Aristotelis Opera (Bekker Edition, Vol. 2): Metaphysica, Ethica, Politica, Rhetorica, Poetica

ON THE CATEGORIES.

The text begins by contrasting the genus and the proprium property. It notes that for both, if one is present, the other must follow: if one is a man, one is capable of laughter, and vice versa. While both are shared equally, the genus can be a genus to other things, whereas a property cannot. Furthermore, the genus precedes the property in existence; one must first be a man to then be capable of laughter. The genus is always in actuality, while the property is sometimes in potentiality: Socrates is always a man in actuality, but he does not always laugh, even though he is by nature capable of laughter. The definition of genus concerns what a thing is, whereas the property is that which is always and everywhere present to a single species.

The commonality between the genus and the accidens accident is that they are predicated of many things, whether separable or inseparable. The distinction lies in the fact that the genus is prior to the species, while accidents are posterior to it. Even an inseparable accident requires a subject to exist. Furthermore, the genus is shared equally, whereas an accident—even if inseparable—is not shared equally; for instance, the blackness of an Ethiopian might be more or less intense. It remains to speak of the property and the accident, and how the property is distinguished from the species, the difference, or the genus.

The commonality between the property and the inseparable accident is that the subject cannot exist without them; just as a man cannot exist without being capable of laughter, an Ethiopian cannot exist without being black. In both cases, they are always present. They differ, however, in that the property belongs to only one species—as laughter belongs only to man—whereas an inseparable accident, like blackness, belongs not only to the Ethiopian but also to the crow, and to ebony, and other things. Thus, the property is predicated reciprocally, while the inseparable accident is not.

Since all things desire the good—which is the common definition of all things as "the good" (for it is called good because it is divine to all)—"the good" denotes intensity. Hence, grammarians warn against saying "gooder" or "goodest," as this implies degrees of intensity, but rather "more good" or "most good." We often disregard existence, but we do not disregard the good. Even those who commit evil do not do so as evil, but as good. The doctor wounds the body by bloodletting, not with the intention to wound, but to heal; the murderer does not seek murder as murder, but seeks the gain he believes follows from it, which he considers good. All things desire the good, whether it is the true good or the perceived good. If all things desire the good, they desire that which is shown to be "more good" even more; just as something hotter heats more, and something colder cools more, all things desire the "more good" more intensely.

We therefore become ardent and passionate lovers of philosophy because of the good that comes to us from philosophy itself, and to such an extent as Plato declared, saying that this good was granted to humans by God. But since it is impossible to know the good of philosophy without knowing its nature, we must state what its nature is; for the good differs according to the nature of the being. To a horse, the good is to be a swift runner; to a human, the good is to reflect on what we have experienced. For among living beings, only man remembers, whereas the irrational animals have only memory; as the dog of Odysseus, Argus, shows by keeping his memory for twenty years. This is either memory or recollection: memory is the persistence of the mind, while recollection is the renewal of a failing memory. We say this, but the philosopher Proclus, in his commentaries on the Phaedo, argues that irrational animals also have recollection. He says that the stability of knowledge transcends their life; to remember always and not forget is above their nature, for this does not exist even in humans, who are superior. Yet even irrational animals forget; they encounter terrible things, and what previously greeted them with a wagging tail may later bark or turn savage toward those they once knew, which shows they forget and recollect. That they possess recollection is evident from the fact that they are led into habit by what was seen before, or by what is entirely strange; they become accustomed to what was seen before more quickly, as if they had preserved some impression, which provides the starting point for recollection. However, if there is recollection in both, there is still a difference. In humans, recollection is accompanied by the awareness of the recollection itself, but this is not the case for irrational animals; they do not perceive that they have recollected, just as sight sees but does not know that it sees.

(*) Paris MS. Reg. 1977, fol. 1-19.