Skip to main content

My own take on Ari's definition of motion

This post will only make sense to me for a week or two, because Ari's defiinition of motion is so difficult: motion, says Aristotle, is the the entelechy of a potency as such.

To understand this definition, I propose to offer my own version thereof, while borrowing (more accurately, stealing) a little from Joe Sachs, and while also doing something that neither he nor Aristotle does, which is to place motion within the genus "change." This genus includes not only qualitative, quantitative and locational change (all of which belong to the species "motion"), but substantial change as well, which is not a motion b/c the substantial change is not the traversal of a continuum. "Not ... a continuum" is appropriate here because the change from non-human to human doesn't involve a transition from, say, 1% human to 2%... to 99% to fully human).

So let's see if my paraphrase of Aristotle succeeds: motion is a change (1) that is incomplete (2)
1. [the genus] a change [already circular? see below]; that is, a capacity for doing something that previously was not being exercised now is being exercised. Like any change, it involves matter, form and privation, but Ari's definition has a helpful way of conveying this: instead of saying "change," he says the "entelecheia of a dynamis" or (to use somewhat JosephSachs-like translation) the BeingAtWorkStayinItself of a CapacitytoBeAtWork. Note how the two terms are correlative, with entelecheia being a kind of fulfillment of dynamic.
I would argue that what Ari is doing here is referring to the genus, change, by using the terms entelecheia and dynamis as a very illuminating synecdoche. Think of how, in using the terms entelecheia and dynamis, he is having us avoid thinking of change in terms of morphe (shape) and hyle (stuff). He avoids giving terms that we might use to describe how something being formed by a craftsman might be a kind of inert stuff that is to be given a shape.
As post-Cartesians, we might note that, in using entelecheia rather than morphe he prevents us from thinking of form as we do of geometrical shapes: as some inert stuff that has taken one shape or another, moving across Cartesian gridlines, whose interactions are guided as it were by mathematical laws.
He instead wants us to think of change as something that is best illustrated by what happens in organisms. And for good reason. He wants us to see motion as the doing of something by an individual having the capacity to do it. In fact, even shape (as it exists in NATURE, not as it exists in geometry) is an activity: keeping the same shape is something an individual DOES (e.g., bubble keeps its shape via its interaction with its surrounding atmosphere). So entelecheia is a better term than form. Digression: once you see HavingAShape as an acheivement, the complaint that Aristotle privileges rest over motion seems to be more a manifestation of ignorance than a legitimate criticism. For even staying in one place is an achievement (think of things wandering around in the Spacelab)
2. [the specifying difference] that is incomplete. That is, the the doing that is being exercised is not yet [already circular? see below] completely done. In fact, if it were complete, then the doer would no longer be moving.

Some thoughts about this definition: if my definition seems circular, then so is Aristotle's, simply in virtue of the fact that it uses the term entelecheia. For that term involves the notion of continuance, and continuance involves a before, during and after.
In any case, placing a species in an appropriate genus is never circular, but I do admit that in offering this defense of my definition I am forestalling the problem of circularity, for that problem now besets the definition of the genus change.
Why its illuminating to call change an entelecheia: change is keeps its identity through time, while both in the (in this case, partial) possession of and aiming for the continuous (and in this case, complete) possession of its goal. In substantial change, an entelechy is complete in a way that it is not for motion. For organisms, as entelechized bodies or entelechies, are complete as soon as they exist at all. Nevertheless they do aim at a kind of further completion of their activity through their life acts, and that completion is a kind of unravelling of what is already within them. Turn back to the entelechy called motion and you will see that the same is true for it as well--except for the fact that as soon as it exists it is somewhat incomplete, and once a motion is complete, it no longer exists. Motion is nevertheless like substantial entelechy inasmuch as it is ONE continuous change straddling many phases. For all of these reasons, motion is, in a manner analogous to substance, an entelechy.
Self criticism: in placing motion within the genus change, I am describing motion at a level of generality that includes substantial change. But substantial change, while not reducible to motion, presupposes it in the following way. Substantial change occurs only when certain accidental changes have occurred (think decapitation; conception). So while my move to the genus does not explicitly presuppose motion, it does, if you will, require the recognition of motion in some way. In any case, the definition has the hope of avoiding circularity only if there is such a thing as a change that is all-at-once, i.e., substantial change.
Another criticism: because the genus is knowable in virtue of the recognition of substantial change, and substantial change is less evident than motion in the proper sense (e.g., locomotion), it would seem that I am defining the less obscure by recourse to the more obscure. I think I can defend my definition against this criticism by saying that which is distinctive about substantial change actually has a lot in common with energeia, which is at least as obvious to us as is kinesis.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dembski's "specified compexity" semiotics and teleology (both ad intra and ad extra)

Integral to Dembski's idea of specified complexity (SC) is the notion that something extrinsic to evolution is the source of the specification in how it develops. He compares SC to the message sent by space aliens in the movie "Contact." In that movie, earthbound scientists determine that radio waves originating in from somewhere in our galaxy are actually a signal being sent by space aliens. The scientists determine that these waves are a signal is the fact that they indicate prime numbers in a way that a random occurrence would not. What is interesting to me is the fact that Dembski relies upon an analogy with a sign rather than a machine. Like a machine, signs are produced by an intelligent being for the sake of something beyond themselves. Machines, if you will, have a meaning. Signs, if you will, produce knowledge. But the meaning/knowledge is in both cases something other than the machine/sign itself. Both signs and machines are purposeful or teleological

continuing the discussion with Tim in a new post

Hi Tim, I am posting my reply here, because the great blogmeister won't let me put it all in a comment. Me thinks I get your point: is it that we can name and chimps can't, so therefore we are of greater value than chimps? Naming is something above and beyond what a chimp can do, right? In other words, you are illustrating the point I am making (if I catch your drift). My argument is only a sketch, but I think adding the ability to name names, as it were, is still not enough to make the argument seem cogent. For one can still ask why we prefer being able to name over other skills had by animals but not by humans. The objector would demand a more convincing reason. The answer I have in mind is, to put it briefly, that there is something infinite about human beings in comparison with the subhuman. That "something" has to do with our ability to think of the meaning of the cosmos. Whereas one might say"He's got the whole world in His han

particular/universal event/rule

While listening to a recorded lecture on Quine's Two Dogmas of Empiricism, it occurred to me that every rule is in a way, a fact about the world. Think about baseball: from the p.o.v. of an individual player, a baseball rule is not a thing but a guide for acting and interpreting the actions of others.  But this rule, like the action it guides, is part of a concrete individual --i.e., part of an institution that has come into existence at a particular place and time, has endured and  may eventually go out of existence.  The baseball rule, as a feature of that individual, is likewise individual.  The term "baseball rule," on the one hand, links us to a unique cultural event; it can, on the other hand, name a certain type of being.  In this way, it transgresses the boundary between proper and common noun. If there were no such overlap, then we might be tempted to divide our ontology between a bunch of facts "out there" and a bunch of common nouns "in here.&qu