To counter those who refuse to grant whatever they suppose to help one's argument, one should put the
question negatively, as though desirous of the opposite answer, or at any rate as though one put the question
without prejudice; for when it is obscure what answer one wants to secure, people are less refractory. Also
when, in dealing with particulars, a man grants the individual case, when the induction is done you should
often not put the universal as a question, but take it for granted and use it: for sometimes people themselves
suppose that they have granted it, and also appear to the audience to have done so, for they remember the
induction and assume that the questions could not have been put for nothing. In cases where there is no term

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to indicate the universal, still you should avail yourself of the resemblance of the particulars to suit your
purpose; for resemblance often escapes detection. Also, with a view to obtaining your premiss, you ought to
put it in your question side by side with its contrary. E.g. if it were necessary to secure the admission that 'A
man should obey his father in everything', ask 'Should a man obey his parents in everything, or disobey them
in everything?'; and to secure that 'A number multiplied by a large number is a large number', ask 'Should one
agree that it is a large number or a small one?' For then, if compelled to choose, one will be more inclined to
think it a large one: for the placing of their contraries close beside them makes things look big to men, both
relatively and absolutely, and worse and better.

A strong appearance of having been refuted is often produced by the most highly sophistical of all the unfair
tricks of questioners, when without proving anything, instead of putting their final proposition as a question,
they state it as a conclusion, as though they had proved that 'Therefore so-and-so is not true'

It is also a sophistical trick, when a paradox has been laid down, first to propose at the start some view that is
generally accepted, and then claim that the answerer shall answer what he thinks about it, and to put one's
question on matters of that kind in the form 'Do you think that...?' For then, if the question be taken as one of
the premisses of one's argument, either a refutation or a paradox is bound to result; if he grants the view, a
refutation; if he refuses to grant it or even to admit it as the received opinion, a paradox; if he refuses to grant
it, but admits that it is the received opinion, something very like a refutation, results.

Moreover, just as in rhetorical discourses, so also in those aimed at refutation, you should examine the
discrepancies of the answerer's position either with his own statements, or with those of persons whom he
admits to say and do aright, moreover with those of people who are generally supposed to bear that kind of
character, or who are like them, or with those of the majority or of all men. Also just as answerers, too, often,
when they are in process of being confuted, draw a distinction, if their confutation is just about to take place,
so questioners also should resort to this from time to time to counter objectors, pointing out, supposing that
against one sense of the words the objection holds, but not against the other, that they have taken it in the
latter sense, as e.g. Cleophon does in the Mandrobulus. They should also break off their argument and cut
down their other lines of attack, while in answering, if a man perceives this being done beforehand, he should
put in his objection and have his say first. One should also lead attacks sometimes against positions other
than the one stated, on the understood condition that one cannot find lines of attack against the view laid
down, as Lycophron did when ordered to deliver a eulogy upon the lyre. To counter those who demand
'Against what are you directing your effort?', since one is generally thought bound to state the charge made,
while, on the other hand, some ways of stating it make the defence too easy, you should state as your aim
only the general result that always happens in refutations, namely the contradiction of his thesis -viz. that
your effort is to deny what he has affirmed, or to affirm what he denied: don't say that you are trying to show
that the knowledge of contraries is, or is not, the same. One must not ask one's conclusion in the form of a
premiss, while some conclusions should not even be put as questions at all; one should take and use it as
granted.

We have now therefore dealt with the sources of questions, and the methods of questioning in contentious
disputations: next we have to speak of answering, and of how solutions should be made, and of what requires
them, and of what use is served by arguments of this kind.

The use of them, then, is, for philosophy, twofold. For in the first place, since for the most part they depend
upon the expression, they put us in a better condition for seeing in how many senses any term is used, and
what kind of resemblances and what kind of differences occur between things and between their names. In
the second place they are useful for one's own personal researches; for the man who is easily committed to a

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fallacy by some one else, and does not perceive it, is likely to incur this fate of himself also on many
occasions. Thirdly and lastly, they further contribute to one's reputation, viz. the reputation of being well
trained in everything, and not inexperienced in anything: for that a party to arguments should find fault with
them, if he cannot definitely point out their weakness, creates a suspicion, making it seem as though it were
not the truth of the matter but merely inexperience that put him out of temper.

Answerers may clearly see how to meet arguments of this kind, if our previous account was right of the
sources whence fallacies came, and also our distinctions adequate of the forms of dishonesty in putting
questions. But it is not the same thing take an argument in one's hand and then to see and solve its faults, as it
is to be able to meet it quickly while being subjected to questions: for what we know, we often do not know
in a different context. Moreover, just as in other things speed is enhanced by training, so it is with arguments
too, so that supposing we are unpractised, even though a point be clear to us, we are often too late for the
right moment. Sometimes too it happens as with diagrams; for there we can sometimes analyse the figure, but
not construct it again: so too in refutations, though we know the thing on which the connexion of the
argument depends, we still are at a loss to split the argument apart.

First then, just as we say that we ought sometimes to choose to prove something in the general estimation
rather than in truth, so also we have sometimes to solve arguments rather in the general estimation than
according to the truth. For it is a general rule in fighting contentious persons, to treat them not as refuting, but
as merely appearing to refute: for we say that they don't really prove their case, so that our object in
correcting them must be to dispel the appearance of it. For if refutation be an unambiguous contradiction
arrived at from certain views, there could be no need to draw distinctions against amphiboly and ambiguity:
they do not effect a proof. The only motive for drawing further distinctions is that the conclusion reached
looks like a refutation. What, then, we have to beware of, is not being refuted, but seeming to be, because of
course the asking of amphibolies and of questions that turn upon ambiguity, and all the other tricks of that
kind, conceal even a genuine refutation, and make it uncertain who is refuted and who is not. For since one
has the right at the end, when the conclusion is drawn, to say that the only denial made of One's statement is
ambiguous, no matter how precisely he may have addressed his argument to the very same point as oneself, it
is not clear whether one has been refuted: for it is not clear whether at the moment one is speaking the truth.
If, on the other hand, one had drawn a distinction, and questioned him on the ambiguous term or the
amphiboly, the refutation would not have been a matter of uncertainty. Also what is incidentally the object of
contentious arguers, though less so nowadays than formerly, would have been fulfilled, namely that the
person questioned should answer either 'Yes' or 'No': whereas nowadays the improper forms in which
questioners put their questions compel the party questioned to add something to his answer in correction of
the faultiness of the proposition as put: for certainly, if the questioner distinguishes his meaning adequately,
the answerer is bound to reply either 'Yes' or 'No'.

If any one is going to suppose that an argument which turns upon ambiguity is a refutation, it will be
impossible for an answerer to escape being refuted in a sense: for in the case of visible objects one is bound
of necessity to deny the term one has asserted, and to assert what one has denied. For the remedy which some
people have for this is quite unavailing. They say, not that Coriscus is both musical and unmusical, but that
this Coriscus is musical and this Coriscus unmusical. But this will not do, for to say 'this Coriscus is
unmusical', or 'musical', and to say 'this Coriscus' is so, is to use the same expression: and this he is both
affirming and denying at once. 'But perhaps they do not mean the same.' Well, nor did the simple name in the
former case: so where is the difference? If, however, he is to ascribe to the one person the simple title
'Coriscus', while to the other he is to add the prefix 'one' or 'this', he commits an absurdity: for the latter is no
more applicable to the one than to the other: for to whichever he adds it, it makes no difference.

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All the same, since if a man does not distinguish the senses of an amphiboly, it is not clear whether he has
been confuted or has not been confuted, and since in arguments the right to distinguish them is granted, it is
evident that to grant the question simply without drawing any distinction is a mistake, so that, even if not the
man himself, at any rate his argument looks as though it had been refuted. It often happens, however, that,
though they see the amphiboly, people hesitate to draw such distinctions, because of the dense crowd of
persons who propose questions of the kind, in order that they may not be thought to be obstructionists at
every turn: then, though they would never have supposed that that was the point on which the argument
turned, they often find themselves faced by a paradox. Accordingly, since the right of drawing the distinction
is granted, one should not hesitate, as has been said before.

If people never made two questions into one question, the fallacy that turns upon ambiguity and amphiboly
would not have existed either, but either genuine refutation or none. For what is the difference between
asking Are Callias and Themistocles musical?' and what one might have asked if they, being different, had
had one name? For if the term applied means more than one thing, he has asked more than one question. If
then it be not right to demand simply to be given a single answer to two questions, it is evident that it is not
proper to give a simple answer to any ambiguous question, not even if the predicate be true of all the subjects,
as some claim that one should. For this is exactly as though he had asked Are Coriscus and Callias at home
or not at home?', supposing them to be both in or both out: for in both cases there is a number of propositions:
for though the simple answer be true, that does not make the question one. For it is possible for it to be true to
answer even countless different questions when put to one, all together with either a 'Yes' or a 'No': but still
one should not answer them with a single answer: for that is the death of discussion. Rather, the case is like as
though different things has actually had the same name applied to them. If then, one should not give a single
answer to two questions, it is evident that we should not say simply 'Yes' or 'No' in the case of ambiguous
terms either: for the remark is simply a remark, not an answer at all, although among disputants such remarks
are loosely deemed to be answers, because they do not see what the consequence is.

As we said, then, inasmuch as certain refutations are generally taken for such, though not such really, in the
same way also certain solutions will be generally taken for solutions, though not really such. Now these, we
say, must sometimes be advanced rather than the true solutions in contentious reasonings and in the encounter
with ambiguity. The proper answer in saying what one thinks is to say 'Granted'; for in that way the
likelihood of being refuted on a side issue is minimized. If, on the other hand, one is compelled to say
something paradoxical, one should then be most careful to add that 'it seems' so: for in that way one avoids
the impression of being either refuted or paradoxical. Since it is clear what is meant by 'begging the original
question', and people think that they must at all costs overthrow the premisses that lie near the conclusion,
and plead in excuse for refusing to grant him some of them that he is begging the original question, so
whenever any one claims from us a point such as is bound to follow as a consequence from our thesis, but is
false or paradoxical, we must plead the same: for the necessary consequences are generally held to be a part
of the thesis itself. Moreover, whenever the universal has been secured not under a definite name, but by a
comparison of instances, one should say that the questioner assumes it not in the sense in which it was
granted nor in which he proposed it in the premiss: for this too is a point upon which a refutation often
depends.

If one is debarred from these defences one must pass to the argument that the conclusion has not been
properly shown, approaching it in the light of the aforesaid distinction between the different kinds of fallacy.

In the case, then, of names that are used literally one is bound to answer either simply or by drawing a
distinction: the tacit understandings implied in our statements, e.g. in answer to questions that are not put
clearly but elliptically-it is upon this that the consequent refutation depends. For example, 'Is what belongs to
Athenians the property of Athenians?' Yes. And so it is likewise in other cases. But observe; man belongs to
the animal kingdom, doesn't he?' Yes. 'Then man is the property of the animal kingdom.' But this is a fallacy:
for we say that man 'belongs to' the animal kingdom because he is an animal, just as we say that Lysander

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'belongs to' the Spartans, because he is a Spartan. It is evident, then, that where the premiss put forward is not
clear, one must not grant it simply.

Whenever of two things it is generally thought that if the one is true the other is true of necessity, whereas, if
the other is true, the first is not true of necessity, one should, if asked which of them is true, grant the smaller
one: for the larger the number of premisses, the harder it is to draw a conclusion from them. If, again, the
sophist tries to secure that has a contrary while B has not, suppose what he says is true, you should say that
each has a contrary, only for the one there is no established name.

Since, again, in regard to some of the views they express, most people would say that any one who did not
admit them was telling a falsehood, while they would not say this in regard to some, e.g. to any matters
whereon opinion is divided (for most people have no distinct view whether the soul of animals is destructible
or immortal), accordingly (1) it is uncertain in which of two senses the premiss proposed is usually
meant-whether as maxims are (for people call by the name of 'maxims' both true opinions and general
assertions) or like the doctrine 'the diagonal of a square is incommensurate with its side': and moreover (2)
whenever opinions are divided as to the truth, we then have subjects of which it is very easy to change the
terminology undetected. For because of the uncertainty in which of the two senses the premiss contains the
truth, one will not be thought to be playing any trick, while because of the division of opinion, one will not be
thought to be telling a falsehood. Change the terminology therefore, for the change will make the position
irrefutable.

Moreover, whenever one foresees any question coming, one should put in one's objection and have one's say
beforehand: for by doing so one is likely to embarrass the questioner most effectually.

Inasmuch as a proper solution is an exposure of false reasoning, showing on what kind of question the falsity
depends, and whereas 'false reasoning' has a double meaning-for it is used either if a false conclusion has
been proved, or if there is only an apparent proof and no real one-there must be both the kind of solution just
described,' and also the correction of a merely apparent proof, so as to show upon which of the questions the
appearance depends. Thus it comes about that one solves arguments that are properly reasoned by
demolishing them, whereas one solves merely apparent arguments by drawing distinctions. Again, inasmuch
as of arguments that are properly reasoned some have a true and others a false conclusion, those that are false
in respect of their conclusion it is possible to solve in two ways; for it is possible both by demolishing one of
the premisses asked, and by showing that the conclusion is not the real state of the case: those, on the other
hand, that are false in respect of the premisses can be solved only by a demolition of one of them; for the
conclusion is true. So that those who wish to solve an argument should in the first place look and see if it is
properly reasoned, or is unreasoned; and next, whether the conclusion be true or false, in order that we may
effect the solution either by drawing some distinction or by demolishing something, and demolishing it either
in this way or in that, as was laid down before. There is a very great deal of difference between solving an
argument when being subjected to questions and when not: for to foresee traps is difficult, whereas to see
them at one's leisure is easier.

Of the refutations, then, that depend upon ambiguity and amphiboly some contain some question with more
than one meaning, while others contain a conclusion bearing a number of senses: e.g. in the proof that
'speaking of the silent' is possible, the conclusion has a double meaning, while in the proof that 'he who
knows does not understand what he knows' one of the questions contains an amphiboly. Also the
double-edged saying is true in one context but not in another: it means something that is and something that

18 19

ON SOPHISTICAL REFUTATIONS

is not.

Whenever, then, the many senses lie in the conclusion no refutation takes place unless the sophist secures as
well the contradiction of the conclusion he means to prove; e.g. in the proof that 'seeing of the blind' is
possible: for without the contradiction there was no refutation. Whenever, on the other hand, the many senses
lie in the questions, there is no necessity to begin by denying the double-edged premiss: for this was not the
goal of the argument but only its support. At the start, then, one should reply with regard to an ambiguity,
whether of a term or of a phrase, in this manner, that 'in one sense it is so, and in another not so', as e.g. that
'speaking of the silent' is in one sense possible but in another not possible: also that in one sense 'one should
do what must needs be done', but not in another: for 'what must needs be' bears a number of senses. If,
however, the ambiguity escapes one, one should correct it at the end by making an addition to the question:
'Is speaking of the silent possible?' 'No, but to speak of while he is silent is possible.' Also, in cases which
contain the ambiguity in their premisses, one should reply in like manner: 'Do people-then not understand
what they know? "Yes, but not those who know it in the manner described': for it is not the same thing to say
that 'those who know cannot understand what they know', and to say that 'those who know something in this
particular manner cannot do so'. In general, too, even though he draws his conclusion in a quite unambiguous
manner, one should contend that what he has negated is not the fact which one has asserted but only its name;
and that therefore there is no refutation.

It is evident also how one should solve those refutations that depend upon the division and combination of
words: for if the expression means something different when divided and when combined, as soon as one's
opponent draws his conclusion one should take the expression in the contrary way. All such expressions as
the following depend upon the combination or division of the words: 'Was X being beaten with that with
which you saw him being beaten?' and 'Did you see him being beaten with that with which he was being
beaten?' This fallacy has also in it an element of amphiboly in the questions, but it really depends upon
combination. For the meaning that depends upon the division of the words is not really a double meaning (for
the expression when divided is not the same), unless also the word that is pronounced, according to its
breathing, as eros and eros is a case of double meaning. (In writing, indeed, a word is the same whenever it is
written of the same letters and in the same manner- and even there people nowadays put marks at the side to
show the pronunciation- but the spoken words are not the same.) Accordingly an expression that depends
upon division is not an ambiguous one. It is evident also that not all refutations depend upon ambiguity as
some people say they do.

The answerer, then, must divide the expression: for 'I-saw-a-man-being-beaten with my eyes' is not the
same as to say 'I saw a man being-beaten-with-my-eyes'. Also there is the argument of Euthydemus
proving 'Then you know now in Sicily that there are triremes in Piraeus': and again, 'Can a good man who is a
cobbler be bad?' 'No.' 'But a good man may be a bad cobbler: therefore a good cobbler will be bad.' Again,
'Things the knowledge of which is good, are good things to learn, aren't they?' 'Yes.' 'The knowledge,
however, of evil is good: therefore evil is a good thing to know.'

The Complete Works of Aristotle - Part 6