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The Physics is a study of nature (ta phusika), as opposed to the Metaphysics (ta meta ta phusika—lit., “the stuff that comes after the stuff on nature”) which studies beings in general, not just natural objects.
What is the difference? “Natural things are some or all of them subject to change” (Physics I.2, 185a12-13). So the study of nature is basically a study of change and the things that are subject to change.
We know this was a topic that puzzled Aristotle’s predecessors. Plato said that real things (Forms) don’t change, and restricted change to the realm of appearances—the physical world. Parmenides went farther still, denying the existence of change altogether.
Change is often described (both by Aristotle and his predecessors) as coming-to-be (genesis), and Aristotle gives an example of an argument against coming-to-be that sounds typically Parmenidean (191a30-31):
For what is does not come-to-be (since it already is), and nothing comes-to-be from nothing.
The argument is basically that there are only two ways that something can come-to-be: either from what is, or from what is not. But neither is possible. Therefore, nothing can come-to-be.
Aristotle wants to give an analysis of coming-to-be, i.e., change, that will enable him to avoid this dilemma. His account is designed to explain both how change in general is possible, and how coming into existence is possible. We will first look at Aristotle’s account, and then see how it manages to evade the Parmenidean dilemma.
Aristotle’s account is contained in Physics I.7. He insists that there must be three basic ingredients in every case of change. (Plato’s treatment only mentions two: a pair of opposites). In addition to a pair of opposites, there must be an underlying subject of change.
The basic case of change involves a pair of opposed or contrary properties and a subject that loses one of them and gains the other. But Aristotle does not even insist that there be an opposed pair of properties (191a6-7):
But in another way this is not necessary. For one or the other of the contraries would, by its presence or absence, be sufficient to bring about a change.
So the ingredients Aristotle insists on are: an underlying subject, a form (i.e., a positive property) and a lack (or privation) of that form. Aristotle’s examples illustrate these ingredients:
- A man who was unmusical becomes musical.
- Some bronze (which was shapeless) becomes a statue.
In case (a), the subject is man, the form is musical and the privation is unmusical. In case (b), the subject is bronze, the form is statue and the privation is shapeless. The subject—the man, or the bronze—persists through the change. Of the other terms involved, the earlier ones (unmusicality, shapelessness) cease to exist, while the later ones (musicality, the statue) come into existence.
These were cases of coming-to-be (generation), since lacks or privations were replaced by forms. Ceasing-to-be (destruction) occurs when a form is replaced by a privation—when matter is deprived of form. This would happen, for example, when a statue is melted down into a shapeless pool of bronze. The bronze persists, but the statue has ceased to exist.
Aristotle gives his response to Parmenides in chapter 8. He begins (191a30-31) by summarizing the Parmenidean argument against coming-to-be that we mentioned above:
What is does not come-to-be (since it already is), and nothing comes-to-be from nothing.
The idea of this argument seems to be this: in a case of coming-to-be, the resulting object is clearly a being, something that is. From what initial object does it come-to-be? Parmenides offers us only two choices: either what is or what is not. But if the initial object is what is, and the resultant object is also what is, we don’t really have a case of coming-to-be—there is no change. And if the initial object is what is not, we have another kind of impossibility, for nothing can come-to-be from what is not (ex nihilo nihil fit).
Aristotle’s response is to reject the Parmenidean dilemma “that something comes-to-be from what is or from what is not” (191a30). He does so, characteristically, by drawing a distinction where his opponents did not. At 191b4 he says that:
comes-to-be “from what is” … is said in two ways …
Is the initial object a being or a not-being, Parmenides asks? Aristotle’s answer is: in a way it’s a being, and in a way it’s a not-being. And in a way, it’s not a being, and in a way it’s not a not-being.
In effect, the trouble with the Parmenidean argument is that it treats the initial and resultant objects as if they were simples: not being and being. But, as Aristotle has shown, both are compounds. The initial object, for example, might be an unmusical man. And this is both in one way a being and in another way a not being: the initial object is something that is (for it is a man) and something that is not (for it is not musical).
As for Parmenides’ claim that nothing can come-to-be from what is not, Aristotle agrees that, on one reading, this is perfectly correct (191b13):
we agree with them that nothing comes-to-be simply from what is not …
That is, the musician does not come into existence out of thin air, out of sheer nothingness. (We should probably take “simply” (or “without qualification”) here to modify “what is not” rather than “comes-to-be”—“comes-to-be from what is unqualifiedly not” or “comes-to-be from what is simply a not-being.”) But this leaves room, Aristotle says, for the musician to come-to-be from what in a way is not (191b15).
… we still think that in a way there is coming-to-be from what is not, for example, coincidentally. For a thing comes-to-be from a privation, which is intrinsically not [what it will become], and does not belong [to what eventually comes-to-be].
(Similarly, we should take “in a way” to modify “what is not” rather than “comes-to-be.”) In other words, since the musician comes to be from the compound unmusical man, what he comes-to-be from is in one way a not-being, since he comes-to-be from a privation—the unmusical. But in a way, what he comes-to-be from is a being, as well, for the initial object is something that exists, a man. Parmenides, in other words, offers us a false dilemma: that the initial object is either being or not being. But since the initial object is a compound, in a way it is a being (it is a man) and in another way it is a not-being (it is not musical).
Aristotle notes (190b11) an important feature of change: that which comes to be is always composite. For example, what comes-to-be is the musical man. But what about Aristotle’s other case? What is the statue a compound of? Aristotle’s answer: matter and form.
We thus see two different kinds of change in Aristotle’s account:
Accidental change can be accommodated within the world of the Categories, a world in which primary substances (individual horses, trees, etc.) are the basic individuals. But what of substantial change? This seems to threaten the ontology of the Categories. For substantial change requires a subject (viz., matter) that seems more basic than the individual plants and animals of the Categories.
But this creates a problem: if the primary substances of the Categories turn out to be compounds of form and matter, how can they be the basic ingredients of the world?
Example: a builder is not a basic individual, for Aristotle. A builder is a compound of a subject and a property: a substance (a human being) and a characteristic (s)he happens to have—the knowledge of building. How, then, can a tiger retain its status as a basic individual? After all, it, too, is a compound of a subject and a property: matter and a form that supervenes, a form that the matter happens to have.
This problem is not addressed in the Physics, but it is one that Aristotle returns to in the Metaphysics. His answer, as we shall see, is not altogether clear.
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Copyright © 2004, S. Marc Cohen