On a number of levels, I was surprised, while reading this treatise by Aristotle, to find myself encountering Aristotle the grammarian. The great philosopher begins On Interpretation by writing that “By a noun we mean a sound significant by convention, which has no reference to time, and of which no part is significant from the rest” (p. 1). And, as a verb often follows a noun, it seems only fair that Aristotle follows up by stating that “A verb is that which, in addition to its proper meaning, carries with it the notion of time” (p. 2).
But then again, as I have already read the work of Aristotle the rhetorician, and Aristotle the ethicist, and Aristotle the physicist, and Aristotle the literary critic, and Aristotle the metaphysician, and Aristotle the biologist, and Aristotle the political scientist, perhaps I should not be surprised to meet Aristotle the grammarian. That’s simply how it is when one is dealing with the man who knew everything.
From that grammatically-inflected introduction, On Interpretation proceeds to a consideration of the principles of a logically formed proposition, in a manner that may seem familiar to readers of other Aristotelian treatises like Categories and Prior Analytics. Distinctions are made between the universal and the individual, between the true and the false, between affirmation and denial –
For if all propositions, whether positive or negative, are either true or false, then any given predicate must either belong to the subject or not, so that if one man affirms that an event of a given character will take place and another denies it, it is plain that the statement of the one will correspond with reality and that of the other will not. For the predicate cannot both belong and not belong to the subject at one and the same time with regard to the future. (p. 7)
It is all quite logical. Hey, it’s Aristotle!
As with other treatises, like those mentioned above, Aristotle pays considerable attention to the idea of predication. As, in English, the predicate of a sentence follows the subject, so, in Aristotelian logic, predication should follow logically upon the naming (the noun-ing) of a subject. In this regard, Aristotle writes that “Those predicates…which are accidental either to the same subject, or to one another, do not combine to form a unity” (p. 20).
As an example of this principle, Aristotle states that “if a man is both good and a shoemaker, we cannot combine the two propositions and say simply that he is a good shoemaker”; in other words, he could be a good man and a bad shoemaker. By contrast, “we are…able to combine the predicates ‘animal’ and ‘biped’ and say that a man is an animal with two feet, for these predicates are not accidental” (p. 20).
While reading On Interpretation, I found – as I often find while reading Aristotle’s work – that the philosopher’s ideas are more accessible to me when he provides examples in support of those ideas. I liked how Aristotle engaged the idea of the possible:
For the term “possible” is ambiguous, being used in the one case with reference to facts, to that which is actualized, as when a man is said to find walking possible because he is actually walking, and…in the other case, with reference to a state in which realization is conditionally practicable, as when a man is said to find walking possible because under certain conditions he could walk. (p. 28)
With On Interpretation, I finished the last of the twelve Aristotelian treatises that are listed on the Great Books curriculum of Saint John’s College in Annapolis, Maryland. Does that mean that I now think I understand the work and ideas of the man who studied with Plato, founded the Lyceum of Athens, and tutored Alexander the Great? Όχι, από τον Όλυμπο! (No, by Olympus!) But it does mean that I feel glad and fortunate to have made this beginning – and I look forward to renewing my conversation with the man from Stageira sometime soon.