HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY.
ANCIENT AND MODERN.
BY
JOSEPH HAVEN,' D.D., LL.D.,
LATE PROFESSOR OF SYSTEMATIC THEOLOGY IN THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY,
CHICAGO, ILL., AND LATE PROFESSOR OF INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL
PHILOSOPHY IN AMHERST COLLEGE, AND IN THE UNIVERSITY
OF CHICAGO —AND AUTHOR OF "MENTAL PHILOSOPHY,'
" MORAL PHILOSOPHY," AND " STUDIES IN
PHILOSOPHY AND THEOLOGY."
NEW YORK:
SHELDON & COMPANY.
NO. 8 MURRAY STREET.
1876.




COPYRIGHT,
SHELDON & COMPANY,
1876,
NEWBURlGL STEREOTYPE COMPANY,




INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
THE preparation of the following work ran parallel
with the studies which filled the life of the author, and
its completion and revision for publication was his last
work. It is now put forth as a fitting complement to the
" Studies in Philosophy and Theology," and to the treatises
on "Mental Philosophy" and on "Moral Philosophy"
which have been so favorably received by the public. It
will, as we think, be welcomed not only by those who have
been the pupils of its author, either through his lectureroom or through its works, but by that large and increasing class of thoughtful minds who will be interested in the
history of what the human mind has done in "the noblest study of mankind."
The labor and enthusiasm of Dr. Haven's life was
largely given to the presentation of that history, as viewed
from his own characteristic stand-point of full loyalty at
once to the word of God and to the convictions of the human
mind, first to his classes in collegiate and professional study,
and afterward to those intelligent thinkers, who are still
pursuing " liberal education" in the midst of the activities
of adult life. It is hoped that this book may not only
be found valuable for study and reference in educational
institutions, but that it may continue and extend that usefulness in the general community upon which its author
seemed to be entering when he was called away.
J. EMERsoN.
BELOIT COLLEGE, Wis., February, 1876.








AUTHO R ITIES.
Is the preparation of the following pages, the works
of the authors themselves, so far as extant and accessible,
have been the chief source of authority as to their
respective systems. In addition to these, the historical
statements of Aristotle, Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, and
Cicero among ancient writers-the historical works of
Ritter, Tennemann, Fries, Krug, Schwegler, and Ueberweg among the Germans-of Cousin, Tissot, Renouvier
among the French-of Archer Butler, and Lewes, in
England, have been carefully studied in the preparation
of the chapters on ancient philosophy; of whom Ritter
(History of Ancient Philosophy, 4 vols.), Tennemann
(Manual of the History of Philosophy), Schwegler (Geschichte der Philosophie), and Ueberweg (History of Philosophy, Vol. i.) have been the chief guides; while in
modern philosophy, Schwegler (as above), Cousin (Histoire de la Philosophie, 2 vols.), Lewes (Biographical
History of Philosophy), and Morell (History of Modern
Philosophy) have been the principal aids. Damiron (Histoire de la Philosophie en France au XIX. Siecle), Renouvier (Manuel de la Philosophie Moderne), and Hegel
(Geschichte der Philosophie, 3 vols.), have also been
consulted.








CONTENTS.
PART FIRST.-ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION.-General Outline and Divisions............   1
PERIOD L.-PRE-SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
THE IONIAN SCAOCOL.-Thales. Anaximander. Anaximenes.
Heraclitus. Diogenes of Apollonia. Anaxagoras........   5
CHAPTER II.
THE ITALIAN SCEOOL.-Pythagoras........................  37
CHAPTER III.
THE ELEATIC SCHooL.-Zenophanes. Parmenides. Zeno of
Elea. Empedocles............................44
CHAPTER IV.
THEi SOPHISTS.-Protagoras. Gorgias......................  64
PERIOD II.-THE SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
SOCRATES.-Life and Doctrines.......................  74




iv                     CONTENTS.
CHAPTER II.
PAGE
IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS.-THE CYRENAIC SCHOOL.-Aristippus. THE CYNIC SCHOOL.-Antisthenes. Diogenes. THE
MEGARIC ScHOOL.-Euclid of Megara..................   93
CHAPTER III.
PLATO. —Life; Method; Psychology; Theology; Ethics; Politics; Physics...........................................  103
CHAPTER IV.
ARISTOTLE.-Life; General Outline; Logic; Metaphysics;
Physics; Ethics...................................... 132
PERIOD III.-POST-SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
THE ScEPTICs.-Pyrrho. Timon of Athens.................  169
CHAPTER II.
THE EPICUREANS.-Epicurus. Character and Doctrines...   170
i   CHAPTER III.
THE STOICS.-Zenuui Citium. Cleanthes. Chrysippus. Their
System; Logic; Physics; Ethics....................... 177
CHAPTER IV.
THE NEW ACADEMY.-Arcesilaus. Carneades.............. 190
CHAPTER V.
GREEK PHILOSOPHY IN RoME.-Cicero.................... 195
CHAPTER VI.
JEWISH-ALEXANDRIAN PHILOSOPHY AND NEO-PLATONISM.1. Jewish-Alexandrian- Aristobulus.  Philo.  2. NeoPlatonic-Plotinus. Porphyry. Iamblichus. Proclus... 200




CONTENTS.                            V
PART SECOND.-MODERN PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
AGIE
INTRODUCTORY.-SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY OF THE MIDDLE
AGEs;-Johannes Scotus.  Roscellinus.  Anselm. Abelard. Alexander of Hales. Albert the Great. Thomas
Aquinas. Duns Scotus. William of Occam. Eckhart of
Strasburg.............................................   207
CHAPTER II.
BACON AND THE INDUCTIVE SYSTEM. Life and Character of
Bacon. Method. Novum Organum. Instauratio Magna.
Defects, Influence...............2....................  217
CHAPTER III.
RENA DESCARTES.-The Age. The Man. The System. Principal Works. Effect. Tendency......................  229
CHAPTER IV.
SPINOZA,-Personal History. Doctrines..................... 246
CHAPTER V.
MALEBRANCHE.-Life and Works. System.........  259
CHAPTER VI.
LEIBNITZ.-Life. Doctrines. Monadology. Optimism......  270
CHAPTER VII.
HOBBES.-Personal Character. System........... 280
CHAPTER VIII.
LolE.-Life and Character. System. Tendency........... 288
CHAPTER IX.
SUCCESSORS OF LOCKE IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE.-Hartley.
Priestly. Condillac. Condorcet....................... 305




CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X.
PAGE
BERKELEY.-Life. Doctrine of Idealism................  308
CHAPTER XI.
HuME.-Life and Character. Nihilism....................  314
CHAPTER XII.
TrHE SCOTCH PHILOSOPHY.-Dr. Thomas Reid. Life and Doctrines. Immediate Knowledge......................... 818
CHAPTER XIII.
SUCCESSORS OF REID.-1. Dugald Stewart. 2. Dr. Thomas
Brown............................................ 333
CHAPTER XIV.
THE GERMAN PHILOSOPHY. -Immanuel Kant.  Personal
Sketch.   System.......................................    347
CHAPTER XV.
SUcCEsoRRS OF KANT.-1. Reinhold. 2. Fichte. Life. System. Subjectivity..................................... 363
CHAPTER XVI.
SUccESsoRS OF KANT.-3. Schelling. Life and Doctrines.
4. Hegel. Personal History. System................... 377
CHAPTER XVII.
RECENT PHILOSOPHY OF GREAT BRITAIN. —. Sir William
Hamilton and the Scotch Philosophy. Doctrine of Natural Realism. 2. The Positive Philosophy. Mill. Spencer. Bain. 3. Later Forms of Materialism. Tyndall.
Huxley. Maudsley................................   389




INTRODUCTION.
GENERAL OUTLINE AND DIVISIONS OF THE
COURSE.
THE most general and obvious division of the history of
philosophy is into ancient and modern; the former extending from the earliest times of which we have historic record
to the Christian era; the latter embracing the course of
philosophic thought within that era.
For us, with the records and resources at our present
command, the history of Ancient Philosophy must be
chiefly that of Grecian philosophy. It was there that, so
far as known to us, speculative inquiry into the origin and
causes of things first assumed a scientific form. That it
first commenced there, is not at all probable. No nation, it
is reasonable to suppose, has ever existed, possessing any
considerable degree of civilization and culture, which has
not also exercised itself upon those great problems of
human thought which in all ages present themselves to the
reflecting mind. Egypt undoubtedly had her philosophy
before the days of Abraham and the Pyramids; India had
hers. But neither in Egypt, nor in India, did philosophic
speculation assume, so far as yet appears, a strictly scientific
form; nor do we know what was, in the earliest times, the
philosophy of either.
The same may be said of China. A philosophy of some
sort undoubtedly existed in all these countries long prior to




2                I NTRODUCTIONS.
the Grecian; but it would seem to have been rather of a
theological or mythological, than of a scientific and
rational character.
Of the Indian philosophy, if such it may be called, sufficient is known to satisfy us that, whatever its treasures,
it casts little light on the progress of the human mind, in
its search for truth, and has little to do with the subsequent
course of philosophic investigation. The attempt to trace
back to a Hindoo origin the subsequent Grecian speculations
is neither necessary nor reasonable. Ritter, while he admits
that the derivation is very doubtful, attaches too much
importance to the Indian cosmogonies as the possible source
of subsequent theories.  Much more probable is it that the
Grecian philosophy had its roots in the valley of the Nile,
where, as we know, some of its chief thinkers wandered,
and for a time dwelt and studied.
Nor can we with better reason trace the ancient philosophy to Hebrew sources.  The Hebrew  and Patriarchal
families had what was better than a philosophy, a revelation.
For them, if not for us, the first verse of the first chapter
of Genesis settles the whole question, so long in discussion
in the schools of philosophy, as to the origin and first cause
of things. A philosophy in the scientific sense the
Hebrews certainly had not; nor was the Hebrew mind of a
speculative or philosophic character.
For reasons now stated, we begin, then, the history of
ancient philosophy with that of Greece. It is the first pure
philosophy known to us, the first earnest attempt to reach by
speculative inquiry the sources of knowledge and the causes
of things, of which we have any full and satisfactory account.
It is the earliest definitely known philosophy which exerts
a positive influence on the subsequent efforts of the human
mind in its search for truth.  The reasons for such a course
are well stated by Schwegler (Geschichte der Philosophie
im                                  namriss,  ~ 2).
Of the Grecian philosophy, the most natural and obvious




INTRODUCTION{.                      3
division is that into the three periods most distinctly marked
in the progress of the Grecian mind, each having characteristics of its own by which it stands apart and forms an epoch
by itself. These are, the period prior to Socrates; the
period of Socrates and his immediate disciples and successors; the period subsequent, which also closes the history of
Greek philosophy. Taking Socrates as the central standpoint, and reckoning each way from him, we have the PreSocratic, the Socratic, and the Post-Socratic periods or
eyochs.
These again are divided into several schools, and each
school numbers its several philosophers, differing somewhat
in their views, yet so far agreeing as to admit of being
classed together.  Under the first, or Pre-Socratic period,
there are four of these schools: the Ionian, the Italian, the
Eleatic, the Sophistic.  As designated according to their
general character, rather than their geographical origin,
these might be named the materialistic, the mystic, the
rationalistic, and the sceptic schools; for such were their
prevailing tendencies. Under the Socratic period, there
were, besides that of Socrates himself, the Cyrenaic, the
Cynic, and the Megaric schools, the school of Plato, called
also the Academy, and that of Aristotle, or the Peripatetic
school. TYnder the Post-Socratic period, there were the
Sceptic, the Epicurean, the Stoic, the 2New Academy, as
also, later, the Jewish-Alexandrian, schools.
These schools follow each other in the logical development of thought, and in the main also chronologically,
though not always strictly so-one school sometimes overlapping or partly contemporaneous with another-the
principle of arrangement being that of the doctrines
taught, rather than a strictly chronological succession.
Indeed it is impossible to adopt any classification except
the most general one; nor is it necessary.  In fact, scarcely
two historians agree in their classification of the different
schools, and the different philosophers under each.




PERIOD FIRST.
THE PRE-SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY.
IF we compare the schools of the first period with each
other, we find it characteristic of them all to search for
the first principle or ground of things.  The Ionian
sought it in some form of matter; the Italian in number;
the Eleatic, in pure being; the Sophists in the subjective
thought-(Ich-Reit, as Schwegler expresses it). The Ionian
school was materialistic, and empiric; speculated on the
outer world, its origin, nature, cause, and essence-the first
principle which lies beneath all its changing phenomena;made this external world the chief object of inquiry, but
not without reference to the general law of our own being.
The chief names included under this school, if we take
this as the general characteristic, are Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes, Heraclitus, Diogenes of Apollonia,
and Anaxagoras.
The Italian school was mathematical and ideal in character, mystic withal; speculated on nature, but in another
direction and method; found in number the essence of all
things; applied its theories to practical matters, to society
and the state. Pythagoras is the chief name, disciples are
numerous, but no writings remain.
The Eleatic school was in general tendency rationalistic. It carried out yet further the trains of inquiry started
by the preceding schools, and was itself in some measure




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                    5
the natural result of these schools. It brought out distinctly the difference, already indicated by the Italian
school, between reason and the senses, and gave the preference to the former, allowing little faith in the latter. Its
chief teachers are Xenophanes, Parmenides, Zeno, and
Empedocles.
The Sophistic school,-named from the Sophists who
composed it,-was sceptical in character, carried yet further
the doctrine of the preceding schools, and denied the credibility not only of sense, but of reason; denied the reality of
truth and the possibility of human knowledge. Protagoras and Gorgias are the chief philosophers of this school.
With this general comparison of the several schools we
proceed to the more careful study of each in its order
as already named.
CHAPTER I.
THE IONIIAN SCHOOL.
Epoch of this school. —Its place in history occupies
about two centuries; from about 600 to 400 B. C.
In the first of these centuries Cyrus and Darius were in
power, and Daniel, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel were prophets.
Afterward came Artaxerxes and his successors in power,
and the later Jewish prophets appeared.
It was also the era of Confucius and Zoroaster.
The Ionian colonies at that time were independent,
flourishing, commercial; the birth-place of Grecian philosophy and science.
The point of view of this sect of philosophers, as
already  stated, is experimental or physical.  It was
the. philosophy of nature.  It was reasonable and natural-nay, almost a matter of necessity —that the first inquiries
should take this course. Yet not solely, or indeed chiefly




6             THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
naturalists were these men. They were naturalists with a
higher aim and end than merely to understand physics.
They made this the starting point and stepping stone to
much higher results.  "To find the law of his own being
by meditating on the external world," says Maurice, " was
what each proposed to himself." What did they attain?
Much, I answer. They began with nothing, that is, they
they had no past speculations and philosophies to fall back
upon.  They took the first steps in a new  field and a
new  direction.  Of course their first attempts  were
imperfect and crude; must so appear to us with our
philosophy of the nineteenth  century.  Strange if in
twenty-five centuries the human mind had made no progress in speculative research, yet with these rude beginnings,
this school, at the very outset of the course of human philosophy, did reach certain very important results.  They
made the discovery of an ordaining, directing intelligence,
mind in distinction from matter, the origin and first cause
of mundane existence, — intelligence immaterial, eternal,
supreme, one. Is not this a grand discovery for those early
speculators to make? They discovered also the immateriality of the soul. In conducting their physical researches
they likewise arrived at some conclusions which you will
readily recognize as anticipations of modern science, as
that the earth has passed through a series of tranformations
in reaching its present state; that man is the last result,
the successor of races less perfect,-of which he is perhaps
the crowning result and transformation.
These Ionians may be again divided into two classes, as
they pursued two different lines of thought and inquiry:
the dynamists and the mechanists-a distinction much insisted upon by the former historians. The former find the
vital principle of the world, the essence and origin of things,
in some one simple principle, as air, fire, etc. -a principle
susceptible of modification and transformation, out of which
result the present various systems of things.- The latter,




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                   7
mechanists, instead of deriving all things from some one
single principle, admit many such, more or less, and these
immutable (See Mallet, Hist. Ion., pp. 17, 18).
~ 1. —THiALES.
Epoch or time when he flourished. According to Apollodorus, he was born 35 Olymp., and died at 70, that is, born
about 639 B. c. But this, according to Ritter, is doubtful.
Was born at Miletuzs, at that time a flourishing commercial city of considerable importance in Asia Minor, not yet
under foreign domination.
Thales was one of the seven wise men of Greece. This
shows his general reputation and influence among his
countrymen.  He was a man of note and mark in his native
city; possessed no little political power and influence, and
saved the city from a compact with Croesus against Cyrus.
He was noted as a geometer and astronomer, and, according
to Laertius, was the first to determine the length of the solar
year, and to note with precision the equinoxes and solstices
(Diog. i. 24. -27). Herodotus makes him predict a great
eclipse of the sun. Tradition makes him owe his mathematical science to Egypt. This is very probable, as the Greeks
derived both their mythology and science chiefly from
Egypt. He was the first Baconian philosopher in physics,
Z. e., he took OBSERVATION, as the point of his departure
and the method of his inquiry.  The very first of the philosophers adopted this principle, and it was that of the entire
school, in fact.  Thales left no written works, but taught
orally.  Writing, especially prose writing, was not then
common in Greece.
His general theory as a philosopher.
Thales and all the early philosophers sought for the first
or elementary principle of things, to reduce to eunity the
manifold plurality and variety of natural phenomena.
There must be some ground principle at the basis of all




8             THE   IONIAiNl  SCHOOL.
these phenomena of nature; some root, some fountain, some
hidden source whence they all proceed. This, whatever it
be, from which all things proceed and to which all things
tend, the one substance that under all modifications remains unchanged-this, if you can but find it, is the first
principle of all. And what can this be, what more likely
to be it, than water, by which all things are begotten and
nourished. *
The view of Thales is thus stated by Aristotle. The
sustenance of all things is moisture, from moisture warmth
proceeds, from warmth everything living draws its life; also
all seeds are moist; but the source of moisture is water (Metaph. i. 3). It is thus stated by Fries (vol. i. 103), "Simple
analogy seems to have guided Thales. The ground under
our feet is mostly formed of water. Water gives and holds
all lives. From heaven it comes. To heaven it mounts;
and back again to the earth it must descend, ever changing. From the water, the clouds; from these the lightnings; to the lightnings perhaps that heavenly fire of the
stars is itself allied." Very simple idea, you will say, but
what more natural?
The Ionian philosophy, remarks the same writer, seems
from the first to have fixed upon the unity of the law of
natural phenomena through evaporation, which, indeed, in
sacrifice gave the idea of the communication of man with
the gods.
The idea of Thales, according to Ritter, is that the
world is produced from water, as anything is produced
from its seed; water being the seed of the earth, which is
but a growth, a development of a preexisting form of life.
The entire world, according to this, is a living thing, a
being gradually forming from an imperfect seed-state, and
possessing a sort of vitality and soul.
How nearly, in this view of the gradual formation or
* Sextus Empiricus, Adv. Math. vii. 5; Diog. Laertius, i. 27; Cic.
Acad. ii. 37; Aristotle, de Ccelo, 11, 13; Cic. de Nat. Deorum, lib. i.




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                    9
the earth from a previous imperfect and, as it were, seedstate, and of the important agency of water as the prime
element of this transformation,-how nearly in this does the
old Greek philosophy come to certain modern geological
theories respecting the aqueous origin and formation of
the earth.  "Could anything," says an eloquent writer,
"be more naturally present to an Ionian mind than the
universality of water? Had he not from boyhood upward
been familiar with the sea?"
"There about the beach he wandered, nourishing a youth sublime,
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of time."
" When gazing abroad upon the blue expanse, hearing the
mighty waters rolling evermore, and seeing the red sun,
having spent its fiery energy, sink into the cool bosom of
the wave, to rest there in peace, how often must he have
been led to contemplate the all-embracing, all-engulfing
sea, upon whose throbbing breast the very earth itself
reposed. This earth how finite, and that welling sea how
infinite!
" Once impressed with this idea, he examined the constitution of the earth. There also he found moisture everywhere. All things he found nourished by moisture;
warmth itself he declared to proceed from moisture; the
seeds of all things are moist. Water when condensed
becomes earth. Thus convinced of the universal presence
of water, he declared it to be the beginning of things."
It is possible to refer this theory of water as the apxA, or
first principle, to the ancient tradition that the sun and
stars are born of the sea, out of which they seem to rise.
The essential points in this theory are not peculiar to
Thales, indeed, but common to the Ionian philosophers, viz.:
1, That the world is a living thing; 2, That it proceeds
from some simple primary substance, the seed of things not
yet developed.  The peculiarity of his theory, in distinction from others, is that he discovered or supposed water
1*




10            THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
to be this first principle. In common with the ancients, he
conceived of matter, not as we do, extended, impenetrable,
moist, but only as a form of life.  He had no idea of inert
matter.  Nor was water with him what the chemist means
by it, a fluid having such and such properties, but rather
the parent and seed of all life. The soul with Thales is the
_principle of motion.  Whatever moves, then, and of course
whatever lives, has a soul. The universe has; this great,
broad, beautiful earth-what is it but a moving, a living
thing, with a soul animating its giant frame. Simple idea
this, but not without its beauty and sublimity.
Plutarch (de Plac. Phil. i. 8), makes Thales the first
to distinguish between 0eoc, datCiov, and rpwg; the soul of
the world, a spiritual being, and a human soul separate
from the body. Yet this distinction is probably of earlier
origin, as in ilesiod.   Nothing hindered Thales from
teaching the immortality of the soul, since death is only a
change of existence, a transformation of the soul.  Diogenes, accordingly, ascribes this doctrine to him, and Plutarch intimates or implies it in the above.  Schwegler considers the ideas of a world-soul, of a personal God, and the
immortality of the soul, to be of later origin; so also Fries.
Aristotle ascribes the idea of a creative intelligence to a
later origin; yet he admits Thales to hold the idea of Godas world-soul or fnous; and all things to be full of divinity
(de Anim. i. 5, 15; so Diog. L. i. 27, and Stoboeus, Eel.
Phys. i. 2, vo~v Tro,ic6ayov).
Was Thales a theist or an atheist? Lewes says not the
latter; Ritter and Cousin deny that he was the former,
and with reason; so Mallet; for his gods are not intelligent,
self-existent, independent of the world; nor are they creators.  The cosmogony of Thales corresponds to that of the
poets and the priests of the age-they made Ocean and
Tethys the parents of the gods; so Homer. Diogenes
Laertius contradicts himself in ascribing to Thales the
apothegms: that God is unbegotten, and that the world is




THE  IONIAN  SCH OOL.                     11
the work of God; for he elsewhere says that Anaxagoras
was the first to recognize an intelligence above matter.
Cicero contradicts himself in the same way,-probably
having in view the maxims now cited, —yet ascribing the
same discovery to Anaxagoras. Aristotle explicitly says
(Met. i. 3) that Anaxagoras was the first who held this:
"When a man conies to announce that there is in nature,
as among animals, an intelligence which is the cause of the
order and arrangement in the universe, this man seems
alone to have preserved his reason amidst the follies of his
predecessors.  Now we know with certitude, that Anaxagoras was the first to enter upon this point of view."  Was
Thales then an atheist? Rather, we should say, a pantheist;
his view is not that of a creator, but of a spirit, or soul, pervading all, and filling all, and this is his deity (See especially Mallet, Histoire de la Philosophie Ionienne, article
Thales).
The gods of Thales, like man, proceed from the elementary moisture; hence not self-existent, but subject to
destiny —the blind moving force of the universe.
The following apothegms are ascribed to Thales, but
perhaps with  insufficient, at least doubtful, authority
(Diog. L. i. 35, 36, 37; Plutarch. Conviv. c. 9).  They
are beyond doubt very ancient proverbs
The oldest of beings is God, the utnbegotten,
The fairest, the world, the work of God.
The greatest, space, the all-embracing;
The swiftest, spirit, the all-penetrating;
The mightiest, necessity, the all-controlling;
The wisest. time, the all-discovering.
No thought of man is concealed from God.
What thou condemnest in another, that do thou not.
What is the hardest? To understand thyself.
What is the easiest? To advise another.
Death distinguishes not itself from life.




12            THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
~ 2. —WAXIMANDER.
In placing Anaximander next to Thales, I do but follow the voice and verdict of antiquity, which have assigned
him that place. It is very doubtful, however, whether he
does properly rank next in point of time; still more doubtful whether he is to be regarded as the disciple of that
master.  The doctrines of the two, however, are nearly
enough allied to admit of his being classed with the former
philosopher as of the same school. Apollodorus makes
him the contemporary and friend of Thales; so all antiquity. He was born at Miletus, about 611 B. C.; died 547.
His general line of thought places him with the mechanists,
rather than the dynarnists, the first of that school.  He
did not, like Thales, inquire for some one simple element,
as air, water, etc., from which all things proceed by a
livingforce, a development theory, but explains the formation of things by the changes and transformations which
occur in the diverse parts of a whole, composed, not of
some few simple principles, as air, water, etc., but of an
indefinite number of elements. (So Ritter.) His elementary principle is an abstract one.  The Injinite or unlimited; o- anretpov (and this is one), (Aristotle, Phys. i. 4,
5; Sext. Emp. Hyp. Pyrr. iii. 30; Adv. Math. vii. 5, ix.
360; Cic. Acad. ii. 37).
Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, Eusebius, all state the
same.  The latter says (Praep. Evang. i. 8), "Anaximander, friend of Thales, says the Infinite contains likewise the
first cause of all things as to generation and destruction."
It is the all-embracing, the God-like in nature (Arist. Phys.
iii. 4), (without form or qualities, so Arist. Phy. iii. 4)
(Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 10).  How does he derive the
universe from this airccpov, the Infinite? Not by development of one substance or element into all other things, as
Thales, by a power inherent in itself, but his apeiron is a




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                   13
sort of primitive chaos, according to Aristotle (Met. xii.
2), a melange of elementary substances.
According to him, says Simplicius, "the formation
takes place, not by transformation of the first principle,
but by the separation of contraries, by the law of eternal
movement."  He supposes, evidently, a necessary movement going on incessantly and eternally in the bosom of
the infinite, which has the effect to disengage from each
other, elements of a diverse nature and to bring together
those that are like, and in this way comes to pass the
organization and arrangement of material nature.  To
this effect Theophrastus is cited (Simplicius, Phys. 6, 6),
" Anaximander teaches that by the separation of the infinite,
particles of the same nature are borne to each other, and
so what in the all, ev -ri iravri, was gold becomes gold, what
was earth becomes earth, and all things in like manner, not
as things produced but formerly existing," i. e., in their
elements. Eusebius thus states the doctrine of Anaximander:
" The stars, heavens, earth, all the worlds which fill immensity, disengage themselves from  the bosom of the infinite.
The generation and destruction are attributed by him to a
movement circular and inherent in the infinity of things."
This movement is circular. The earth is cylindrical in
form. The efficient causes of this disengagement of matters are the eternal principles of heat and cold. The idea
is evidently that of a chemical transformation or process of
change, by which certain particles having like nature, or,
as we should say, having affinity for each other, are first by
the law of movement set loose or separated from the infinite, from the chaotic whole, and then in consequence of
that affinity are brought together, this separation or movement being itself occasioned by the laws of heat and cold
eternally operating.
The formation of the heavenly bodies is on this wise.
A sort of igneous sphere expands itself above the air
that surrounds the earth, like the outer rind of a tree,




'14           THEE IONTIAN  SC HOOL.
which, being broken in many places and into circular fragments, there result the sun, moon, and stars (Eusebius,
Prmep. Evang, i. 8).
A crude theory this, you will say, of the first formation of things, yet, viewed as a whole, this chemical theory
of the world's formation, is it altogether an absurd view for
one to form who had no revelation, no first chapter of Genesis to guide him; who had no facts, or experimental philosophy to assist him, or, if any, but the most limited; who
could at best form only a mere conjecture, could only imagine how by this possibility or that the great universe was
formed? Nay more, this theory of separation and aggregation going on by the eternal laws of nature and the eternal
movement of the infinite, is it altogether unlike some modern theories, which bear the proud name of science? Does
it not remind one at once of the nebulous theory of Laplace and of the author of Vestiges of Creation.
Still nearer the modern scientific theories does our old
Greek approach, when he comes to speak of the origin and
formation of man.  Man proceeds originally, he thinks,
from some other form of animal life-some other species
or race,-since he is not able at first, like other animals, to
provide himself with sustenance. So Plutarch (de Placit.
v. 19): "The first animals, according to Anaximander.
had birth in the watery element, were covered with a sort
of thorny rind, but after a time they elevated themselves to
a drier region and their covering burst."  Origen, lib. i.,
says that, "he taught that men existed first under the
form of fishes, and that they inhabited the earth, not until
they had become able to provide for themselves."
Ritter, however, maintains that Anaximander did not
mean that men were born of fishes, but like them had at
first a scaly or thorny hide, and like them proceeded from
the mud.
The doctrine of Anaximander seems to connect itself
here with that of Thales, viz., that humidity, or that the




THE IONIAN  SCHOOL.                    15
watery element, is the source of the first life. A direct consequence of this doctrine is that man, in his present form
at least, was not at first in existence but is an ulterior
form of life; that, in a word, there are successive phases
in the organization of nature, and that man is the last
result. In this broad and general principle does he not
again anticipate the conclusions of modern science! Whatever may be said of the fishy theory of man's origin, which,
by the way, is essentially reproduced in the Vestiges of Creation, is not the grand principle of successive formation
one that all science goes more and more to confirm?
Anaximander was the first, it would seem, to use the
term apxr for the principle of things.  His primary being or
existence is a bunity, the ro' rav, whence everything proceeds,
and to which everything tends to revert. The contraries,
as heat and cold, counteract each other.  The sun dries the
earth, etc.  And so all contraries neutralize each other
and all resolves again, at least such is the tendency, back
to unity or chaos. The infinite is always in a state of
incipiency, moreover, tending to a new phase of things, a
new modification.  His system approaches that of Thales,
then, in these two essential points: 1, It assumes the
unity of the primitive principle; 2, It admits humidity
to be the source not indeed of all existence, but at least
of all animal life. The difference, in the main, is that
Thales takes the concrete, Anaximander, the abstract, view
of things.
Anaximander seems to have been a fatalist. This eternal movement of the infinite is governed by a sort of fatalism. There is no trace in all this theory, of the intelligent
nous-the conscious mover and orderer of things, the selfexistent one of the later philosophers, nor even of the
all-diffused mind or soul of the world of Thales.  In this
respect Anaximander is far behind Thales, He is neither a
theist nor a pantheist, but an atheist. So Eusebius affirms,
borrowing the language of Plutarch. "Anaximander," say




16            THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
they, " suppresses all efficient cause. In fact, the infinite is,
after all, only matter. Now matter produces nothing,
unless we admit at the same a being who is the producing
cause" (Euseb. Proep. Evang. xiv. 14). Aristotle also takes
the same view, viz., that Anaximander admits no divinity
except the infinite, which is divine because immortal and
incorruptible.
Renouvier, however, thinks that he may have admitted
the existence of the popular gods, but made them subject
to his law of necessity; and also that he and Thales are
alike in this, both making their one principle to be the
single cause and element of all that is.
Anaximander was great also as an astronomer.
Eusebius (Prwep. Evang. x. 14) attributes to him the construction of gnomons, by which to mark the course of the
sun and the seasons, and to indicate solstices and equinoxes.
Diogenes Laertius (ii. 1) makes him the first to determine
the perimeter of the earth and the sea, and to construct a
sphere, also maps of the earth, and globes.  In his system,
the earth, as in most ancient systems, is placed in the centre of the universe and stands fast, because in the centre,
other globes moving around it (Aristotle, de Ccelo, ii. 13),
and is spherical, or, as Eusebius says (Proep. Evang. i. 8),
cylindrical, having its diameter one-third its height. According to Plutarch (de Plac. Phil. ii. 21, 25), the sun is
twenty-eight and the moon nineteen times greater than the
earth.  In all this you perceive the leading tendency of the
whole school of Ionian philosophers, i. e., to physical inquiry. The problem with them was to account for the
universe.
~ 3.-ANAXIM.ENES.
The friend and pupil of Anaximander, according to
some authorities; according to others, not born till after
the death of the latter, and so of course not his pupil.
Ritter dates his birth in the 63d Olympiad, about 527 B. C.
Fries dates it about twenty years earlier, in the first year




THE  IO.NIAN  SCHOOL.                 17
of the 58th Olympiad. In his general system, he seems
more nearly allied to Thales than to Anaximander.  Hence
Ritter and others place him next in succession to the former.
So also does Aristotle.  Chronologically, at least, he does not
belong there, however.
His problem and grand endeavor are the same with
those of the whole Ionian school- to account for the various phenomena of nature as to their cause and origin; to
hit upon the one prime element of all, whence all proceeds.
In common with Thales and Anaximander, he assumes the
unity of that first principle; in common with Thales, he
assumes the concrete, abandoning the abstract principle of
Anaximander.  It is no longer the infinite that is the
source of all, but some specific and individual element,
viz., the atmosphere or air, the surrounding and all-embracing ether (Arist. Met. i. 3;  Sext. Emp. Hyp. Pyrr. iii.
30; Adv. Math. vii. 5; Diog. L. ii. 2; Cic. Acad. Quest. ii.
37). By the condensation and rarefaction of this element
may all the phenomena of the external world be explained.
So thought Anaximenes, and he was, so far as we know, the
first to take that direction.  This air, or ether, whatever it
be that surrounds us and all things, as a robe, in its invisible
folds, is the beginning, whence all things proceed, to which
all things tend, in which all things are again lost. Through
condensation the cold particles precipitate themselves in
the form of wind, cloud, water, earth. Through the opposite process-rarefaction-the  atmosphere becomes fire
and tends upward, The earth thus once formed, a vapor
exhales; this expands, begets fire; the fire, meteorizing
itself, becomes stars. On the contrary, the air, compressing, forms clouds; if the process goes on, rain is expressed in the same way; earth and even rocks result from
the same process carried to its last degree. Thus incessantly
transformed, the air dwells in an eternal movement which
produces life-all beings — the souls of men-the gods themselves. All its physical qualities, as heat, cold, etc., are




18            THE IONIAN  SCHOOL.
only diverse modes of its being. In fine, it is the one
existence, the being unique and primary, of which the
natural qualities are only so many inherent and ever-varying modes.
Plutarch (de Plac. Phil. i. 3) makes him say, Our soul
is air, as such it governs us. The whole world is enconmpassed and governed by air, so that even, says Plutarch, he
names the air God (so also Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 10), and
makes the gods proceed from it. Here seems to be a comparison of nature with self; the soul governing us, as the
air does the universe.  Maurice regards this as a new and
important step in philosophy.
As to the general plan of the universe, he held, according to some, that the orbits of the stars were above, the air
in the middle, water and earth below. Aristotle (de Ccelo,
ii. 13), however, makes him teach, that the earth reposes
in the midst, lying upon the lower air and upborne by it on
account of its breadth (like a board on the water). He
also represents him as giving to the earth a perpendicular,
rather than a circular motion. According to most, he gives
the earth a flat figure. The sun, moon, and stars proceed
from the earth, inasmuch as composed of earth and fire.
The sun keeps its heat by means of the swiftness of its
motion. He seems to have discovered the borrowed light
of the moon, and to have explained its eclipses by the intervention of the earth. According to Ritter he also discovered the obliquity of the ecliptic.
On the whole we agree with Ritter that the system of
this philosopher seems to be an advance on that of Thales
in two points: 1, It does not regard the world after the
analogy of a seed-state, but of the human soul; 2, Does not,
with Thales and one may add, Anaxinmander, derive all
things from a state of unevolved life, but regards the principle of production as being from all time fully evolved and
developed.
Plutarch is authority for the fact, that Anaximeenes




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                  19
recognizes the air as the elementary or first principle-the
infinite. So Cicero de Nat. Deor. i. 10. So Diog. Laertius.  Sext. Emp. classes him with those who held to a
single principle, and adds that his principle is air. (See
passage Adv. Matlh. ix. quoted in Mallet, 101.)
~ 4. —HERACLITUS.
Epoch not precisely ascertained.  According to Diogenes Laertius (ix. 1) he flourished in the 69th Olympiad, or
about 500 years B. c. We may suppose him to have been
born some thirty or thirty-five years before; or about the
time that Babylon was taken by Cyrus, and the Persian
empire founded. This makes him subsequent to Thales,
Anaximander, Anaximenes, and Pythagoras, and contemporary with Parmenides. Belonged to the first family in
Ephesus. Averse to social intercourse, with little sympathy for the race to which he belonged (Diog. L. ix. 2), of
melancholy temperament, and possessing a taste for philosophical reflection, he had no ambition for political honors and power, and therefore, at his father's death, declined
the magistracy of the city. Subsequently the city besought
him to draw up a code of laws, but he declined; giving as
a reason the not very flattering opinion that the corruption
of the Ephesians was so inveterate as to be beyond remedy.
Now Ephesus was, beyond question, not a pattern of
morals and virtue, but for that reason all the more in
need of good law; and we cannot help suspecting that the
fault was partly in the man and not wholly in the city,
corrupt as it was. (He was one of nature's reformers, cut
out for that; a regular Garrisonian by birth, a sort of
Wendell Phillips or Carlyle.) Still it is not impossible that
the prevailing corruption of the cities of Greece was one
cause of his profound melancholy.  On the banishment of
his friend Hermodorus he broke off all intercourse with
the citizens, and passed his time playing with the children




20           THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
before the temple of Diana. Finally quitted Ephesus and
retired to the mountains, living on roots and herbs. This
sort of life induced dropsy. He returns to Ephesus, but
his complaint is incurable, and he dies at the age of sixty.
With all his cynical propensities and acerbity of temperament, he still loved his country and his native city, and
would not consent, bad as Ephesus was, to go to Athens,
where he was in high repute; nor to the court of Darius,
then in the height of his power as conqueror of India.
The letter of the king inviting him, and his reply, are given
by Diog. Laert. and may be regarded as probably authentic.
" The king Darius, son of Hystaspes, to Heraclitus of
Ephesus, a man renowned for his science: Salutation. Thou
hast written a book on'Nature,' difficult to comprehend
and explain.  In certain passages, interpreted literally,
this book seems to furnish a remarkable explanation of
this universe and of the beings that it contains, and of the
laws divine which preside over the movements which are
going on in it. But many other passages are obscure, so
much so that men, even the most versed in science, know
not how to find there thy thought.  Wherefore, I, Darius,
son of Hystaspes, wish to become thy disciple in the science
of the Greeks. Come, then, at once to my presence in my
royal abode. The Greeks, for the most of the time, have
little esteem for sages, and look with disdain on their
admirable instructions. With me, on the contrary, every
distinction awaits thee. Thou shalt find here every day
new honors, and a life accommodated to all thy tastes."
If Darius really wrote this letter, he deserves to be had
in everlasting remembrance of all philosophers and povertystricken men of letters —deserved, at any rate, a more civil
reply than he got, according to the following.  " Heraclitus
of Ephesus to King Darius, son of Hystaspes: Salutation.
All men forsake truth and justice, to abandon themselvesfools that they are-to avarice and vanity.  As for me,
stranger to every thought of this kind, and desirous of




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                 21
shunning the disgust and envy which always accompany
high distinctions, I shall not come to the court of Persia,
content as I am with the little that I possess, and which is
amply sufficient for my desires." (The fellow should have
been sent to the Ephesian State Lunatic Asylum, says the
indignant nineteenth century, which he was not, for two
reasons, as it seems to me; first, the said asylum was nowhere to be found; and secondly, he was not such a fool
after all, for preferring a life of independent poverty to one
of dependent ease and affluence.)
After perusing the above response of Heraclitus, we perceive the force and latent shrewdness of a remark of Aristotle,
which, if that grim logician ever indulged in wit, we should
certainly pronounce a capital piece of satire. As it is, we think
the old Greek must have drawn down one eye-lid a little at
the corner when he wrote it: that Heraclitus was one of
those men with whom their own opinions are as valid as
science itself. Darius and his wise men were not alone in
finding it difficult to understand Heraclitus' book. It was
universally acknowledged to be one of the obscurest books,
as it was one of the first, ever written. The fragments that
remain of it are sufficient to justify that opinion. Euripides
sent a copy of it to Socrates, who with his accustomed
keenness said of it, " What I understand of it is very good,
and I am willing to believe the same is true of what I do
not comprehend." This obscurity may have been owing, as
Ritter supposes, partly to the early infancy of prose philosophical writing, partly to the lofty range of speculation in
which he indulged; hence his thoughts were unable to express themselves adequately. His style is concise and
broken, abrupt, of course obscure. Not unaware of this, he
compares himself to the Sibyl, who "speaking with an
inspired mouth, without a smile, inornate and unperfumed,
doth pierce through centuries by the power of the God."
Others, as Mallet in his very able work on the history of the
Ionian philosophy, ascribe this obscurity to an intention of




22              THE  IONLIAN  SCHOOL.
the author not to make his work the common property of
vulgar and the reflecting, but to confine it to the capacity
of those only who could appreciate it. So Descartes subsequently. He deposited his book in the temple of Artemis.
(On the obscurity of Heraclitus, see Aristotle, Rhet. iii. 5;
Cic. de Fir. ii. 5.)
There is much dispute as to the title of his work and
its chief contents. By some it is regarded as a treatise on
morals (Diog. L. ix. 12; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. viii. 7);
by others, on physics; by others, as highly metaphysical in
character. The probability is, it was neither exclusively,
and all at once-a heterogeneous and confused collection of
the opinions of the author on all subjects connected with
philosophy. So Ritter i. 234. Diog. Laert. says the work
was in three parts: physics, politics, and theology. On the
whole, we may, with Mallet (Hist. Ion. Phil. 131), regard
Heraclitus as the first Grecian philosopher who gave philosophy a wider range than it had previously traversed, and
included in its sphere, not physics merely, but morals also.
The point of connection between his philosophy and
that of the school to which he belongs is not difficult to discover. Like all the Ionian philosophers, he seeks a physical
ground of all phenomena, a principle pervading and inherent in all natural phenomena. As with them all, this
principle is with him a unity. Moreover, as with the
dynamists all, and in distinction from the mechanists, it is
a living principle or unity, a principle of life, growth,
development that he seeks to discover. Not satisfied with
tracing all things back to one first principle, as the others
had done, he seeks for the law of development-how all
things come from this first principle. This principle is
FIRE, which seemed to him the most powerful, subtle,
and pervading of all elements. So Aristotle affirms (lMet.
i. 3, de Mundo, c. 5), as also Plutarch (de Plac. Phil.
i. 3), Diog. Laert. (ix. 7-9), and Cicero (Acad. ii. 37).
Clement of Alexandria (Strom. v. 599), cites him as




THAE  IONIAWX  SCHOOL.                 23
saying: "The world is not the work of gods or men.
It always has been and always will be. It is an eternal
fire, shining and going out by regular laws." (So also
Plato, Symposium, p. 187; Diog. Laertius ix. 7-9.)  From
this element of fire, by transformation, proceed water,
earth, and air.  Both Clement and Plato notice the resemblance of this to Orpheus. Plato, in the Cratylus (p. 402),
represents him as holding that all things proceed, by development and transformation, from this one principle, and
are again resolved into it, by virtue of a perpetual flux.
Nature entire resembles a river, which flows incessantly.
From this perpetual flux of things result life and death;
or rather there is neither life nor death-they are in fact
one and the same thing; just as waking and sleeping,
youth and age, they follow each other. So Plutarch cites
him (Consol. ad Apoll. 10). And in yet another passage,
cited by Plutarch (de Is. et Os. 45), he makes the movement of things in the world analogous to the vibrations of
the chord of a bow, or of the lyre-all things in the world
returning in like manner to the same point, only to go forth
again, and so in an indefinite series of harmonious movements, ruled by necessity or destiny (see also Arist. Met. iv.,
5; de Coelo, iii. i; Plutarch, de Plac. Phil. i. 27, 28; Cicero
de Fato. c. 17).
According to this philosophy, then, fire is the generating
principle, which by rarefaction and condensation produces
all things. Condensed, it becomes vapor. Assuming greater
consistence, it becomes water.  Still more condensed, this
water becomes earth.  This he calls the movement from high
to low. Inversely, earth, rarefied, becomes water, and so on
to the rest by evaporation from the sea. This is the movementfrom low to high. Fire is also the destroyer, as well
as producer of the world; and this at certain alternate
periods, in the eternity of time, fixed by the laws of destiny.
It seems to have been his idea that by opposition of
parts results harmony of the whole; as in music, the com



24            THE  IONIAIN  SCHOOL.
bination of opposites, the sharp and the grave tones, produce harmony (Thus explained by Plato in the Symposium,
and by Aristotle, de Mundo, c. 5. Compare Nic. Ethics, viii.
8). So in life, there are the opposite natures of male and
female; and so throughout. These opposites or contraries
in nature pass over to each other; life becomes death, death
becomes in its turn life. Sleep passes into waking, and waking into sleep; and so on. Thus universally it is by the
action of two opposite principles that all movement is
produced. That principle, of these two opposites, which
produces generation, he calls war or strife; that which
produces death, peace or concord. Thus fire, in producing
all things, passes through a series of transformations, by a
law of repulsion or alteration: this is strife. So also by
the law of affinity or assimilation all things resolve again
into unity, cease to exist individually, die out; and this
law of assimilation or death, is peace.
True, true, we exclaim. It is even thus. Life is war
and a struggle-is tumult and confusion; the very principle
of activity is strife.  Death, on the contrary-is it not the
principle of peace? the strife and tumult end-all is at rest.
"For now should I have lain still and been quiet.  With
kings and counsellors of the earth. There the prisoners
rest together; there the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary be at rest."
Fire is a restless thing, incapable of permanence, longs
to pass into other forms, struggles, strives; and the strife
goes on, the restless activity, till again by the opposite law
of affinity, like resolves itself again into like, and peace
comes, and unity, and death. Ritter supposes that by fire
he means, not flame but a sort of dry vapor. If so, his
doctrine nearly resembles that of Anaximenes.  He supposes also that Heraclitus uses the word in a symbolic sense,
to denote the principle of universal vitality-something
more than the mere'apx of the previous philosopher, not
a mere beginning, but a life pervading all.




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                  25
As to the nature and arrangement of the various parts
of the universe according to Heraclitus,-what we may call
his natural philosophy. He supposes the heavens to be
basins or bowls, the concave part toward the earth, so as
to catch the evaporations from it, which form flames or
stars. The sun is the purest of these flames. The stars,
being farther off, fare not so well, get only poorer and
impurer evaporations, and of course give light accordingly.
The sun is just so large as it appears to be, and no larger,
12 inches in size, (Diog. L. ix. 7); it is kindled every
morning and goes out every night (Arist. Met. 11. 2; Plat.
de Rep. vi. 498). Eclipses of the sun and moon are caused
by the basins turning round the other side toward us,
while the monthly changes of the moon are produced by
the revolution of its basin or reflector round itself (very
much as a revolving light in a modern lighthouse). Day
and night, seasons, winds, etc., are all produced by difference of evaporation. The evaporation of the sea, being
impure and humid, extinguishes the lights, while that of the
land, being pure, rekindles them. So crude and imperfect
were the notions of that age respecting the structure of the
universe. As crude and imperfect would ours have been,
had not observation taken the place of theory, and science
of conjecture.  Viewed as mere conjecture, the bright
thought of a mind speculating a priori on this subject, I
know not why the hypothesis of the old Greek is not as
reasonable and as probable, in itself considered, as any
other. The trouble is, that it did not happen to be the
correct one, and so seems to us a childish affair, because we
happen to know another explanation to be the true one.
On the question of the legitimacy of our natural faculties, Heraclitus reasons thus.  We are endowed with two
means of attaining truth-sense and reason.  The latter is
the sole criterion of truth. The testimony of sense is not
worthy of credence. "The eyes and ears of those having
uninformed or imperfect souls are evil witnesses to men"
2




26            TEE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
(Sext. Emp. adv. Math. vii. 126), which may mean simply
that a man must know something in order to be a good
observer and hearer, or it may mean to disparage the senses
generally as not reliable, inasmuch as men generally have
barbarous souls.
Reason, then, is the criterion of truth.  What reason?
not that of the individual, but the universal and divine
reason, i. e., the air or medium that surrounds us, which,
drawn into us by inspiration, we become intelligent. This
takes place at least during our waking hours. But in sleep
we lose what we have acquired; the soul separates itself from
that community of being which it has with the surrounding
element, and we become irrational, because the senses are
obstructed and the commerce is broken off between our
souls and the universal soul. When we wake, the senses, the
windows of the soul, open, and permit the soul to commune
with the universal soul. Then we become rational again; just
as coals kindle or go out at the approach or removal of fire.
That which is the criterion of truth, then, is the universal
reason, * or that which seems true to the judgment of all, but
the conceptions of the individual reason are not to be relied
on.  The universa/ity of a belief is the criterion of truth, a
doctrine revived two thousand years afterward in opposition
to the Cartesian doctrine in France. This idea of the senses
as not reliable, is one which we shall afterward find carried
out further in the Eleatic school, and made a very prominent doctrine, in fact, in subsequent Grecian philosophy.
Heraclitus seems not to have conceived of Deity as an intelligent being distinct from  nature.  He was a pantheist.
Hegel says there is not a position assumed by Heraclitus
which he (Hegel) has not laid down in his logic. The
following maxims are ascribed to him. It is necessary to
be more on our guard against pride, than against a conflagration (Diog. L. ix. 2). To be wise is a great virtue,
* As authority for this whole statement, see Sext. Emp. adv. Math,
vii. 129, 130, 138. Also Mallet, Man. Phil. p. 150.




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                   27
and wisdom consists in conforming our words and actions
to truth. The best thing for men is not to realize all their
wishes. There await us at death such things as we neither
hope nor expect. A people ought to battle for their laws
as for their walls (Diog. L. ix. 2). His ideas of moist and
dry seem to have been rather peculiar. A dry climate and
soil he thinks most favorable for wisdom, for there the soul
is driest and best. The soul, with him, is only a modification of air or fire, and so, of course, the drier is the purer
and brighter. He accounts for the incapacity of the drunkard by his having a moist soul! (Stob. Serm. v. 120.) (See
some fine observations on H. in Maurice, Encycl. Metrop.
vol. ii. pp. 571-572).
~ 5.-DIOGOENES OF APOLLONIA.
Born at Apollonia in Crete; time uncertain. According to Diog. Laertius, he was contemporary with Anaxagoras,
and disciple of Anaximenes. Ritter regards him as successor of the latter.  Renouvier and Mallet make him the
successor of Heraclitus, which seems on the whole most
probable. Tennemann fixes his date at the 77th Olympiad,
about 472 B. c., which is probably not far- from the truth.
He wrote several works, some on natural science, which
continued till 600 of the Christian era. He came to Athens,
which then began to be the metropolis of Greece in letters
and science, as in power.  Here, however, he was subject
to envy and persecution, and his life even in danger.
Diogenes, the last of Ionian dynamists or naturalists;
of those who saw in nature a being unique, material, living.
Like the other Ionians, he takes a simple element as the
principle of all things. The reason he assigns for so doing
is the necessity of recognizing among things a series of
mutual and reciprocal actions and reactions, which could
not be, unless all proceeded from one common principle.
So cited by Simplicius and Aristotle.
What, then, is his first principle? Like Anaximnenes,,




28            THE IONIAN  SCHOOL.
he takes air, meaning by it, not the simple atmosphere,
but something intermediate between air and fire, something
more refined than the grosser physical element, more
ethereal and subtle, like the fire of Heraclitus, using the
term symbolically, perhaps, rather than literally. Herein,
as Ritter thinks, is seen the progress of philosophy from
Thales onward, in that the whole school, while seeking the
first principle in some one element, make that element less
and less literal.
How was he led to take air as the first principle? By
analogy.  Soul is air or breath; so both Anaximenes and
Diogenes.  Life consists in the soul; hence they conclude
that air is the universal life. Diogenes makes it the soul
of the world, which, like the human soul, has consciousness
and thought. So Simplicius (Phys. i. 33) and Cicero (de
Nat. Deorum i. 12) represent him.  No animal can live
without air, hence he supposes air to be the soul. Even
the blood, the source of vitality, contains air. Simplicius
(Phys. i. 32) thus cites: "Man and the other animals who
breathe, live on air, and the air constitutes their soul
and their thought, and if respiration ceases life and thought
cease at the same time."  Aristotle (de Hist. Anim.) thus:
"Diogenes established that thought is produced by the
circulation of air, with the blood, through the body along
the veins." Plutarch also the same (do Plac. 4, 5). This
theory is remarkable.  It accounts for the formation of
thought in a singular way, and also presupposes the circulation of the blood, a discovery of two thousand years
later date.  According to Plutarch and Aristotle, he
makes the heart, by virtue of circulation of air, the seat
and centre at once of life and thought. But Ritter disputes it.
Simplicus (Phys. i. 33) makes him confer on the air
the attributes of divinity, greatness, power, knowledge,
eternity, etc.  By virtue of intelligence, this supreme
principle is regarded by himz as author of the order and 7dar




THE  ION I A    SCHOOL.                 29
mony in the universe.  "Without intelligence," says he,
" it is impossible all things should be'distributed as they are,
each having its bound and law, as summer, winter, night,
day, rain, wind, etc." (Phys. i. 32).  Hence he infers the
origin of things from an intelligent being, v6okv ~xov, a soul
uwhich vivifies all and knows all.  "And to me it seems
that the intelligent principle is that which men call air; it
is it that regulates and governs all, pervades and penetrates
all, and there is nothing which partakes not of its essence"
(Phys. i. 33). In this last we have the element of pantheism.  Taking the whole together, however, we have in
it a grand advance, in philosophy, upon anything that we
have yet found. From the doctrine of the previous philosophers, as Anaximenes and others, that the first principle
was a mere force-vitality, physical development-to this
doctrine of intelligence as the chief characteristic of that
principle, the advance is striking.  From  mere action of
blind fatality and eternal necessary movement, giving rise
to the production of the universe; from that, to this idea of
wisdom and intelligence ordering all these movements and
appointing the seasons and their bounds, the difference,
the progress is great.
Yet even here we have not as yet t-he idea of a distinct
spiritual existence, such as we designate by the title of
Deity, but rather, only a material being endowed with
intelligence-a corporeal principle uniting with itself an
intelligent element.  So also thinks Mallet, see 175.  The
distinction between the mind and body, as separate essences,
does not occur to him.  His deity, or first cause, is merely
corporeal or physical nature, endowed with the higher
properties of intelligence, etc.  He originates the idea,
hitherto unknown to philosophy, of an efficient cause, but
gets not so far as to perceive that it must be itself immaterial. This was the next and the next higher step in
progress of the human mind, unaided by revelation, seeking after God. To make this final discovery was reserved




30            THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
for another studious and thoughtful man.  But it is
interesting to pause'even here, and see how, by careful
steps and slow, little by little, the mind by light of nature
has wrought out its painful way thus far toward the knowledge of the true God.
Combining the two elements of spirituality and materiality in his first principle, Diogenes makes it, as material,
originate the worlds in much the same way as Anaximenes
had done; excepting always, that the various transformations take place, not by fixed and fated laws of movement
as with him, but by intelligent and powerful Will, assuming
the double function of cause material and cause efficient.
Condensation of air produces.water; further condensation, earth; rarefaction of air gives fire, etc. This process goes on continually, all things returning again to air
whence they proceeded; nothing remaining in statu quo;
but the primordial whole itself infinite and unchanged, notwithstanding the finite nature of the modifications.
The place of the different elements is determined by
their relative density, water and earth taking the lower,
air and fire the higher spheres. From these lighter and
upper elements result the sun and stars.
From the different qualities of the air, which is not always
and in all forms the same, but diverse, result the differences of species and individuals. The degree of warmth
and dryness and rarity varies in the souls of different
animals and in those of men, and hence a difference among
them in activity, habits, intelligence, and bodily form,
(Simplicius, Phys. lib. i. fol. 33).
The earth was formed by condensation from the warm
surrounding sphere. This condensation produced motion,
and so earth, as heaviest, was fixed in the centre. The
sun, acting on the primitive moisture, formed the sea.
This is gradually drying up and will finally disappear.
Living creatures were formed out of the earth, before its
oblique declination.




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                  31
~ 6.-ANAXAGORAS.
Birth-place, Ionia, as with so many other ancient philosophers; town or city, Clazomenae; time, Olymp. 70, or
500 B. C. So Apollodorus and Diogenes Laertius, followed
by Brucker, Ritter, and Tennemann. Death, 428 B. C., at
72. The most notable in many respects of the Ionian
school; the most perfect development of it. A  life, a
system, every way worthy of study, and perhaps you will
say, with me, of admiration.
Of illustrious family, like Heraclitus, and like him
he renounced riches and greatness for philosophy. Affairs
public and private, says Mallet, rank, fortune, family, he
abandoned all for science, and some one asking him one
day if there was no longer for him any such thing as country, he replied, pointing at the same time to heaven, "IfMy
country is, on the contrary, the object of all my thoughts."
His youth was spent at Clazomense, and the other Ionian
cities. Uncertain now who were his teachers, and what his
travels, which were extensive. Diogenes Laertius makes him
the pupil of Anaximenes, yet by oversight fixes the death of
the latter at 538, or thirty-eight years before the birth
of the former. Brucker not much better, for according to
his dates Anaximenes must have been over eighty when
Anaxagoras became his pupil. Yet, if not the pupil, he
doubtless received the current philosophy of Anaximenes,
Anaximander, Thales, etc. He finally emigrated to Athens,
at about forty or forty-five. Athens was about to become the
literary metropolis of Greece. Here he had, as tradition
relates, pupils of distinction, as Pericles, with whom he
was intimate, Euripides, Archelaus, Democritus, and even
Socrates. Such is the testimony of Diogenes Laertius and
of Suidas, as to Euripides and Socrates.  Cicero bears
the same testimony as to Euripides, and both Diogenes and
Cicero affirm the same of Pericles.
Anaxagoras is the first Athenian philosopher of note,




32           THE IONIAN  SCHTOOL.
although of Ionian origin, as were in fact the founders of
all the great schools of the first age of Greek philosophy.
From  Miletus alone went forth Thales, Anaximander,
Anaximenes, and Archelaus; from  Ephesus, Heraclitus;
from Clazomenae, Anaxagoras. Ionia gave birth also to
Xenophanes, founder of the Eleatic school, and Pythagoras
of the Italian. Thus does this little province of Asia Minor
give Italy her first two philosophers, Xenophanes and
Pythagoras, and also Athens her first.
Anaxagoras passes his old age in poverty and want, and
at the decline of the fortunes of Pericles, his friend and
patron, suffers persecution. Accused of impiety toward the
gods for saying that the sun is a burning stone, or mass of
incandescent matter, according to one account he was concondemned to death. Sufficiently cool his reply on receiving that sentence: that " nature had long ago pronounced
against him the same sentence." According to the more
probable statement, Pericles appears in his behalf, defends
him boldly before the judges, and procures his liberation; but Anaxagoras goes into exile immediately, some
say voluntarily, out of chagrin. Exile he was, however, at
Lampsacus in Asia Minor, where he ended his days; Suidas
says he put an end to his own life. Some one regretting
that he should die afar from his native land, he replied,
"the way to Hades is much the same from every place."
Citizens of Lampsacus gave him funeral honors, and inscribed on his tomb, " Here lies Anaxagoras, who of all
men penetrated farthest into the celestial world."
Was Anaxagoras, then, chiefly an astronomer? His epitaph might seem to convey that idea, but it was not so.
It is related also by Diogenes Laertius. and Aristotle, that
when one asked him to what end he was born, he replied,
"to this end, to contemplate tire heaven, the sun, and the
moon." This certainly indicates a leading propensity of
his mind. Yet astronomy was but the preface and.prelude
to the grand oratorio. He studied nature in her external




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                   33
arrangements, only as the handmaid to a loftier and grander
philosophy.  The first philosophers, as we have seen, were
all naturalists, and generally astronomers; but it was cosmogony rather than astronomy, the science of the granzd
whole-the ground and origin and genesis of the great universe; whence it proceeded; how it came to be; that they
had chiefly in view in all these inquiries.
Anaxagoras belongs to the class of philosophers whom
we denote mechanists, regarding the universe not as the
development of a unique element, but the result of the
combination of many elements.
The primitive state of the universe was chaos, according
to Anaxagoras; within the bosom of which chaos are contained an infinite number of material elements, of extreme
tenuity, infinitely small and so imperceptible to sense. (In
this last he holds a doctrine kindred to that of the atomists,
Epicurus and Democritus, who give the name of atoms to
these elements which he calls TO- autlKpv aTeuCpov (the small infinite). These little fellows are all in a heap and confusion.
Air and ether, however —by which last he means probably,
as Aristotle and Plutarch suppose, what Heraclitus calls fire
-envelope the whole, and are distinguished from the confused mass as elements special and determined. (Here his
theory unites with that of Heraclitus and Anaximenes. )
In this jumble or chaos, everything is in all, i. e., every
part is like the whole, and contains a portion of the whole,
and so to these infinite littles he gives the singular name
homoeomerise, al 5,uotoj/epiat denoting that of which the part is
like the whole (Plato. Phoado.c. 17; Arist. Phys. i. 4; Arist.
Met. i, 3, 7, iv. 4; de Gen. An. i. 18; Sext. Emp. Hyp.
Pyrr. iii. 32; Adv. Math. ix. 368; Diog. Laert. ii. 8; Cic.
Acad. ii, 37). These are the elementary seeds of things.
The whole mass of them a unity, yet each by itself a reproduction of the whole on a small scale. This is the point of
departure.  How comes the world out of this? By movement, and this movement is the work of mind.  Repose is
2*




34            THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.
the primitive state; repose in confusion, in chaos; by
movement, things thus jumbled together in confusion separate themselves and become order; and this movement is
not any principle inherent in matter itself, but the work of
an  immaterial existence-of mind (Plato, Phaedo, 46,
47; Arist. Phys. i. 4. viii. 1; Met. i. 3, 4; Sext. Emp.
adv. Math. ix. 6, 7; Diog. L. Promem. 4, ii. 6; Cic. de. Nat.
Deor. i. 1). Duality is thus established. Matter and mind:
a great point gained in philosophy.
This movement is circular. By means of it the particles that are homogeneous, the cold, the wet, the dark,
unite and form the earth, stones, etc.; while the light,
warm, dry, uniting, ascend to the upper regions. Cold
converts the clouds to water, water to earth, earth to
stones, etc.  Dissolution succeeds to aggregation in the
same way-one follows the other continually. Nothing is
born, nothing perishes; it is aggregation or dissolution; the
reunion and separation of parts-nothing else. The things
themselves are eternal.
The reciprocal action of fire, water, and earth, produces
animals, which afterward propagate themselves. The fire,
or ether, is highest, then water and air, then, lowest of all,
the earth.  Water being thus intermediary between earth
and air and fire, is in constant state of motion.  The sea,
e. g., continually changing its locality, retreating from some
places and encroaching on others-sea and land changing
places —(just as geology teaches at the present day). The
sea would one day, if the world stood long enough, cover
the mountains of Lampsacus.
In meteorology also we find Anaxagoras anticipating the
results of modern science; that winds are produced by the
sun's rays acting on the air, that thunder is caused by the
shock of the clouds, etc. He predicted the fall of a certain
meteoric stone. Regarded the sun itself and the stars as
incandescent stones; and the moon, habitable, as the earth,
with hills and valleys.  Even conceived the existence of




THE  IONIAN  SCHOOL.                   35
intelligent beings on other planets.  "There are in other
worlds than ours, men who have, as we, their cities, their
habitations, their labors; for them as for us, there is a sun,
a moon, stars; for them likewise the ground produces fruits
of all kinds, which they gather and use as they need."
Shooting stars he thinks are scintillations flying through
the air; the milky way, the reflection of the sun's rays from
stars not themselves luminous.
As to the great problem of the veracity of our faculties,
he is more Eleatic than Ionian; decides that the testimony
of sense cannot in any way conduct to certitude, and fixes
on reason as the criterion of truth (Arist. Met. iv. 5, 7;
Sext. Emp. Hyp. Pyrr. i. 33; Adv. Math. vii. 90, 91; Cic.
Acad. i. 12; Tusc. Quest. iv. 23, 31). We see in this a
tendency to the idealism of Zeno, and of Berkeley, Hlnme,
and others among the moderns. That such was his view,
is sustained by passages cited by Aristotle, Simplicius,
Cicero, and others, about the snow appearing white, while in
reality it is composed of water which is black.  Lewes,
however, thinks that he did not mean to deny that the
senses are subjectively true-that they give correct reports
of their impressions, that is, of phenomena-but only that
they are not objectively to be relied upon.  They perceive
pep7enomena, but not noumena.  If so, however, he is still
not far from modern idealism; for this which is just now
stated was really the position of Hume and Berkeley, and
must be that of every consistent idealist. No one can
deny the subjective truth of the senses; that were to deny
consciousness.
What, finally, was his idea of God?  The earlier philosophers had admitted only material causes. Anaxagoras,
as Diogenes had also done, added to this an efficient cause.
So say Aristotle, Simplicius, Diogenes Laertius, Proclus,
and Cicero.  He makes mind, in distinction from matter,
an object of thought-immense, omnipresent mind. In this
respect-and it is a grand step forward-his theory is wholly




36            THE IONIAN  SCHOOL.
and totally distinct from, and in advance of the -pantheism
of many of the earlier philosophers and the atheism of
others. Yet even with him the world and God are so related
to each other, that while there would be no world without
God, so also no God without the world.  His idea of mind,
-so  Ritter-was not that of an entity existing apart from
and independent of matter, pure spirit, but that of mind
as exhibited in finite phenomena of animate material
objects.  This world-soul lives in every living thing.
Individual souls differ in degree, not in nature, from this
(So Arist. de Anima. i. 2. iii. 5). It is dependent on the
bodily organization, and is set in motion by external
impressions.   It accompanies all bodily  organization.
Plants have mind, have pain, desire, pleasure, etc., even
knowledge also. Ritter, accordingly, makes his discovery
of mind to be much less of an advance on the previous
systems, that of Heraclitus, e. g., than I have represented
it, and than it is generally regarded.  Aristotle unjustly
charges him with introducing other causes beside mind to
account for things. But mind originates the first motion,
and all other effects are results of that motion, mind is the
first and efficient cause, not of matter, for matter and the
nous or mind are coeternal, but of order and arrangement.  The essence of mind is simple, pure, without mixture, containing in itself the knowledge and principle of
the movement of all things, still not strictly creator, but
only ordainer or builder, arranger of the world.  It is not
the moral providence of Plato, but only the metaphysical
one, the nous pure, that puts things in motion and makes
the laws of nature; hence Plato dissatisfied with him. Yet
in him is the germ of what Plato fully developed, for
Aristotle makes him  say that the nous is the source of the
beautiful and the good.  Here at least is the presentiment
of the grand discovery of Plato (See Mallet, Hist. Ion.
Phil. p. 244; also 237, 8).




THE  ITALIAN  SCHOOL.                 37
CHAPTER II.
THE ITALIAN SCHOOL.
PYTHAGORAS.
THIS school, whose general characteristics have been
already given (see introductory outline), was contemporary
in part with the former. The later Ionian philosophers
were subsequent to Pythagoras. To have introduced this
school, however, at an earlier moment, and precisely in its
chronological place, would have violated that unity which
we wished to give to the Ionian philosophy, as a distinct
system. Nor can the precise chronology of this school be
determined.  On no point are authorities more divided.
The period variously assigned for the birth and epoch of
Pythagoras ranges between the limits of the 43d and 64th
Olympiads, a range of eighty-four years-somewhere within
which period he was born. With Ritter and Tissot, I am
inclined to place it in the 49th, or about 584 B. c. So
Ueberweg 582. (But Schwegler and Butler prefer 548.)
It is sufficient to say that while the Ionian school was
flourishing and in its full vigor and prime in the Grecian
colonies of Asia Minor, there arose in one of those islands
of the AEgean so celebrated in history, a philosopher who
entertained the bold and romantic project of founding, not
a new system of philosophy merely, but a state based upon
philosophical principles-a community of philosophers.
This man was Pythagoras of Samos, who after a time fixed
his residence in Crotona, in Lower Italy, an Achaean colony. Of this man's personal history not much authentic
information can be gleaned.  Tradition has reported much
that is marvellous of his birth and history.  I" A fabulous
wvonder-man," as Fries expresses it. His birth supernatu



38           THE  ITALIAN  SCHOOL.
ral, the son of Apollo, a divine glory wreathed his brow.
As a mark of his divine origin he bore a golden thigh; was
seen at different places at the same time; wild beasts
obeyed his call. He received the gift of recollection of
his previous existence.  He heard, what to our dull
ears is inaudible, the harmony of the spheres. When he
gave himself to meditation he discovered not only the
nature of all beings, but at a glance of the eye took in ten
or twenty ages of human history.  "Shall we wonder,"
says Lewes, " that he was venerated as a god? He who
could so transcend all earthly struggles, and the great ambitions of the greatest men, as to live only for the sake of
wisdom, was he not of a higher stamp than ordinary mortals? Well might later historians picture him as clothed
in robes of white, his head crowned with gold, his aspect
grave, magisterial, and calm; above the manifestation of
any human joy, of any human sorrow; enwrapt in contemplation of the deeper mysteries of existence; listening to
music, and the hymns of Homer, HIesiod, and Thales; or
listening to the harmony of the spheres. Hte was the first
of mystics.  And to a lively, talkative, quibbling, active,
versatile people like the Greeks, what a grand phenomenon must this solemn, earnest, silent, meditative man have
appeared."
There is great difficulty in ascertaining what the doctrines of this school were. He taught in secret, and each
disciple carried out and modified the views of the teacher
to suit his own turn of mind; so that his disciples differ
among themselves. Certain it is, however, that he founded
an order, so to speak, somewhat as Loyola in after times
founded the order of Jesuits; the end of which association
was at once scientific and moral, political and religious.
The three hundred members of this order were of the noblest
families in Crotona, the aristocratic families, and they were
trained to self-knowledge, so that they should be fit to command the world. It was only after examination and proba



THE ITALIAN  SCHOOL.                   39
tion that they were admitted to the society, and only by
slow degrees and after a long novitiate, were they admitted
to its higher honors. This novitiate of several years was
passed in silence, hearing the instructions of others, but not
themselves allowed to speak. For this class of disciples
Pythagoras had one course of teaching, and for the initiated
another, which latter was never fully divulged. Pythagoras differed from the Grecian spirit of the age in attaching importance to woman. His wife was a philosopher,
and fifteen female disciples are numbered among his
more distinguished pupils. How they managed to get
through the many novitiate years of silence is still a mystery. The influence of Pythagoras and his fraternity in
Crotona soon became unbounded; extended by branch
societies to other Italian cities; supplanted existing politcal institutions; took the place of senates; excited suspicion and alarm by its rapid growth, its ambitious designs,
its secrecy and mysticism —(perhaps the opposition of those,
who found the rule of the order too severe for them, helped
on the matter, as Fries suggests)-awakened first the fears,
then the resentment of the people; involved a large portion of Italy in contest and convulsion, and was finally by
a sort of general uprising broken up and scattered.  Many
of its adherents perished. Whether Pythagoras himself was
a victim to the popular rage, or died a fugitive, is now uncertain. Some question even, whether the breaking up occurred before his death. So Fries. His fraternity, however, did not survive him.  His philosophical system and
sect may have continued longer, but his school died with
himself, and his system and secret perished with his followers and immediate disciples.  Hence it is that so little is
known of his philosophy.  The paucity of reliable writings,
and the contradictory statements of his disciples, add to the
difficulty.
This much is known, however, of his philosophical
system. A proficient in nmathematics and in music, he is




40           THIE  ITALIAN  SCHIOOL.
struck with the beauty and simplicity of the general principles or primary laws of those sciences; meditates much
on those two grand elements, number and time; perceives
that everything in the universe is capable of being measured
by these two elements, number and time; concludes that
they must therefore be the  first principles of things
(Aristotle, Met. i. 5, xiv. 3; Cicero Acad. ii. 37; Sext.
Emp. adv. Math. iv. 2), and carrying over in this way
these prime elements into the sphere of philosophy, founds
on this basis a system at once novel, beautiful, mystic, and
ideal.  Number is the prime element of all, the first principle of things. The essence of number is the even-odd
as he calls it; that is the monad primitive and absolute,
the absolute unity, containing in itself all other numbers
and the elements of all things. This absolute unity is
creator of itself, binds together the eternal duration of
things, is deity; for deity provides for all, embraces all,
and is one.  Deity, then, is number.  The grand problem of
the universe and its supreme builder and disposer-the
problem of things and of God himself is solved.  To state
the system a little more in detail, its essential process of
thought is this: Among the phenomena of nature there is
one and only one character which puts order and harmony
among things, and determines their relations; which imparts to all existence the faculty of being intelligible and
definite, and, in fine, to our intelligence itself the only
means it has of knowing anything.  This character is
number.  Owing to this, the world becomes orderly, harmonious, perfect; can call itself Kosmzos-order, beauty(which word he first applies to designate the world).
What the nature is of this wonderful element, number, he
cannot explain; but he can sing its praise, can incite to its
study, as developed in geometry, astronomy, music; can
trace its relations, and the ways in which it reveals itself.
This number is a creator, separate from matter; matter
is passive —not living, as the Ionians have it. Here a dua~l



THE  ITALIAN  SCHOOL.                   41
ity: number on the one hand; matter subject to its wonderful operations on the other hand. Number produces,
not the finite and limited only, but the infinite and undetermined.  What in itself is not knowable brings into
existence the unlimited being-the  infinite one.  The
parent, the root, the germ of number-this mighty producer-is unity; and unity and duality, the one and the
many, are the elements of all things; the one, the active
or limiting; the other, the passive or limited principle
(Sextus Emp. adv. Math. x. 261-2, 277; Diog. Laert.
viii. 25; Plutarch de Plac. Phil. i. 3, 7).  By means of
this unity in multiplicity all things in the world harmonize
completely, and there results the harmony of the spheres,
analogous to earthly music, while the whole moves in
agreeable proportion around a common central point, the
central fire (Arist. de Ccelo ii. 9, 13; Sext. Emp. adv.
Math. iv. 6, x. 283; Cicero de Nat. Deor. iii. 11; Arist.
Met. i. 5).
Beside this subjective view of the universe, he seems
also to have taken an objective view, thus: What unity is to
intelligence, such is light to the material world, imparts
life, illuminates, warms, fecundates, becomes the creator
of the physical universe. Under the name of ether, it is
the vital element of nature; the symbol, nay more, essence
of Deity. His duality runs thus then: light, harmony,
unity, on the one hand; darkness, disorder, plurality, on
the other.
His idea of Deity seems to have been that of the invariable being that inhabits or dwells in the supreme unity,
regarded as manifest in the universe; the spirit pervading
it; the all-seeing light; the fire traversing creation and
kindling up intelligences, minds, everywhere; represented
by the sun or great central fire, the most perfect object in
nature (so Tennemann and Butler), soul of the universe,
from whom all souls proceed.  Others, however, as Lewes,
deny this view, and suppose that Pythagoras does not con



42            THE  ITALIAN  SCHOOL.
ceive of mind otherwise than as a material phenomenon,
not as an infinite intelligence, merely a mathematical abstraction.  But this does not well accord with the other
parts of his system.*
The following table presents in contrast the various
categories or primitive elements, to one or other of which all
things in nature may be reduced. The limited and unlimited; the equal and unequal; the one and the many; the
right and the left; male and female; that which rests and
that which moves; the straight line, and the curve; light
and dark; good and evil; the square, and the quadrilateral, not square; in all a decade; the essence of number.
The fourth and the seventh also play a conspicuous part in
the formation of things.
This general method of philosophy they apply to nature
not only, but to the soul, to Deity, to morals, to everything.  NVYumber lies at the foundation of the whole.  Thus
soul (which is itself an emanation from and allied to the
great central fire or light-he calls it a self-moving numbervirtue is the harmony of the soul, its unison) is the harmony
of body; justice is a number porportionately equal, etc.
The scientific insight of Pythagoras, not much above that
of his age, says Fries, and Aristotle suggests the same.
The world consists of ten great bodies or spheres, which
revolve harmoniously around a common centre, the source
to all of life and warmth. The sun is that centre, immovable, and worlds circle around it. So the disciples of Pythagoras taught, and such was probably the doctrine of
Pythagoras himself. So Ueberweg. Pythagoras taught the
* For brilliant sketch of life and history of Pythagoras, see
Lewes, vol. i. p. 15-20.
For the manner in which he came to regard number as the prin.
ciple of all things, and to ground his system on that, see Butler, vol.
i. p. 316-319, or series 1, lecture 6.
On the question whether P. makes numbers to be things or only
symbols of things, see Lewes, i. 30.




THE  ITALIAN  SCHOOL.                   43
existence of genii, and their apparition. Souls are pregxistent to the bodies which they inhabit, and survive those
bodies, pass into other forms and dwell in other bodies by
the law of animal generation. This doctrine seems to have
been founded in the idea of retribution, justice after death.
Life is a task, which we fulfil according to destiny. The
soul is a monad self-moved. In its perfect and proper state
it is unity, but it loses perfection, and becomes imperfect,
by any movement or change. Imperfection he defines as
departure from unity. Now -in man the soul is not absolute unity, not therefore in absolute perfection. It has
three elements, reason, intelligence, and desire (or sensibility
as we should say), the two last in common with the brutes,
the first characteristic of himself. The understanding has
its seat in the brain; the sensibilities and passions in the
heart.  Each of these elements may become predominant,
and as it does the man becomes eminently rational, or able,
or sensual.  Hence the doctrine of transmigration.  As a
modern writer has elegantly expressed it, " This soul,
which can look before and after, can shrink and shrivel
itself into an incapacity of contemplating aught but the
present moment; of what depths of degeneracy it is capable!
What a beast it may become! And if something lower
than itself, why not something higher? And if something
higher and lower, may there not be a law accurately determining its elevation and descent? Each soul has its peculiar evil tastes bringing it to the likeness of different creatures beneath itself; why may it not be under the necessity
of abiding in the condition of that thing to which it had
adapted and reduced itself? "
The rules of life and morals in the Pythagorean system
are accordingly strict and ascetic;-temperance, moderation, fidelity, love, friendship, are insisted on. The morality
of the system is severe and religious; daily self-examination
is prescribed as a duty, the soul must be cultivated to all
things excellent and true. Hence the importance of music




44              ELEATIC  SC HOOL.
and gymnastics in the training of children especially, who
must by great care be educated to virtue.  Suicide, however, is allowable. He compares this life to the Olympic
games, where some seek honor and the crowns; others go
for barter and gain; others, more noble, go to enjoy the
spectacle and observe what passes.  So we quit our native
abode, the skies, come into the world, some seeking honor,
some wealth, some power, etc.; a few study nature.  These
he calls philosophers, the noblest sort, the highest occupation of man.
CHAPTER III.
ELEATIC SCHOOL.
THIS school derives its name from Elea, a Greek colony of
Lower Italy, the residence, in his later years, of Xenophanes,
the founder of the school. It comprises among its distinguished members, Xenophanes, Parmnenides, Zeno, and
Empedocles. It covers a period of time from 100 to 150
years in extent, or from about the beginning or middle of
the 6th to about the middle of the 5th century B.c.-550
or 600 to 450. It was, therefore, subsequent to the Ionian
and, in part at least, to the Pythagorean school, and in some
way may be regarded as the legitimate result and product of
the latter. Its chief characteristic as a school was.its purely
rational and supra-sensible character-transcendental, as we
should now term it-its utter disregard of the sensible, and
attention to the supra-sensible.
Its origin —like that of all the preceding schools-Ionian.
1. —XENOPHANES.
The 6th century B. c. was to Greece, and especially to
her colonies, the era of liberty and thought, of commercial
enterprise and activity, of science and of increasing wealth,




ELEATIC SCHOOL.                    45
beyond any that had preceded it. It was at this period
that there arose in Ionia, fertile in great minds, a mind
at once original and penetrating, animated with the genius
of both the Ionian and the Pythagorean schools, yet coinciding with neither and opposed to both, destined to
cast new light upon the problems of an intricate science,
and to become the founder of a new school of philosophical
thought, the first school indeed of pure metaphysics in
Greece. Xenophanes was born at Colophon in Ionia. He
flourished, according to Ritter, about the 60th Olympiad,
or 540 B. C.; born 569 B. c., according to Ueberweg; but
according to Cousin, he was born much earlier than that,
-in the 40th Olympiad, or 620 B. C.  As he lived to an
advanced age, he may perhaps have been somewhat in years
before he became known widely as a philosopher; so that
we suppose him, with Ritter, to have flourished at'540 or
550, and yet, with Cousin, to have been born at or near the
beginning of that century.
He was contemporary with Anaximander and Pythagoras.
Exiled from his country, he seems to have wandered for a
time in Sicily, and subsequently, at the age of eighty, to have
settled in Elea, in Lower Italy, a colony of Phocaeans. This
was an enterprising and active commercial city, not ill-fitted
to become the centre of a school of science. Xenophanes
was a poet. From  his twenty-fifth to his ninety-second
year he seems to have cultivated that peculiar species of
poetical composition for which his native city was famous,
the elegiac and rhapsodical. His philosophic thoughts are
clothed in verse. He wrote epics, narrative and didactic.
Opposed to the anthropomorphic representations of the
earlier poets, especially Hesiod and Homer, he indulges in
frequent and bitter denunciation of all such modes of expression. Plato, it may be remarked, afterward sympathized with him in this respect.  A poor man, wandering
for years from place to place, and supporting himself by
the recital of his poems, he was nevertheless wealthy in his




46               ELEATIC SCHOOL.
superior mental resources. He longed with insatiable
desire to discover truth; as Tennyson has expressed it,
" Yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."
How finely expressive of this unsatisfied desire are these
lines, which another Grecian poet, Timon the sillograph,
puts into the mouth of Xenophanes.
" Oh, that mine was the deep mind, prudent and looking to both sides;
long, alas, have I strayed, on the road of error beguiled.
And am now hoary of years, yet exposed to doubt and distraction
Of all kinds; for wherever I turn to consider,
I am lost in the one and all."
Xenophanes was, through a long and active life, a diligent inquirer after truth, and terminated that life, those
long, anxious years, without having solved the great problem.
Not to him was it given. He only learned how little he knew.
From  this one stand-point, this nineteenth century
since the advent of Him whom kings and prophets waited
for but died without the sight, surrounded as we are by
all the discoveries of science and all the light of revelation,
it is easy to look back upon the path of such a mind struggling on unaided either by science or revelation; groping
its way slowly and painfully in its fruitless search after
truth, and congratulate ourselves that we are wiser and
more fortunate; but for one I cannot, without a feeling of
admiration and even of gratitude, regard the toilsome progress and earnest endeavors of such a mind-of those ancient
thinkers, who broke out the path for all coming time, and
by their unrewarded toil earned for us the riches of a
better inheritance.  How true is it-what Xenophanes himself has said"Not from the first was all revealed by the gods unto mankind;
Only in time and by long search can man find out the better."
The th7eology of Xenophanes.  This, the principal thing
in his philosophy.  It was the doctrine of Xenophanes




ELEATIC  SCHOOL.                     47
that men can know nothing with certainty respecting the
gods. The anthropomorphic views of the Greeks he is
never weary of ridiculing.  If cattle could paint, horses
would describe the gods as so many horses, and oxen as so
many oxen.
" Men foolishly think that gods are born like as men are,
And have, too, a dress like their own and their voice and their figure;
But if oxen and lions had hands, like ours, and fingers,
Then would horses like unto horses, and oxen to oxen,
Paint and fashion their god-forms, and give to them bodies
Of like shape to their own, as they themselves, too, are fashioned."
Thus it is, he says, that the Ethiopians represent their
deities as having flat noses and black faces, while the
Thracians picture theirs with blue eyes and ruddy complexions.
What view, then, will Xenophanes take of the Deity?
Surrounded with mysteries, and oppressed with doubts,
how will he solve the great problem of existence? The
physiological method of the Ionians, the mathematical theory
of the Italian school, seemed to him neither of them to have
solved the great problem, How came this great universe to
be where and what it is? who and what is that invisible
mysterious power or being that men call God?  On this he
pondered much, and reached at last a solution. Casting
his eyes on the immensity of the heavens, he said that unity
was God (Arist. Metaph. i. 5).  The expression, God is a
sphere, has also been attributed to him, though with doubtful authority. This has been differently explained by various
critics. Some, as Cousin, Renouvier, and others, regard the
expression as 9netahoerical merely, to denote the perfection
of deity, an idea for which he could find no better expression or symbol than the sphere, a perfect figure complete
in itself, equal throughout, and one. Ritter, and also Krug,
however give it quite a different interpretation; suppose
that by this expression, he intends to denote the entire
unity of the material and the intellectual; the world and




48              ELEATIC SCHOOL.
God, as one and the same being, and made use-of the sphere
as a symbol of this identity.  Lewes interprets it of the
literal firmament: "Overarching him was the deep blue
infinite vault, immovable, unchangeable, embracing him and
all things; that his heart proclaimed to be God. As Thales
had gazed abroad upon the sea, and felt that he was resting
on its infinite bosom, so Xenophanes gazed above him at the
sky, and felt that he was encompassed by it. Moreover, it
was a great mystery, inviting, yet defying scrutiny. The
sun and moon whirled to and fro through it, the stars were'pinnacled dim in its intense inane.' The earth was constantly aspiring to it in shape of vapor, the souls of men
were perpetually aspiring to it with vague yearnings. It
was the centre of all existence. It was existence itself. It
was the One, the immovable, in whose bosom the many
were moved."
The view according to which the sphere is a mere symbol or metaphor to denote the perfection and unity of God.
seems to me not only the far higher and nobler, but the
one more accordant with the general spirit and tenor of the
teachings of Xenophanes. Clearly enough, he holds the
Deity, whether one with nature and the material world
or not, to be self-existent, intelligent, eternal, one and
not many, all-powerful, all-wise (Arist. de Xenoph. c. 3;
Cic. Acad. ii. 37; Sext. Emp. iyp. Pyrr. i. 225; iii. 218;
Adv. Math. vii. 49, viii. 326; Diog. L. ix. 19). This
being —such is his language-" sees all, hears all, one God
alone; of gods and men the greatest, like mortals neither in
figure nor mind, who without knowing fatigue directs all
by the power of intelligence, all vision, all cognizance, all
hearing." This deity is not begotten, for how can he be
born of his equal? how of his unequal? If not born, he
cannot perish, since he is independent, and by himself.
He is negatively defined as being neither finite nor infinite;
not finite, for one thing can be limited only by another,
which implies plurality, but as the deity is one, there is no




ELEATIC  SCHOOL.                  49
such limitation; not infinite, because non-being alone, as
having neither beginning, middle, nor end, is infinite, but
God is being and so not infinite. He is neither movable
nor immovable, for the same reasons, one thing can only be
moved by another, and God is one, not many, hence not
movable; yet not immovable, for non-beiny alone is immovable. In a word, the Deity of Xenophanes is the one
eternal being, self-equal, always the same, without beginning, without end, without change. Truly a grand conception for the unaided reason of any man to form of the
Deity.
The leading features of the theology of Xenophanes seem
to be these two: the importance which he attaches to the
idea of Divine unity, the one all; the impossibility of
forming adequate conceptions of such a being, of fully
comprehending him, of defining him otherwise than by
negatives, since we know what he is not rather than what he
is. There was a tendency to scepticism in Xenophanes, as
manifested in that portion of his theology just named. He
doubted rather than assented; could not say positively that
such things were so and so, but could only deny that they
were so and so; was cautious in affirming, bold only in questioning. Nor was this manifest alone in his theology, where
certainly it is a quality not out of place, but extended to all
human knowledge. "IHe was the first," says Lewes, "who
confessed the impotence of reason to compass the wide,
exalted aims of philosophy.... He was a great, earnest
spirit struggling after truth, and as he obtained a glimpse of
her celestial countenance he proclaimed his discovery, how
ever it might contradict what he had before announced.
Long travel, various experience, examination of different
systems, new and contradictory glimpses of the problem he
was desirous of solving, produced in his mind a scepticism
of a noble, somewhat touching sort, wholly unlike that of
his successors. It was the combat of contradictory opinions
in his mind, rather than disdain of knowledge. His faith
3




50               ELEATIC SCHOOL.
was steady, his opinions vacillating.  He had a profound
conviction of the existence of an eternal, all-wise, infinite
Being, but this belief he was unable to reduce to a consistent formula. There is a deep sadness in these verses:
" Certainly no mortal yet knew, and ne'er shall there be one,'Knowing both well, the gods, and the All, whose nature we treat of;
For when by chance he, at times, may utter the true and the perfect,
He wists not unconscious; for error is spread over all things  "
The great advance of philosophy under his auspices,
thinks Ritter, is the recognition, more or less distinct in all
his teachings, of the opposition between pure truth and its
sensible manifestation.  Yet we are not to conclude that he
rejected all phenomena, all nature, as semblance merely, but
only that he distrusted the knowledge thus obtained, sought
something more certain and more valuable, sought through
the sensible and through nature to get a glimpse of the
eternal truth, and through the imperfect revelation which
the material world affords, to reach the domain of pure,
infinite, and unknown reality.
In his natural philosophy or cosmology, he admits the
existence of the four elements as concerned in the production of the universe, viz., earth, air, fire, and water.  He
denies, strictly speaking, the production or beginning of all
being; these elements are eternal, then, but by combination
forms are produced, transitory, perishable, such as the earth,
and the human race. Nothing can be produced out of
nothing or non-being. Being, then, cannot begin to be.
It must always have been. It may pass through various
forms and modifications, however, and these are the manifold phenomena of nature. He holds that the petrifactions
found in the strata of the earth, as in the mines and marble
quarries, etc., show that the sea once covered the land, and
and that land and water are probably changing places (So
Hippolytus adv. Hereticos, i. 12).




ELEATIC S C HO -OL.                 1
2. —PARMENIDES,
The doctrines advanced in the germ by Xenophanes,
we find more fully developed in Parmenides. According
to Ritter, who follows a statement of Plato, he must have
been born somewhere about Olympiad 65, or 520 B.C. Commonly regarded as disciple of Xenophanes; may have been
so in his youth. At least he derived his doctrines from
him. He was of noble family; of wealth; in early life
probably given to pleasure, from which he was diverted by
Diocheetes to the pursuits of calm philosophy. H/e took an
active part in the political affairs of his native city, and
framed for it a code of laws so wise and admirable that the
citizens for a time yearly renewed an oath to abide forever
by them. Plato and Aristotle make honorable mention of
Parmenides and his doctrines as important in philosophy.
The chief peculiarity of his doctrine is this: His open
war upon the evidence of sense, and his exaltation of reason
above ideas derived from  sense.  The former gives only
belief, opinion; the latter, truth and certainty (Arist.
Met. i. 5; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. viii. 3; Diog. Laert. ix.
22). This doctrine was shadowed forth in Xenophanes,
but not clearly laid down as the basis of a system.
The principal work of Parmenides is a poem entitled
"Nature," which opens by a well-conceived allegory illustrative of the soul's longing after truth.  Virgins, daughters
of the sun, conduct the ardent poet to the midst of the realm
of ether, to the gates of day, to the very depths of the
divine secrets. There Dike, the goddess, dwells, who promises to reveal to him absolute truth, and also the uncertain
opinions of mortals; these he is not to follow, not to be led
by customary opinion.  Opinion is uncertain, unreliable,
follows the rash eye, and ear confused with ringing sounds,
and tongue.
The centre or starting point of Parmenides' system is




52                E LEATIC  SC H OOL.
not the notion of God, but that of being, in which, however, he means to include God. He starts with a more
general idea than that of personal intelligence, or even
intelligence of any kind, with that of being itself in its wide
range.  This is znity with him.
His fundamental position is this: "All is, non-entity is
not;" i. e., there is no such thing possible as non-entity.
To affirm  that non entity is, is a contradiction in terms.
Mark the dialectic subtlety of this argument.  " That
which is not is inconceivable, unknowable, cannot be expressed in words."  You cannot therefore affirm  its existence.  You can only think of it and speak of it as not being.
Of course, then, nonentity is not, and of course, if so, then
Being is. Syllogistically stated, the argument, if I understand it, would run thus: Either there is not being, or else
being.  Now there is not, and can not be, not-being; therefore there is being. From this point, the system moves on
triumphantly to its conclusions. Being, thus established,
of course is uncreated and unchangeable; has no beginning,
no ending, no change of existence, no parts or differences,
all being is one and the same thing, fills all space, limited
only by itself.
"Whole and self-generate, unchangeable, illimitable,
Never was nor yet shall be its birth. All is already
One from eternity; what would you make its origin, and whence
Its increase? Not from what was not.
For say what need impelled it
Sooner or later to commence its being, and from naught arise?"
(Fragments of Poem on Nature, in collection of Fillerborn, Arist. Met. i. 5. ii. 4; Phys. i. 2; Plutarch de Plac.
Phil. i. 24; Sext. Emp. Hyp. Pyrr. iii. 65. adv. Math. x. 46.)
Being is, moreover, identical with unity. All being is
one, not several and many. All is full of being. The
relations of time and space are disregarded and set aside by
this idea of being; merged in the idea of the eternal unity
or All. The being thus established, then, is single, identi



ELEATIC  SCHOOL.                    53
cal always with itself, neither is born, nor dies, indestructible, indivisible. Like a sphere, it is perfect, embraces all,
yet has its own limits maintained by the force of necessity.
This being has no motion, but only eternal rest.  What
seems to us change and motion is merely a delusive appearance. There is no such reality.
The all is identical with thought and intelligence; for
being is one; and thought is being, since it exists, and
nothing but being does exist. Thought and being, then,
are one; thought and knowledge are identical. The fulness of
all being is thought.  The intellectual insight is only the
expression of what is. (See Poem on Nature, verses 45, 46,
88-91.)  Ritter supposes it certain that by being Parmenides understood that eternal essence which is the sole cause
and ground of all things.
Ritter also considers this referring of all to the highest
notion of pure metaphysics-that of being, as in itself a
dialectic progress far beyond all preceding systems.
Parmenides did not reject all human opinions nor all
evidence of the senses. He recognized all truth as one.
But appearances were many and changeable, and beneath
these lay veiled the divine truth and being, though concealed
from man.
His view  of man was a sad and gloomy one.  He
regarded him as a miserable and most imperfect being.
His theory of the earth was mechanical.  Two opposite
elements-light and darkness-mix and compose the world.
From the mixture of fire and earth, water and air arise.
The earth he places in the centre, spherical, rotating, surrounded by various rings.  The upper one is of fire, the
lower one of darkness. The earth lies midway between the
two, and is therefore imperfect.
Souls are driven hither, into this dark, imperfect abode
and state of being, by stern necessity. Thus they become
separated from the universal being.
The seat of the soul is in the stonmach, and the various




54              ELEATIC  SCHOOL.
degrees of intelligence in different persons correspond to
the variations of heat and cold in the body, or the elements
of light and darkness.
The warnmer persons are the more intelligent ones.
Woman is in this respect more perfect than man, and was
brought into existence in the sunny south. Man in the
colder north.
~ 3. —ZENO OF ELEA.
Not to be confounded with Zeno the Stoic. One of the
most distinguished of the ancient philosophers; great in
action as well as in thought. Born in the 69th or, as some
say, in the 71st Olympiad, in either case about 500 B. c.,
perhaps 496. The pupil and friend, and, as some say, the
adopted son of Parmenides. Early life devoted to study and
contemplation; learned to think more highly of intellectual
pleasures than of wealth, or sensual gratifications, or political honors; yet not a misanthrope. Lived and labored for
the good of his fellow-citizens and of his country, yet
declined those honors with which they would have rewarded
him. An ardent lover of his country. He lived at a
period when Greece was everywhere awaking to consciousness of her political bondage, and rousing herself to throw
off the Persian yoke and to found national institutions on
liberty.
In this struggle Zeno shared; one of the bravest and
most resolute spirits of the age. Implicated in a conspiracy
against the tyrant of Flea, he was captured and put to the
torture. Interrogated by Nearchus as to his accomplices,
he throws the tyrant into great suspense and fear by'naming
all the courtiers; reproaches the spectators for consenting to
be slaves to such a man, bites off his tongue and spits it in
the tyrant's face, and raises the populace to such a pitch
of excitement that they fall upon the tyrant and slay him.
According to some accounts, Zeno was pounded to death
in a huge mortar. Zeno seems to have been a peculiarly




ELEATIC  SCHOOL.                     55
shrewd and acute thinker and reasoner, well fitted to
trouble antagonists, to attack or defend; not so well fitted
to discover the solid foundations of truth. His distinctions
are subtle, and often fallacious, and his arguments in some
degree sophistic, yet always serious and earnest; not a
quibbler, not a sophist.
Aristotle considers him the inventor of dialectics, inasmuch as he starts from acknowledged and received principles, and reasons onward from these to his conclusions.
The system which Zeno maintains is essentially that of
Parmenides. Xenophanes had originated it; Parmenides
had given it shape and precision; Zeno defends it from
attack, and manfully does battle for it against its adversaries. He is a skilful fighter, and the favorite weapon with
him is the reductio ad absurdum.*  Plato has well defined
the relation of Zeno to the Eleatic philosophy, when he says
that the master established the existence of the one and the
disciple proved the non-existence of the many.  The doctrine of Parmenides reduced the universe to unity.  Zeno
shows that this is true by showing the opposite not to
be possible, that nultiplicity is not and cannot be true
(Plato, Parmenides, p. 73-'75; Phaedrus, iii. 261; Simplicius
adArist. Phys. 30).  This he does bymanyarguments. He
employs the mode of question and answer, on the dialogistic
method, afterwards so skilfully used by Socrates. Zeno
was the first io perceive the advantage of this method in
polemic reasoning.
Like all the Eleatics, he goes strongly against the credibility of the phenomena of sense, and of the conceptions
thus formed; labors to show that all such conceptions, as
ordinarily formed, are exceedingly doubtful and to be dis* For a more favorable view of Zeno, see Butler's Hist. Phil. i.,
335-6. Butler supposes that Zeno argues as he does, merely to show
that the theory of a real sensible world is open to as many objections
as his opponents urge against the rationalists, that he was no idle
and vain disputer, etc.




56               ELEATIC  SCHOOL.
trusted; denies the reality of sensible appearances, however, rather than the appearances themselves, argues particularly against space, and motion in space, as being only
delusions of sense.
The chief points of his reasoning against the supposed
multiplicity of things are these three. 1, That, according
to that theory, a thing must be like and yet unlike itself;
2, both one and many; 3, at rest and yet in motion.
Under the first of these he instances, to show how deceptive are sensible phenomena, the case of a grain of wheat
falling (Arist. Phys. vii. 5). Would it make a noise? No,
replies Protagoras. Would a bushel? Yes. Is not a
grain a certain definite part of a bushel? Yes. Ought it
not, then, to make just such a part of the noise? Silence
on the part of Protagoras; Zeno has him.  What says
anybody to this? Why, of course, that the senses are not
sufficiently accurate to give information as to all things that
are; not that they, so far as they go, are not reliable.
Under the second argument, he denies space itself, the
conception of existence in space. If all that is, said he,
must be in space, and if space is, then space itself must
be in some other space, and that space again in some other,
and so on ad infinitum. This is absurd. Therefore, space
is not a reality (So Aristotle, Phys. iv. 3, 5; Simplic. in
Phys. 130). What say we to that bright thought? Simply
this space does not exist as a substance, an entity.
So far Zeno was in the right. But it does exist as a conception of the human mind, and a necessary law or mode of
its thought.  It is not set aside therefore by the above
reasoning, which applies only to substance, or material
entity.
Analogous to this is his subtle reasoning to show that,
on the theory of multiplicity, every individual existence
must be infinitely great; since made up of infinite parts,
each one having an assignable magnitude of its own; yet
infinitely small, also, since each part is infinitely small, and




ELEATIC  SCHOOL.                     57
the multiplicity of infinitely small things can result only in
the infinitely small.  The third part of his reasoning, in
which he argues against the possibility of motion (Arist.
Phys. vi. 9, 14), is sustained by the following arguments:
1. If a body moves, before it can reach the end of the
supposed distance over which it passes, it must first, of
course, pass the middle point. If it has an inch to move,
it must first reach the half-inch point before it reaches the
whole distance; and before it can move that half-inch it
must move to a point just half that distance, and so ad
infinitum.  Whatever be the distance to be accomplished,
it must first get over half of it, before it can get over the
whole.  The consequence is, you can never get the thing
to stir at all.  There is no motion.  Q. E. D.
2. The celebrated argument about the race of Achilles
and the tortoise; the tortoise having the start of 1000 feet,
but Achilles moving ten paces to one of the tortoise.
Achilles can never overtake the tortoise, says Zeno; for
while he travels the 1000 paces, tortoise makes 100; and
while he is running these, tortoise makes 10 more, and so
on ad infinitum.  Philosophers from  Aristotle down to
Hobbes and John Stuart Mill, have puzzled themselves to
point out just where the fallacy lies in this argument.
That a fallacy is there, all agree, but just what it is, appears not-quite so plain.  It is a sufficient answer to say,
with Mill and iobbes and also with Aristotle, that time as
well as space can be divided up in this way, and yet a finite
time, say 5 minutes, may cover the whole transaction, just
as a finite space, say 2,000 paces, covers the whole distance.
3. Motion and rest are one.  For every object filling
space rests in that space, and what we call motion is only
the sum of the several spaces between the first and the last,
and as the body is at rest in each one of these, so long as
it is there, of course it is at rest all the way and all the
while.  So no motion.  Q. E. D.  Zeno takes essentially
the same view of nature with Parmenides.  Four elements,
3*




58               ELEATIC  SCHOOL.
the warm, the cold, the dry, the moist, and a moving force
regulating all, viz., necessity.  The soul is a compound, he
said, of the four elements. The system tends strongly
to scepticism, and results in it finally. He was not a
Sophist, however, but only distinguished sharply between
sense-knowledge and the higher knowledge of thought
(So Fries and Tennemann).  His doctrine of God is this.
God is eternal and one, not composed of parts, hence uniform, and in figure spherical. Zeno is the founder and first
teacher of logic (So Sext. Emp. adv. Math. vii. 7; Diog.
Laert. ix. 25).
~ 4.-EMPEDOCLES
Born at Agrigentum in Sicily, a Dorian colony, about
84 Olymp. according to Ritter, i. e., 444 B. c.; of wealthy
family; commonly called a Pythagorean, but incorrectly;
some resemblance between his doctrines and those of Pythagoras, but not essential; more properly Eleatic. Supposed in his early travels to have visited Italy and Athens.
Fable attributes to him marvellous cures, control of tempests
and of pestilence, and a death not according to the laws of
nature. Evidently regarded by antiquity as a marvellous
man and a wonder-worker; makes pretension to more than
human knowledge, clothes himself in purple, cincture of
brass, crown of gold, train of admiring worshippers; announces himself as immortal, the priest and favorite of the
gods, himself in part divine. These pretensions, supported
by really great skill as naturalist and philosopher, as well
as medical practitioner, gave him unbounded control over the
superstitious reverence of the age. He was even worshipped
as a god, it would seem, on some occasions. Strictly ascetic
in his habits and doctrines, however, so far from a selfish
use of power and wealth, he seems to have despised all
human distinctions and emoluments while possessing the
highest, and refused to accept the supreme power offered
him by his native city. Distinguished by his liberality,




ELEATIC SCHOOL.                       59
patriotism, intellectual endowments, he seems altogether
a remarkable man.  Death uncertain, probably  suicidal;
fabled to have perished in Jtina.
Principal work, that is known to be genuine, and of
which fragments  are still extant, the three books  on
"Nature," an epic poem, like the didactic verses of Parmenides. Adopted the poetic form probably as most elevated, and in keeping with the priestly and prophetic character.  This of course would not recommend it to Aristotle,
who, with little taste. for the poetical and little appreciation
for the mystic and ideal elements in philosophy, objects to
this work, its entire absence of logical reasonings. The
poem appeals, like all poems, to the gods and muses.
" And thou, I beg, much mindful muse, white-armed virgin,
Grant me to know whate'er befits the creature of a day."
It is only through the intellect, he continues, by means of
the senses, that the truth can be arrived at; not by the
senses, but only by the right reason can it be known, which'
(right reason) is partly human, partly divine. The work
complains everywhere of the limited extent and uncertainty
of human knowledge.
" Swift fated and conscious how brief is life's pleasureless portion,
Like the wind-driven smoke they are carried backward and forward,
Each trusting to naught save what his experience vouches,
On all sides disturbed: yet wishing to find out the whole truth.
In vain; neither by eye nor ear perceptible to man,
Nor to be grasped by mind: and thou, when thus thou hast wandered,
Wilt find that no further reaches the knowledge of mortals."
-RITTER'S VERSION.
This prominent ascription of human frailty and ignorance to the fault of the senses and generally to the imperfection of the cognitive faculty in man, is the peculiar philosophy of the Eleatic school, and fixes Empedocles among
that class.
"But consider each thing, with measure, according as it is evident,
And have no more confidence in a sensation of sight than of hearing,




60               ELEATIC SCHOOL.
Or in the ear than in the manifestations of the tongue,
Or in all other things wherein the way for the thought
Is in the members. Withhold thy faith. Think only what is evident."
-RENOUVIER'S TRAN SLATION.
Empedocles distinguishes between the divine and human
knowledge the former is that of Deity, and is inexpressible,
as is God himself.  He inveighs against the common and
unworthy notions of God entertained in mythology.
" Happy he who possesses the treasures of the thought divine,
Unhappy he who rests not satisfied with the shadowy conception
which one has of the gods.
It is not possible to see him with the eyes nor to take him with the
hands,
Which is the principal method of persuasion for the heart of man.
A human head serves not gracefully his members,
Two branches hang not from his shoulders,
Nor with feet-nor legs-nor having sexual members;
But an understanding sacred, ineffable, exists
Which traverses the entire world with its rapid thoughts."
-RENOUVIER'S VERSION.
According to Ritter, he differs from  the Eleatic in not
making prominent the negative part of this doctrine, which
represents God as indivisible, incorruptible, ingenerable,
etc., out of space and time, not dwelling upon and seeking
to find truth in the system of natural things.
Empedocles holds the oneness of all truth, like the other
Eleatue.  It is a ball in its unity.  It is a sphere, and hence
the sphere has been regarded as the deity of Empedocles.
a Thus within the secret bosom of harmony firm-fixed
Is the sphere, well rounded, in glad rest calmly rejoicing."
This unity is the work of and is ruled by love; is one
with it. Love is the only true force; has its seat in the
centre, and pervades all; the first cause which unites all
together; the one, the only ground of the universe; the
only entity. Thus he, with the other Eleat%, makes the
material principle and the active to be one and the same;




EL EATIC SCHOOL.                      61
not, like Anaxagoras, dist inct, but as Parmenides, with
whom the moving and the moved force are one, i. e., fire.
The complete knowledge of this unity, this mundane
whole, is indeed impossible. Yet to know this should be
the great object of human endeavor.
"Contemplate it in mind, nor sit with looks of amazementLove, which to the frame of man connatural is deemed,
Spring of their thoughts and deeds of love and kindly affection,
Which they invoke by name of joy and Aphrodite.
But it no eye has seen within the universe of things —
No mortal eye."
That is, according to Ritter, the knowledge is necessarily
imperfect, for man is a part of the whole, and cannot comprehend the whole; recognizing each element singly, but
not all in their unity; the true unity is known only to itself.
The sphere plays an important part in the philosophy
of Empedocles. Into it all things are combined by love,
without difference or distinction; they lead there a happy
life, replete with happiness and holiness.
"They know  no God of war nor spirit of battles."
Pure and bloodless sacrifices are there offered, and all is
peace and joy and love.
But this perfect harmony is disturbed by the principle
of hate, which comes in to break the unity and dissolve the
spell; produces separation, emanation, plurality, beings;
hence the sensible world and its phenomena, the world of
movement and of separate beings.  This movement of separation seems to be associated with crime, and to pertain to
only a portion of the whole; the human imperfection and
crime and misery are connected with it. Thus the following.
"This is the law of fate, of the Gods, an olden enactment
If with guilt or murder a spirit polluteth his members,
Of those who have obtained an existence enduring through ages,
Thrice ten thousand years must he wander apart from the blessed,
Hence doomed to stray a fugitive from gods and an outcast,
To raging strife submissive."




62               ELEATIC  SCHOOL.
The restless, disturbed life of men and things in this
world of strife and constant motion are strongly contrasted
with the blissful life in the sphere. Everything in this
world is spiritual, even material objects partake of reason
and knowledge, the elements are influenced by hate and
love. Having been separated and set in motion by hate,
they are no longer at rest, they are in perpetual conflict,
and hate all. Thus expressed is this unblessed life, this
conflict of the mundane,
"For the rage of the ethereal air seaward pursues it.
Sea spits it back on earth's shores and earth up to the brightness
Of the unwearied sun, who back to the eddies of ether
Rejects it: each receives it from each; all equally hate it."
This principle of hate is, like that of love, inherent in
things themselves; hence Aristotle objects that Empedocles leaves too much to chance.  He seems however to have
an idea of a higher principle, after all, uniting these two
opposites, love and hate, viz., destiny, on which all depends.
This separation and conflict is unnatural.  Hence things
strive, notwithstanding the inherent moving force of hate,
to regain unity, rest, the sphere. This may be attained by
purification, life of abstinence, avoiding the sources of
impurity and of hate, care not to shed the blood of any
living thing, entire consecration to a principle of love.
This perpetual restless movement of things gives rise to
different shapes and configurations of the separate elements.
They pass through changes continually; hence what is
called his doctrine of metempsychosis.  Man has been at one
time a plant, a bird, fish, a maiden, etc., that is, the elementary parts of his body have passed through all these changes.
The pious soul, duly purified and absolved, and having  expiated by the misery of its mundane being the
former guilt, enjoys after death a god-like existence.
" When, leaving this body, to the free ether thou comest
A God undying thou shalt be, no longer a mortal."
Love tends to combine and organize harmoniously these




ELEATIC SCHOOL.                       63
diverse and conflicting elements, and the world is under this
influence gradually progressing to a higher and more perfect
condition, toward unity and the sphere again, from the
imperfect toward the perfect. Thus Empedocles sought to
bring the existing evil to a good end.
He held to the existence of four elements: fire, air, sea,
earth, out of which all organic existence is produced.
Plants first produced by agency of fire and other elements,
before day and night were separated. Plants possess feeling, desire, reason, knowledge. These all the works of
love; to preside over the orderly composition of the element is the worki of love; to separate, that of hate.  The
world of hate is wholly subordinate to the world of love;
a minor affair, an exception to the general rule.
He holds that nothing can be created and nothing cease
to be. Thus:
"Fools to whom is not vouchsafed far-reaching insight,
Who think aught can begin to be which formerly was not,
Or that aught which is can perish and utterly decay."
" Another truth I now unfold-no natural birth
Is there of mortal things, nor death's destruction final;
Nothing is there but a mingling and then separation of mingled,
Which are called a birth and death by ignorant mortals."
"First know, four are the roots of all, and elements of things,
Fire, and water, and Earth, and Ether's measureless expanse;
For thence is all that is, or was, or ever shall be."
Of these elements he regarded fire as the chief. Our
knowledge of physical objects is through mechanical contact of bodies, certain effluxes from them passing off into
corresponding pores in the recipient body; and these
sense-impressions unite in the consciousness by means of
the conflux of blood to the heart. MIIan's advantages and
deficiencies are all owing to the ratio in which his blood is
compounded, hence too the superior dexterity of certain
members of the body.  Man however partakes of a divine




64                THE SOPH-ISTS.
knowledge far superior to this sensuous.  Hence he enjoins
on man to contemplate in his oivn mind thie God, love.  The
distinguishing excellence of this Eleatic theory is its first
attempt to correct sensible impressions by pure reason.  So
Ritter.  The resemblance of Hegel's theory to this of the
Eleatic, and especially of Empedocles, may be traced also in
Cousin. Fries traces a marked resemblance of the system
of Empedocles to the Pythagorean; (for a general view of
his system, see Arist. Met. i. 3, 4, ii. 4; Sext. Emp. adv.
Math. vii. 121, ix. 620, x. 317; Diog. L. viii. 76).
CHAPTER IV.
THE SOPHISTS
APPEARED at a later period, and may be regarded as
the natural result of the TIMES, not less than the preceding
schools of philosophers.  They have been greatly censured,
especially by the Socratic and Platonic schools; yet accomplished an important mission in the progress of philosophy
and the age.
g 1. —THE CAUSES WHICH PRODUCED THIS SCHOOL AND MADE IT
WHAT IT WAS.
I. The state of the country and the circumstances of
the age were such as to lead naturally to the formation of
such a school.  The different states of Greece were coming
into closer contact with each other.  Mind was quickened
by this. Trade brought men together; deeper interest
and more general was felt in science and learning;
these became more common property; demand for teachers
increased; demand for information manifold and various:
scientific thought, positive, tangible, practical information,
took the place of mere ideal and speculative thought.  The




THE  SOPHISTS.                   65
age became business-like, practical, stirring; men lost their
faith in the quaint old mythologies and theories, and asked
for something knowable.
The Sophists appeared and answered to this call-not
sophoi, but sophistai, teachers of wisdom-men who knew
a thing or two, and could let you into the secret forthwith.
An appearance of wisdom where there is none, is Aristotle's
idea of sophistry. A flippant, conceited, arrant position,
not without considerable erudition and real learning, but
specious rather than solid, communicative rather than reflective: men of action rather than investigation, men of
show and outside appearance rather than of sound learning and real faith; men for the age, made to order, and
who made knowledge and wisdom to order-men who philosophize for the sake of display or of gain, is Cicero's idea
of them. The great need of the time was not so much to
to know as to communicate what was known, the art of
talking-and these men had it to perfection, they were
rhzetores, speakers, and could in easy lessons teach you how
to hold forth eloquently upon any subject, whether it were
one that you understood or not, nay, it was their boast
that they could make the worse appear the better reason.
Subtle, skilful in words, acute in rhetoric, detecting differences where there were none, and overlooking them where
they really existed, it was their great art and profession to
mystify and confuse, to persuade men that they were walking on their heads or flying in the air when they were all
the while on their feet.
The age of faith and earnestness had gone, hollow pretence took the place of it. How different the thought of
those men from that of the great, honest, earnest Ionians, Thales, Anaximander, etc., groping after the solution of
their great problem, or rejoicing in the belief that they had
found it. These men had no faith in anything; they were
sceptics, downright atheists mostly; to doubt, disbelieve,
prove the contrary from  the impossibility of believing,




66                THE  SOPHISTS.
ridicule you for having ever believed anything-this was
their vocation.
They grew out of the preceding systems of philosophy not less than from the circumstances of the age. All
these systems had been one-sided and imperfect. Ritter
develops this idea with great justness. They had been exclusive, and, when pushed to their results, landed in absurdities. They were unsatisfactory attempts to grasp the true,
the infinite, the unknown-but failures; and gradually
the mind began, after so many vain attempts, to sink
down in the conviction that nothing was knowable, and
nothing attainable, nay, perhaps, nothing true even;
began to lose confidence in all knowledge. This was precisely the sceptical tendency of the age, which resulted in,
and gave birth to the Sophists as a sect. They were the
full development and expression of this latent tendency,
and did in time much to promote it.
Those earlier systems of philosophy also had themselves
really done much to weaken the faith in the popular myths
and superstitions of the age; had cultivated the spirit of
inquiry, of scientific thought, before which, little by little,
the popular faith in the gods, and stories pertaining to the
gods, had melted away and dried up; and men were ready
now to inquire further, Since these old traditions are not
true; are even absurd, who will tell us what is true? Nay, is
not the whole thing a humbug? With this, of course,
not religious belief alone would be undermined, but morality and general honesty. Such was the case, and when the
Sophists came upon the stage, and began to teach, that all
things were about equally credible and equally useful and
true; in other words, that nothing was so, and nothing was
of any consequence in itself, save only for appearance sake
and the gain to come of it; that virtue and religion and
morality were creations of the state, fictions of the human
mind, useful but unreal-they found ready listeners. They
carried out the rationalistic and sceptical tendencies of the




THE  SOPHISTS.                       67
prevalent philosophy to its extreme. They showed the
folly and utter failure of the preceding methods, and so
prepared the way for a sounder and a wholly different philosophy.  Hence they acted a most important part in the
progress of thought. It was necessary that there should be
Sophists, and it was time that they should be then. They
were as essential to the establishment of a true wisdom and
a true philosophy in the world, as night is to sunrise.*
~ 2.-THE DISTINGUISHING  TENETS OF THE SCHOOL AND ITS
PERSONAL HISTORY.
In general, as already intimated, the Sophists were sceptics: no faith in anything; none in truth, none in facts
and the sensible world, none in man, none in God; hollowhearted, of course-men of words not of things, dialectic,
rhetorical, subtle, false. Maintained boldly and specifically
these two leading positions: the uncertainty of all particular truths and, in fact, the imnpossibility of all truth.
The two leading names in the school are Protagoras
and Gorgias.  The first, born at Abdera about 485 or 486,
died about 415 B. c. Common fame makes him a disciple
of Democritus, but this is without evidence.  Most accomplished of the Sophists; gives lessons in rhetoric in Athens
and Sicily; gives lessons also in polity and citizenship. IHe
proceeds always on the principle that of every proposition
the contrary may be advanced and maintained, if one has
the ability and skill to do it; and that of the two propositions, one is about as true and about as good as the other.
"His doctrine tends to deny," says Ritter, "the possi* Lewes defends the Sophists against the usual charges, on the
ground that the state would never have tolerated such teachings, and
therefore they did not so teach, he infers. So Grote. But the evidence is too strong to be thus set aside. For genera] estimate of
Sophists see Arist. de Soph. Elench. c. i; Cicero, Acad. ii. 23, 25;
Xenophon, Memorabilia i. 6; Ueberweg, i. 73; Butler, Hist. Phil
vol. i. p. 340-345).




68                 THE  SOPHISTS.
bility of anything objective being represented by thought,
and consequently to make all thought a mere appearance."
According to him, nothing is, in itself, by itself, but only
sustains a certain relation to some other thing.  The relation is the only existence.  Man is the measzure of all things
(Plato, Theaet. ii. 68; Diog. L. ix. 51; Arist. Met. x. 6; Sext.
Emp. iHyp. Pyrr. i. 216-219), of being and of non-being.
By which, says Ritter, he intended that to every one things
are in the relation in which they appear, that to every one
that presentation is true which he frames for himself.  This
of course destroys the universality of all propositions. Every
thought is true for him who entertains it, and of course
you cannot contradict any opinion or position whatsoever.
Thought is only the relation of the thinker to the thing;
thought of, and the thinking subject, the soul itself, is only
the sum of the different moments or acts of thinking. Of
course this resolves all thought into mere sensation, and
makes sensuous impressions the only realities; things are
cold or hot, not at all in themselves, but only as they seem
so to us. He denies of course, then, all science, and boldly
attacks geometry even as false. There is no such thing as
the circle and the straight line, nor is it true that the
circle, as imagined, touches the tangent in only one point.
He is said to have maintained the general opinion that everything is true of everything, no difference of true and false
(Plato, Theaet. 89, 90, 102; Sext. Emp. Adv. Math. vii. 60;
Cic. Acad. ii. 46; Diog. L. ix. 51, 53), and that nothing
is one thing rather than another. Query, if so, then what
becomes of his denial of geometrical propositions? —and
why does he teach at all, if nothing is true?
While Protagoras was pushing the Ionian philosophy of
sensationalism to its utmost extreme, Gorgias the Leontine,
a still bolder and more shameless Sophist, carried the Eleatic
doctrine also to the very farthest limit, and landed in absolute nihilism.  He was, according to tradition, the disciple
of Empedocles; flourished about 88th Olympiad, i. e., 428




T  E  SOPHISTS.                     69
B. C. (born about 483, died about 375); famous as rhetorician; acquired wealth, died in old age; style florid, pompous, adorned, wordy, cold; principal strength lay in antithesis; boasted that he could speak extempore on any subject, and answer briefly or at length any question that might
be put to him. As teacher of youth, he confined himself
chiefly to oratory, and laughed at those who professed to
teach virtue, of which he expressed his contempt. Wrote
a work on non-being.  These three positions (Sext. Emp.
adv. Math. vii. 65-86; Arist. de Xenoph. Zeno and Gorgias,
c. 5, 6): 1. Nothing is.  2. If anything is, it cannot be
known.  3. If it can, it cannot be imparted to others.
Argues thus in favor of the first position: Being is either
that which is, or that which is not, or that which is
and is not both at once; the two last are contradictions. Being then, is that which is. But this is impossible, for it must be, in that case, either produced or
eternal; if the latter, then infinite, in which case it cannot
exist in another, for the infinite admits of no superior; nor
yet in itself, for that is to make it at once both substance and place; so then it cannot exist at all. If being
be supposed, however, not eternal but produced, then it
owes its birth either to being or to non-being not to being,
for that is the very thing in question, and of course could
not produce anything before it existed; not to non-being,
for non-being cannot produce since it does not exist. Is
being, then, at once begotten and eternal? No, for this is
self-contradictory. Since then it is neither begotten nor
eternal nor both together, evidently it is not at all.  In
other words, nothing exists, since neither being exists, nor
non-being, nor yet both at once.
Second proposition.  If something exists, it is incomprehensible. He shows that in order for being to be comprehended, thought must itself be being, else being could
not be an object of thought, i. e., be comprehended.  If the
object is white, the conception of it must be white also.




70                THE  SOPHISTS.
If, however, all thought is being, then everything which
we think, (is true)-exists.  Which is absurd.  Therefore
being is incomprehensible.  Another argument, also.  If
that which we think, exists, then what does not exist cannot be thought, for the contrary of being is non-being, and
if being is thought, then non-being should be not thought.
But this is absurd.  If there is such a thing as being, then,
it is incomprehensible, that is, incapable of being thought.
Third position. Being, if it exists and can be known,
is incommunicable. Words are not things, objects, but
only signs to express them. What one sees, for instance,
is not audible, and cannot be imparted to the ear. Discourse differs in its nature from other sensible things,
and can no more indicate what is foreign to itself than
things themselves can indicate each other's nature. The
object begets the discourse, but the discourse expresses not
the object. Nor can one hearer think the same as another,
for the same can not be at once in two differentplaces.*
This of course assumes that the sensuously perceptible
is the true, the standard; and that cognoscible truth is a
matter of sensible experience. Here lies the fallacy of the
whole. The reasoning of course strikes at the validity and
reality of all intellectual knowledge.  The contrast between
sensation and reason is made use of to show the nothingness
of the latter, just as Zeno had used it to show the futility
of the former.
The dogmas of Protagoras and of Gorgias-all thought
is knowledge, and no thought is knowledge-tend ultimately
to the same thing, i. e., that in thought is no recognition
of real being, but only a representation of the phenoimenal;
that there is no objective reality corresponding to the conceptions of the mind.  The doctrine of Protagoras and
* The distinction between the thought and the thing thought of,
and also between the thought and the word which expresses that
thought, is first brought to view in these three positions of Gorgias,
as Tennemann and Krug have both remarked.




THE  SOPHISTS.                   71
Gorgias as to God is that his existence very doubtful. Protagoras said he did not know whether the gods existed or
not; the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of his
life prevented (Diog. L. ix. 51; Plato Theaet. 92; Sext.
Emp. adv. Math. ix. 56, 57; Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 12, 29).
The Sophists were of great use in philosophy. How?
They first called attention distinctly to the subjective
phase of being-the mind itself; whereas only objective had
been all the previous systems. They showed that nothing
can be done till we settle the questions respecting the
nature and origin of our own cognitions and impressions,
draw the distinguishing line between sense and intellect
more clearly than before; and called attention to that important distinction. They taught men to doubt, and so
made them more cautious ultimately in philosophizing.
They showed how barren and worthless any and all
philosophy, that recognizes not validity of moral distinctions,
and how dangerous to the welfare of man and the state.
They prepared the way, in fine, for that star in the
East, that was soon to arise upon the human mind-the
doctrines, the life, the character of Socrates.








PERIOD SECOND.
SOCRATIC.
THE preceding period is properly but an introduction to
this. The true philosophic method and spirit now begin.
Preceding thinkers have but prepared the way for the rise
and development of the true philosophy.  At first, man
is occupied chiefly with external nature, "the root and
source," says Ritter, " of all intellectual life." He identifies
himself with the universe around him, and his science is the
science of universal nature. Thus the Ionian philosopher.
This, however, does not long content him. He observes in
himself what he finds nowhere else-the faculty of reason;
evidently, the more he considers it, not a physical power,
but one peculiar to himself. There is no longer, then, a
complete agreement between himself and the powers of
nature; his faith in this identity, in the agreement of
the two, is shaken. The ethical and the physical begin
to be distinguished. He can advance only by entering a
new path, and recognizing the new elements, reason and
morality. Otherwise he must make war upon this new
principle and put down both reason and morals, making
nature alone the arbiter.  This the Sophists sought to
do, "to show that reason is in fact nothing but a power
of nature and that might makes right." This of course
will never succeed for any time, for it is violence to the
nature of man.  It will open the way and create the
demand for a new and better philosophy-that of reason,
4




74                   SOCRATES.
that of morals.  Thus, precisely, it was that the mind in
its search for truth, and some positive science of itself,
wondered and toiled in that first period already considered.
Thus far precisely had it advanced up to the time of Socrates. A new era now opened on it, a new and golden age
of philosophic inquiry.  It was now to enter on a better
path, pursue a better method, and arrive at better results.
General Czaracter of this Period. —It is commonly regarded as emphatically ethical, in distinction from the preceding. In one sense it is so. That is, it brought distinctly
forward that element which had no place in the sophistical
and physical reasonings of the preceding period-the moral.
But it was not moral exclusively. It embraced a higher
range of thought; and by dialectical investigation sought
to give completeness and perfection to science by making
it comprehend both nature and reason.  This was the true
characteristic of the Socratic philosophy. This perception
of the unity of science, this comprehensive grasp of all
knowledge as essentially one, this recognition of the human
consciousness of one's self in thinking, is found in none of
the earlier schools, and constitutes the peculiar character
and value of this period.
CHAPTER I.
SOCRATES.
A 1.-LIFE OF SOCRATES.
IT has been well remarked by Ritter, that his scientific
influence is dependent very much on his individual life
and character. The fact that his disciples recorded so
many personal traits of the man, shows that he impressed
them, not by his doctrines alone, but by his life, and that
he stamped his entire image on their minds. He was not a
philosopher alone, but a man; and it was the man, quite




SOCRATES.                      75
as much as the philosopher, that remained in the minds
and hearts of those who had once seen and heard him.
He was the son of humble parents, Sophroniscus, a
statuary, and Phmnarete, a midwife; born about 469 B. C.
and educated as an artist or statuary, with probably at first
few literary advantages. Athens was, however, at that
time the intellectual centre of Greece, and thither flocked
all who had aught to communicate in letters, art, science,
or philosophy. Socrates availed himself of these opportunities to cultivate the acquaintance of the most distinguished teachers of whatever science or art; took lessons
in mvusic, which through life he continued to cultivate;
became proficient even in the physical sciences of astronomy and geography-to which, however, he allowed but a
secondary rank and importance-and seems, in fact, to
have neglected no branch of learning. It was the age of
Pericles, and no Athenian youth, thirsting for knowledge,
was denied.
Like Descartes, the founder of modern philosophy,
Socrates was at one time a soldier. As such he distinguished himself for endurance of the hard life of the camp,
and for personal bravery.
Plato has left us a fine description of the military life
of Socrates.  " At one time we " (Alcibiades and Socrates)
"were fellow soldiers, and had our mess together in the
camp before Potidma.  Socrates there overcame, not only
me, but every one besides, in endurance of toils; when, as
often happens in a campaign, we were reduced to few provisions, there were none who could sustain hunger like
Socrates, and when we had plenty, he alone seemed to enjoy our military fare. He never drank much, willingly; but
when he was compelled, he conquered all even in that to
which he was least accustomed, and what is most astonishing,
no person ever saw Socrates drunk, either then or at any
other time. In the depth of winter-and the winters there
are excessively rigid-he sustained calmly incredible hard



76                   SOCRATES.
ships; and among other things, while the frost was intolerably severe, and no one went out of their tents, or if they
went out, wrapped themselves up carefully, and put fleeces
under their feet, and bound their legs with hairy skins,
Socrates went out only with the same cloak on that he
usually wore, and walked barefoot upon the ice, more easily
indeed than those who had sandalled themselves so delicately; so that the soldiers thought he did it to mock
their want of fortitude... In one instance he was
seen early in the morning standing in one place rapt in
meditation, and as he seemed hot to be able to unravel the
subject of his thoughts, he still continued to stand as inquiring and discussing within himself; and when noon
came the soldiers observed him, and said to one another,'Socrates has been standing there thinking ever since the
morning.' At last some Ionians came to the spot, and,
having supped, as it was summer, bringing their blankets,
they lay down to sleep in the cool, they observed that
Socrates continued to stand there the whole night, until
morning, and that when the sun rose he saluted it with a
prayer and departed."
The same writer has spoken of the appearance of Socrates on the battle-field at Delium, after the defeat of the
Athenian forces, and while all was confusion and utter
rout. He was on foot, heavily armed, and Alcibiades coming up on horseback, observed him walking, and darting
his regards around "with a majestic composure, looking
tranquilly both on his friends and on his enemies, so that
it was evident to every one, even from afar, that whoever
should venture to attack him, would encounter a desperate
resistance." He departed in safety, for men hesitate to
touch those who exhibit such a countenance as that of
Socrates even in defeat.
His firmness and courage were equally conspicuous in
the only instances in which he took part in political affairs.
He could face not only death, but that which many a brave




SOCRATES.                      77
soldier has been unable to withstand-public opinion.  He
could defy the thirty tyrants, and defy an Athenian mob.
The thirty ordered him, with four others, to arrest Leon of
Salamis, a man who had the right of Athenian citizenship.
It was an arbitrary proceeding.  Socrates would do nothing of the kind.'" Government, although it was so powerful," he says, "did not frighten me into doing anything
unjust... The four went to Salamis and took Leon,
but I went away home."
It is uncertain at what age Socrates engaged in the
instruction of youth; probably not until somewhat mature,
as it was not till after many struggles in the earlier period
of his life, that he arrived at anything like certainty and
satisfaction in his own mind. He seems very gradually,
and perhaps at first with no set purpose or plan of the sort,
to have gathered about him the noble youth of Athens,
who found his conversation instructive.
The personal appearance of Socrates must have been anything but prepossessing. Imagine a man past the freshness
of youth, and the manly vigor of middle life; of a countenance marked in every feature, but in every feature far
from beautiful; with eye-balls rotund and projecting, nose
depressed and flattened, nostrils dilated and upturned, lips
compressed, with not mere firmness but sharpness; the
cool critic and cruel satirist not to be mistaken in that
whole ensemble of feature; not mere firmness visible
there, but keen irony and bitter sarcasm and scorn of the.
follies of the age, and quick insight into and contempt of
the weaknesses and foibles of men-these enthroned there in
that eye-brow and lip, looking into you with imperturbable
coolness, and detecting at a glance your weaker and assailable points of character; a figure by no means calculated to
make amends for anything unprepossessing in the countenance; a low, ungainly figure, rough and coarse in its whole
contour; a belly large and unwieldy, as if to make sure that
no ideality of the brain and airy fancy should ever endan



s78                 S a SORmATES.
ger the specific gravity of the general frame; a dress coarse
and simple in the extreme, and manners to correspond.'Such is the founder of the ideal philosophy, the first true
Grecian school, the first man of the age-perhaps of the
world hitherto, in point of true greatness of soul and the
highest wisdom,-such in personal appearance, according
to the descriptions left us by both Xenophon and Plato.
Imagine such a man as we have now drawn, coarsely attired, singular in demeanor, walking barefoot along the
elegant marbles of the Grecian metropolis, stopping now
and then for a time, lost in meditation and fixed to one
spot regardless of the gay and fluttering crowds that passed
him by, some with a laugh and some with stupid stare;
as unmindful he of the rare elegancies of the accomplished
city, as the accomplished city was unmindful of the poor
philosopher whom it distinguished not from the common
Sophist of the day. Yet not without influence, not without
respect, this man; for, coarse and unmannerly though he
be, awkward in form and figure, and scornful of the little
elegancies of the capital, you see he goes not alone through
the streets. Some of the first and most refined youth of
Athens attend him; have learned that those compressed
and scornful lips speak golden words; have come within
the charmed circle of that strange power and influence, the
like of which was perhaps never exerted by mortal man
over his fellow men; have learned with him to know
themselves, and to despise what a foolish world most prizes
and courts.
"It was impossible," says Lewes (Hist. Phil. vol. i.
p. 133), " for Socrates to enter the market-place without
at once becoming an object of attention. His ungainly
figure, his moral character, and his bewitching tongue,
excited and enchained curiosity. He became known to
every citizen. Who had not listened to him? Who had
not enjoyed his inimitable irony? Who had not seen him
demolish the arrogance and pretension of some reputed




SOCRATE S.                    79
wise man? Socrates must have been a terrible antagonist
to all people who believed that they were wise because they
could discourse fluently; and these were not few. He
always declared that he knew nothing.  When a man
professed knowledge on any point, especially if admiring
crowds gave testimony to that profession, Socrates was sure
to step up to him, and professing ignorance, entreat to be
taught.  Charmed with so humble a listener, the teacher
began. Interrogated, he very unsuspectingly assented to
some very evident proposition; a conclusion from that,
almost as evident, next received his assent; from that
moment he was lost. With great power of logic, with
much ingenious subtlety, and sometimes with daring sophistication, a web was formed from which he could not extricate himself. His own admissions were proved to lead to
monstrous conclusions; these conclusions he repugned, but
could not see where the gist of his error lay. The laughter
of all bystanders bespoke his defeat. Before him was his
adversary, imperturbably calm, apparently innocent of all
attempt at making him ridiculous. Confused but not confuted, he left the spot, indignant with himself, but more
indignant with the subtlety of his adversary."
If Socrates, however, sometimes employed the weapons of
the Sophists, it was only to confute the Sophists themselves,
or to destroy at once the arguments and the arrogance of
some conceited opponent. He was himself no Sophist.
"He was a cool fellow, adding to his humor a perfect
temper, and a knowledge of his man, be he whom he might
whom he talked with, which laid the companion open to
certain defeat in any debate, and in this debate he immoderately delighted. The young men are prodigiously fond
of him, and invite him to their feasts, whither he goes for
conversation. He can drink, too; has the strongest head
in Athens; and after leaving the whole- party under the
table, goes away, as if nothing had happened, to begin new
dialogues with somebody that is sober. In short, he was




80                   SOCRATES.
what our country people call an old one."... One of the
most remarkable traits of his mind was the tact and readiness with which he adapted himself to the mental condition of the listener. IIe knew that all useful instruction
must begin with the perfect understanding of the wants
and mental idiosyncrasies of the learner.  He knew how to
meet those whom he addressed.
He was withal a perfect Greek, devoted to Athens,
which, after the military exploits of early life, he seems
never to have quitted.  He looked at all things, even at
morals, from a patriotic stand-point. The state was first
and chief in his thoughts.
In his domestic character he may not have been, and
probably was not, a model; too absent-minded and wrapt
in contemplation too profound, to be always sufficiently
thoughtful of family matters, even had Xantippe been
more amiable. His home was the state; his children were
his disciples.
It was in the early part of the year 399 B. c., that
Socrates, then seventy years old, was cited before the tribunal, and put upon his trial on the following charges,
"Socrates is culpable because he recognizes not the gods
which the city recognizes, but introduces other new divinities. He is culpable also because he corrupts the youth.
Penalty, death." Schwegler supposes that his trial was not
at first intended to be fatal, but only to humble his spirit and
teach him the power of the people. Unquestionably the
public mind was prejudiced against Socrates. He was a
reprover and a reformer, a severe critic of men and manners.
Many had felt the keenness of his sarcasm, and hated him
for it.  He was reputed by the multitude a Sophist.  Th3
mass had little in common with him.  He saw through
and ridiculed much that they held sacred; had views of his
own in manners, morals, and religion; was wholly uninfluenced by authority; held up to scorn the foibles and follies
of the age; was altogether a dangerous sort of man to that




SOCRATES.                      81
large and respectable class of worthies, to be found in every
age, who are mainly interested in keeping all things substantially as they are.
Political prejudices came in also to render the man
obnoxious to the prevailing faction. He had been the
teacher, and was charged with being the adviser of Alcibiades, and even of Critias. Their parties and their policies
were no longer in the ascendant. Democracy was rampant,
reformers and aristocrats no longer in demand. In the eyes
of the Athenian populace, Socrates was an aristocrat, as
well as a reformer. His death was decided upon as a
matter of state policy, and cloaked under the decent charge
of impiety to the gods, and the corruption of youth. Aristophanes, the poet, had already, twenty years before,
expressed the popular estimate of the man in holding him
up to ridicule as a Sophist and a conceited buffoon.
It probably contributed not a little to his death that he
appeared before his judges with such perfect coolness and
indifference to his fate, never for a moment consenting to
humble himself before them, or to employ any of the usual
artifices to move their pity, scarcely even to plead in his own
defence. He might have escaped had he taken a different
course. He was far above that, however.
The bearing of Socrates on his trial was every way
worthy of the man and the philosopher. Calm, selfpossessed, fearless-a brave soul was on trial for the truth.
What had it to fear? Socrates had been too long accustomed to penetrate with keen observant eye the hypocrisy,
deceit, and conceit of men, to see through and through
them, and tell them what he saw and what he thought, to
stand in fear of any of them.  We can readily believe that
even an air of haughtiness and contempt might mark his
demeanor on this occasion.
His whole bearing, especially his closing speech, affords
one of the finest instances of the morally sublime. There
was one present on whose mind it made a deep impression,




82                  SOCRATES.
and who afterwards reproduced in the "Apology" the
words then uttered. It was Plato.
He begins by reminding his judges that he had not long
to live in the natural course of events, and that had they
waited a short time his death would have occurred without
their agency. Perhaps they think he has been condemned
because he could make no defence. On the contrary it
would have been perfectly easy to have said what would
have pleased them, and procured his acquittal.  But he
would not do it. Nothing unworthy of a free man would
he say or do. Nor did he now regret the course he had
taken. Far rather would he make the one defence and die,
than the other and live. Death is not the greatest evil
that can befall a man.  "The difficulty, 0 Athenians, is
not to escape from death, but from guilt; for guilt is
swifter than death, and runs faster; and now I, being old
and slow of foot, have been overtaken by death, the slower
of the two, but my accusers, who are brisk and active, by
guilt, the swifter. We separate; I, sentenced by you to
death, they, having sentence passed on them by Truth, of
guilt and injustice. I submit to my punishment, they
to theirs.
"When my sons grow up, if they shall seem to desire
and seek for riches, or any other end, in preference to virtue, punish them, 0 Athenians, by tormenting them as I
tormented you. And if they are thought to be something,
when they are really nothing, reproach them as I have
reproached you, for not attending to what they ought and
fancying themselves something when they are good for
nothing."
How grand and impressive the closing words.  "It is
now time that we depart, I to die, you to live; but which
has the better destiny is unknown to all but God."
He was condemned. The last day of his life was spent in
conversation with his friends on the immortality of the soul,
a conversation which forms the subject of Plato's Phoedo.




SOCRATES.                       83
As the time for drinking the fatal cup approached, his
friends were deeply moved; even the officer who came to
announce the fatal hour was in tears; but Socrates himself
with perfect calmness takes the potion, lies down on his
couch, draws about him, as Caesar at the Capitol, his
mantle, and falls asleep; leaving to his friends the bitterness of irrepressible sorrow, but to future ages and all
coming time, the admiration of his heroic firmness, his
commanding virtues, and his immortality of fame.  "All
is human in Socrates while he lives; " says Renouvier,
"all reveals a God in his death" (Philosophie Ancienne).
~ 2.-DOCTRINE S OF SOCRATES.
Our sources of information as the doctrines of this
great teacher are not altogether satisfactory.  He left no
writings.  The "'Memorabilia" by Xenophon, while of
great value as biography, is of less value as to matters of
doctrine; the question arising, whether the philosophy of
Socrates was always correctly apprehended by the practical
and military Xenophon. The writings of Plato, on the
other hand, are not always available, for precisely an opposite reason. He was himself a philosopher, and it is difficult always to distinguish what is Platonic from what is
purely Socratic in the dialogues. Aristotle, though scanty,
is free from the above objection. Probably the most reliable method would be to compare, and critically examine,
each of the three writers now named.
1. As to the general course and drift of the Socratic
philosophy there can be no reasonable doubt. It was decidedly ethical.  TPhis tendency is explained by the previous
neglect of morals as a science. The ethical element in philosophy, the higher nature in man, had been o-dly overlooked.
Philosophy had degenerated into sophistry, the very foundations of truth were undermined, the reality and even the
possibility of all truth, of all certainty and science, had
been denied. Scepticism was triumphant. Socrates saw




84                   SOCRATES.
that the only way to save science itself from  destruction
was to lay hold of this strong eternal element of truth, this
hitherto neglected element, the moral nature of man, that
in him which was higher and nobler than the mere physical facts and laws of his being and of the material existences around him. Hence the predominance of the ethical
in the teaching of Socrates. It was thus he lifted the eye
of man to a sublimer height of wisdom and true science,
while he secured the integrity of truth and the possibility
of human knowledge from being utterly swept away by the
flood of scepticism.
It has been supposed by some that Socrates neglected
everything but ethics.  Is this so?  More probably he
sought to give universality and completeness to science, and
as physics were already assiduously cultivated, while ethical
science had been greatly neglected, he would naturally
devote his attention chiefly to the latter. His objections
to physical science were rather against the exclusive pursuit
of that department of knowledge, and still more against the
confused and unscientific method in which such inquiries
were, in that age, conducted. So he is represented by Plato.
The physiology of his age, he complained, looked downward rather than upward, more to sensible than to divine
things. It exalted the irrational above the rational. For
physical science, properly conducted, he had no contempt.
TUrue, he objected to a profound acquaintance with mathematics. So did: Plato also; and so in modern times have
many distinguished philosophers.  He sought to form in
himself and others a manly, symmetrical, strong character,
of universal comprehension, not limited in its range, not
exclusive in its devotion to any one pursuit, or branch of
science. This is the grand practical aim of his teaching.
An exclusive devotion to any one department of knowledge,
he regards as unworthy of a true man.
We are not to look upon Socrates, then, as merely a
moralist.  He saw that, in order to establish science against




S O C R A T E S.                85
the attacks of the Sophists, it was necessary to begin anew,
and lay a foundation which they could not overthrow.
This he did.  He directed his attention, therefore, not to
this or that special science, but to science in general, its idea,
its nature, its conditions, in a word, to method.  "Man,"
said Protogoras, " is the measure of all things, and men differ. Things are only what they seem to us, and our conceptions vary; hence there is no such thing as absolute
truth.  "Man is the measure of all things," says Socrates;
"but descend deeper into his personality, and you will find
that underneath all varieties there is a ground of steady
truth. Men differ, but men also agree. They differ as to
what is fleeting and transitory: they agree as to what is
abiding and eternal. Difference is the region of opinion;
agreement, that of truth. Let us endeavor to penetrate
that region."
When, accordingly, he affirms that his wisdom is simply
the knowledge of his own ignorance, he means not merely
to express a certain contempt for the self-esteem of those
who were so wise in their own opinion; much less is it his
intention to question the possibility of all certain knowledge; but rather to express strongly the limited range of
the human faculties, the limited extent of all human knowledge, as compared with the unfathomable depth of truth.
He attached great importance to that Delphic oracle "I Know
thyself "-the self-knowledge he sought being the. knowledge of his own nature, the foundation of all true science.
Insomuch as all scientific thought is inseparably connected, Socrates attached importance to even trivial subjects, as not unworthy of careful investigation, since
connected with all truth by means of whatever truth or
certainty they contained. Every clear and certain thought
every established fact, however trivial, is part, therefore,
of the grand whole, and taken in connection with all others,
forms the complete and magnificent structure of.science.
He was therefore much occupied with matters which others




86                   SOCRATES.
regarded as beneath their notice, thus fulfilling the prophecy
of Parmenides, that the young Socrates, when mature,
would despise nothing as unworthy of examination.
2. In what manner, now, did he seek to attain this
comprehensive, universal knowledge?  In other words,
what was the Socratic mzethod?  Socrates, not content with
discovering his own and human ignorance, sought to establish a true scientific method. This method was to consider
everything in conformity to the genus to which it belonged,
and by the definition of the genus to determine what the
thing is in itself, or in its essence.  The endeavor was to
apprehend in thought the essence qof the thing; and to
accomplish this it depended on the definition of terms as
the grand instrument.  This is the very spirit and centre
of the Platonic philosophy also; its root and form lie in the
Socratic method now defined.  So Aristotle affirms.  There
are two things, he says, which must in justice be attributed
to Socrates; the inductive method of proof, and the general
definition of ideas, both of which are among the first
principles of philosophy (Met. xiii. 4; so also Xenophon,
Mem. iv. 5, 12).  That is, Socrates was the first to apply
a right method to philosophic investigation, the first to
point out the true path which later inquirers followed in
the search for truth. Hence he has rightly been placed at
the head of the genuine development of Greek philosophy.
To search out the WHAT of everything, was the unceasing
care of Socrates, says Xenophon (Mem. iv. 6, 1).
Tissot regards the so-called inductive method of Socrates as more properly analytic, a process of pure generalization.  "What is called his induction is nothing else than
this preliminary operation of grouping around an idea all
those with which it might be confounded, so as the better to
distinguish it from them, or to bring to notice what there is
in common to them  all, and so to rise to a higher generality.  It is, then, a pure generalization " (iistoire de la
Philosophie).  Lewes also denied that the Socratic method




soCRATES.                       87
was properly inductive, and regards it as merely a reasoning
from analogy, a combination of analogous facts-a method
quite opposed to that of the Novum Organum of Bacon.
(Hist. Phil. vol. i. p. 151). Grote, on the contrary, in his
admirable sketch of Socrates, points out the resemblance
of the Socratic and Baconian methods in spirit and aim
(Hist. Greece, vol. viii. p. 612). See also Archer Butler,
Hist. Phil. i. 350).  B ut whether the Socratic method be
properly called induction, with Aristotle, or generalization,
with Tissot, or reasoning from analogy, with Lewes, and
whether it be or be not essentially Baconian in spirit and
purpose, there can be little doubt as to what the chief peculiarity of that method really was. Socrates saw that to
understand a thing in itself it is necessary to grasp its
essential idea, to make sure of having seized definitely and
exactly that idea; and this could be done only by sharply
and accurately defining it. In order to this he compares
and contrasts it with all similar ideas, notes the differences
and resemblances, and having the idea thus clearly before
the mind, he proceeds to analzye it, separating the individual and accidental from the essential, and thus gets at its
true nature and essence, what it is in itself. The modern
school of positive philosophy charges him with mistaking
names for things, in this whole matter, definition of terms
for description of the thing itself-the prime peculiarity
and radical defect, it affirms, of the Platonic and Aristotelian schools as formed on the Socratic model.  Thus Lewes
(Hist. Phil. vol. i. p. 154). I cannot see the justice of this
charge. It must be remembered that Socrates had special
reference in this whole process of investigation, not to
external nature, but to self-knowledge, the facts and phenomena of the mind; and it is difficult to see how in any
other or better manner he could attain that clearness and
definiteness so essential to all correct thinking, than that
now  described.  How  could he better apprehend, the
precise nature of the idea of right, for example, or of truth,




88                   SOCRATES.
or justice-the precise nature of any mental state or operation-nay, for that matter, the nature of any external
object as known to the sciences, than by that very process
above described. Schwegler has well described the Socratic method (Hist. Phil. p. 65).
3. From this inquiry as to the method of Socrates we
pass to the general principles of the Socratic ethics. The
moral end of life is knowledge, the knowledge of the good,
and of the Reason that rules over all. All virtue is intelligence, wisdom; and as wisdom embraces all the virtues,
virtue may be called a science, (Aristotle, Nic. Eth. vi. 13).
No act performed without a clear insight into its nature
and tendency is morally good; no act performed with such
insight is bad. There is no merit in the act unless intentionally performed as good, and for that reason.
From  this identification of virtue with science follows
the strange, and, as we should now call it, paradoxical
opinion, that man always does what seems to him to be
good and right; for he who knows a thing to be good will
do it. He may mistake, may be ignorant of the greatest
good, and so err; but it will be an error of judgment.
Not knowingly, not voluntarily, does any man do wrong.
Nay more, he who should knowingly do any evil thing were
a better man than he who should do the same thing ignorantly. In other words, he who performs a wrong act, with
clear insight into its nature and tendency, yet perceiving it
to be on the whole a good thing for him to do, is wiser and
more to be commended than he who acts blindly and without intelligence to guide him.  Socrates could not conceive
of a man's knowing the good, and not doing it. Hence
Aristotle, very justly as it seems to us, censures him as not
taking into account, in his estimate of human conduct, the
sentiments an dpassions of our nature (Mag. Mor. i. 1, 5.
Socrates teaches clearly and strongly that virtue and
happiness are inseparably united; that he only is happy
who seeks the good of family, friends, and fatherland, anli




SOCRATES.                       89
who learns to govern body and soul; in other words, true
happiness involves the whole moral duty of man (Mem.
ii. 1, ~ 19, iii. 9; iv. 2; i. 6). He held that temperance
and moderation are preferable to sensual enjoyment, since
the latter is merely the gratification of certain wants, of
which the fewer, the better, and since it also destroys the
true freedom of the soul. The true destiny and duty of
man is to assimilate himself to the divine by emancipating
himself from the dominion of his passions.
In a word, the drift of the Socratic ethics may be
summed up in this general principle. The chief happiness
of man consists in knowing the right and doing accordingly (Mem. iii. 9. 14; i. 5; iv. 4, 5, 6), the means to
which are self-knowledge and self-control. Self-government is' the foundation of all the virtues.
As to the question what is right and good, aside from
general principles already indicated, Socrates gives no specific answer, but refers his disciples to the laws of the state
as a legitimate expression of the general reason and the
general will, sanctioned by the gods themselves, who are
the founders of states.  To these he would  add  the
unwritten law, and also " that inner voice of Deity which
speaks to every man's conscience, and in obedience to
which his whole life and energies ought to be directed."
Schwegler and others have pronounced Socrates utilitarian in ethics, inasmuch as he appeals for proof of his prop
ositions to the external advantages and benefits of virtue.
But this is not so. He acknowledges, indeed, the benefits
of virtue, but does not rest the obligation to virtue on that
ground. The Sophists praise virtue for the sake of its
advantages; Socrates for the sake of its own intrinsic
worth. To be "i KaoKayaSoo " is something desirable for its own
sake; and therein lies the essence of every virtue. He
taught that, of all the consequences of our conduct, its
effects on our own spiritual nature are the most important
(Mem. i. 6, 9; iv. 8, 6).




90                  SOC RATES.
4. The theology of Socrates next demands our attention.
Socrates nowhere, as reported to us, speculates upon the
divine essence or even investigates it. Probably he considered it, as in fact it is, beyond human comprehension.
He was, moreover, attached to the popular mythology and
unwilling to overthrow it; hence cautious and prudent in
his language. He maintains the omniscience, omnipotence,
and omnipresence of the gods, and that they rule by the
law of goodness. He counsels Aristodemus, with whom he
holds an argument on the proof of the divine existence, if
he would know the wisdom and the love of the gods, to
render himself worthy of the communication of some of
those divine secrets which are imparted only to those who
adore and obey the Deity. "Then shalt thou, my Aristodemus, understand that there is a being whose eye pierceth
throughout all nature, and whose ear is open to every
sound; extended to all places, extending through all time,
and whose bounty and care can know no other bound than
those fixed by his own creation " (Mem. i. 4). He taught
also that we ought not only to forbear what is impious and
unjust before man, but even when alone ought to have
regard to all our actions, "since the gods have their eyes
always upon us, and none of our designs can be concealed
from them" (Xenophon, Memorabilia, as above).
The Deity is to Socrates the supreme reason, the source
of all things, the end of all human endeavors. But as the
reason is one, deity must have been regarded by him as one,
in distinction from  the polytheism of the age. These
various elements of the idea of a true God had perhaps all
been separately maintained before, but not combined in
one with such completeness and purity.  " The doctrine of
a truly intelligent deity," says Ritter, "without dualism,
without either physical limitation, or pantheistic annihilation of individuality," had never been taught by any
philosopher before Socrates (History of Ancient Philosophy). It has been a matter of much dispute what is to




SOCRATES.                        91
be understood by the demon of Socrates. The ancient and
commonly received opinion, is that Socrates believed himself under the direction of a personal tutelar deity or guardian angel. This however he does not say, and probably
does not mean; "but only "*at/6vt6V Tr," divinun, quiddam,
as Cicero terms it, a something divine. He does not attempt
to define it; does not ascribe personality to it; never calls
it' 8auov;'` that is merely a blunder of the translators.
He speaks of it now as a sign, now as a voice (Phaedo,
p. 242; Apol. Soc. p. 31), referring it however to a divine
source (Xen. Mem. iv. 3, 12, 13).  Schleiermacher supposes it a mere intuitive judgment, a presentiment, as, for
example, of the issue of any undertaking. Others suppose
it simply the voice of his own conscience.  Schwegler
thinks it cannot be explained on psychological grounds, but
that there may possibly have been something magnetic
about it-a state of ecstasy perhaps.  Ritter thinks it was
originally conscience that was meant, but that afterwards
he fancied himself under the special guidance of heaven
(See Butler, Hist. Anc. Phil. vol. i. p. 357, note by the
editor).
The immortality of the soul was believed and taught
by Socrates, though his doctrine is not wholly free from
indecision and ambiguity. There must be another state of
existence, in which man shall more successfully pursue the
end of his being, and in which he shall be free from the
present impediments; else life were hardly to be preferred
to death.  The soul is, moreover, of a god-like nature, and
therefore immortal. The future life is a condition of
reward (See Cyrop. viii. 7; Mem. i. 4, ~ 8, 9; iv. 3,
~ 14; Phaedo, c. 8).
The following passage (quoted also by Renouvier) from
the Phoado of Plato, sets in clear light the Socratic doctrine of the immortality of the soul. It is in the conversation at the death of Socrates.  "No man of sense will
believe what the myths teach respecting another life; but




92                   SOCRATES.
that a new sojourn, analogous to that' which is promised us,
awaits the soul truly immortal, is, it seems to me, what we
may believe. It is necessary, then, that one should venture
himself upon this thought, and delight himself with this
hope. Let him take confidence in his soul; he who has
renounced as foreign the pleasures of the body, he who has
loved science, he who has adorned his soul with its true
beauty —temperance, justice, strength, liberty, truth; and
let him hold himself ready for departure from the world,
against the hour when destiny shall call for him." Such,
in brief, were the Socratic doctrines.
They are well summed up by Ritter (Hist. Phil. vol. i.
p. 75, 76), as also by Tennemann, inr his Manuel de l'Histoire de la Philosophie (see also Schwegler and Ueberweg).
As to the influence of Socrates on the subsequent course
of human thought, what shall we say?  " The great figure
of this sage," says Renouvier, "rises not in the midst of
myths, but pertains all entire to history; it hovers over it."
It is not too much to say that not merely the course of
speculative thought, but the history of human progress in
the world, from that day to this, the advancement of the
human soul toward all that is noble and grand in its ideal,
and its highest aspiration, had been far different had
Socrates never lived. How noble the spirit that could
breathe this prayer.  "Give me the interior beauty of
the soul." One may almost sympathize with Erasmus,
who exclaims, "When I read some things of this sort
concerning such men, I can scarcely refrain from saying,' Sancte Socrate, ora pro nobis."'




IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS OF SOCRATES. 93
CHAPTER II.
IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS OF SOCRATES.
~ 1.-THE CYRENAIC SCHOOL.
AFTER the death of Socrates, his doctrines were held and
promulgated under various modifications of several distinct
schools or parties among his disciples. From the general
doctrine of Socrates, that happiness is the chief end of
man, arose two diverging systems. The one, starting from
the sensibilities or desires, places happiness in pleasureeither that of the present moment and present act merely,
76yovfi, as Aristippus and the Cyrenaics; or the systematic
pleasure, which looks to the future, and regards consequences, as Epicurus. The other system, starting from
the reason rather than the senses and desires, grounds
happiness in virtue: either that of action, as Xenophon
and Plato; or that of negation and apathy to all pleasure,
as the Cynics. Each of these schools presents a side of
Socrates, according to the view that each took of that
great master.
Among these stands prominent the Cyrenaic.
The head of this school was Aristippus, a disciple of
Socrates, but regarded by the stricter Socratists as an
unworthy pupil of the great master. His doctrines, though
they diverged widely from those of Socrates, yet are based
upon his principles; diverge from his stand-point.
Aristippus was born at Cyrene in Africa, a colony of
note and power, but given to luxury. He was of illustrious
and wealthy origin, and followed the pleasures which such
a position and such an age placed in his way. He had
heard of Socrates, however, and curious to know and hear
the man, embarked for Athens and became a pupil of the




94  IMMEDIATE  SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES.
great master, remaining with him till the death of the
latter, 399 B. C.
He seems to have remained a man of pleasure, notwithstanding the teachings of Socrates on temperance, selfdenial, etc.; kept himself aloof from no corrupting influences, but relied on his own self-possession and self-control
to extricate him from all dangers and difficulties; frequented the society of disreputable persons; lived with
Lais, a celebrated courtesan; was intimate with Dionysius
the tyrant, and practically carried out the principle that a
man ought to control circumstances, not to be controlled
by them.
His starting point was Socratic. He began with the
fundamental tenet of the Socratic school, that the chief
aim and end of all human life and action is happiness.
This, however, Socrates would place, not in the gratification of sensual desires and in irrational pleasures, but in
self-knowledge, self-control, temperance, virtue, etc., as
being the true and most exquisite as well as real source of
happiness to man. On this point Aristippus begins to
diverge. Happiness is the great aim of man (r7 r70Cor), but
happiness is pleasure (d6ovt). Pleasure is the good. Pain
is the evil (Cicero de Finibus, ii. 6, 7, 13, 34; De Offic.
iii. 33).  Whatever contributes to pleasure is a good thing,
as wisdom, virtue, friendship-good for that reason only
(Diog. L. ii. 91, 93; Cic. Off. iii. 33); whatever interferes
with it, an evil thing. In order to happiness, the mind
must retain its independence, indeed, of all other and foreign influences; must not be enslaved by its passions, etc.
But this independence may be secured not only in the
Socratic method, by regulating and controlling one's pleasures, but also by banishing desire. Only as one is superior
to hope and fear and desire, is he in the enjoyment of the
highest pleasure (Diog. Laert. ii. 89, 90). Pleasure is
good, but not the desire of pleasure; it is this that subjects
the soul to hope and fear, and interferes with its enjoyment.




IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS OF SOCRATES. 95
A man ought not, then, to desire anything which he is not
at the moment in possession of, and the wise man will not.
Such the doctrine; and the life and character of the mau
corresponded. He was of a serene, happy temperament:
never allowed himself to want what he did not possess,
manifested perfect indifference to all good things which
were not within his reach, gave himself up with ready
assent to whatever circumstances happened to surround
him, lived for the present, neither regretting the past nor
caring for the future; for the present alone is ours, the
past gone, the future uncertain. His maxim seems to
have been, Be content with such things as you have, and
by no means fret thyself on any account. An easy, goodnatured soul he must have been, and an easy time he must
have had of it. Of course there could have been no great
and elevated idea of what man might become or what he
ought to be, no high moral purpose, no moral unity of
life and purpose.
The school of Aristippus regarded pleasure and pain as
something positive; pleasure was not merely the gratification of a want, not merely the removal of pain, nor was pain
the absence of a pleasure merely, but both were emotions,
or notions of the soul; the absence of both is a state of rest
or sleep, as it were. As to their idea of virtue, it was this:
all actions in themselves are morally indifferent, the only
question being as to its result, pleasure or pain. They
agreed with the Sophists that no action is in itself either
good or evil, but only as established and regulated by law
and custom (Diog. Laertus, ii. 98. 99). Yet they maintained the general expediency of doing that which is just,
on the ground that injlustice will not pay.  Whatever is a
means to pleasure, that is virtue in the estimation of this
school.
Pleasure, pain, and entire indifference, or absence of
either, are the three states of the mind, analogous to gentle
motion, violent motion, and rest, or to a gentle breeze, a




96  IMM EDIATE SUCCESSORS OF SOC R ATES.
tempest, and a sea-calm. Pleasure is the sensation produced by gentle motion, pain, that produced by violent
motion. In order to the highest enjoyment of pleasure,
self-control is necessary, and this art of controlling pleasure
is to be acquired only by knowledge and culture.- The
pleasure of the moment is not the highest goal.
Reason is the regulating principle, the chief element of
virtue, which teaches how to avoid what might interfere
with the pursuit of true pleasure. They did not limit
pleasure to the bodily gratifications merely, but took into
account the pleasures of the mind, and the spiritual part of
man, though the former they held to be the stronger of the
two (Diog. Laert. ii. 89, 90).
Aristotle reproaches Aristippus with having neglected
all mathematical learning on the ground that it does not
treat of the good and the evil, the only things worth knowing. Yet the Cyrenaic school seems to have cultivated
logic, and even to some extent physics. Aristippus taught
his doctrines to his daughter, Arete, who instructed her
son, Aristippus junior.  He also taught Antipater, who
became one of the leaders of the school. Theodorus, the
the pupil of the younger Aristippus, was another prominent teacher in the school. It is doubtful if Aristippus the
elder ever., taught public, or published his doctrines.  His.
disciples carried out the system to its farthest divergence
from the Socratic ground. Theodorus, according to Sextus
Empiricus (adv. Math. vii.), held the entire subjectivity of
our knowledge; things are sweet, bitter, etc., not in themselves but merely as they so seem to us; we know nothing
but ouzr own sensations; hence there is ozut of us no criterion of truth; the changes, successions, of our own feeling
are all that we are conscious of, all that we know (Diog.
Laert. ii. 92; Cic. Acad. ii. 46, 142).  This is carrying out
the doctrine of Aristippus, who, according to the same
authority, held that we knew our sensations, but not the
occasion or source of them, i. e., not the qualities of bodies
which produce them.




IM[MEDIATE  SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES. 97
~ 2. —THE CYNIC SCHOOL.
The chief of this school was Antisthenes, of Thracian
descent by the mother; pupil in earlier life of Gorgias the
Sophist, but subsequently pupil of Socrates, at an age when
his moral and philosophical opinions were already somewhat
matured. From  this and other causes he seems to have
b.-t partially understood the Socratic system, viewing it
in a one-sided light. He was by nature a one-sided man,
for nature produces; such a man of narrow views, and
of coarse illiberal; stern, moreover, as such men are apt to
be, harsh, censorious, yet conceited withal, placing undue
estimate upon his own superior powers, and cherishing
a vain desire of the admiration of others. Hence his love
of exaggeration. It was not till after the death of Socrates
that he opened a school of his own in the Cynosarges
(whence the term Cynic), a gymnasium for the Athenians
of foreign extraction. By his descent he was excluded
from all participation in politics. He was poor, moreover,
and he gloried in both these things, as sources of independence. He was above the world, that was so far above him.
Assuming the mendicant's staff and wallet, negligent of
attire, coarse and slovenly in appearance, he walked his
round as proud a man, as scornful, as self-sufficient, as
unamiable and uncomfortable a character as one could find
in all Athens-a genuine radical reformer, ready to quarrel
with society and with anybody that came in his way. The
age was one of increasing luxury and civilization. Athens
was fast coming to be a pleasure-loving city. Antisthenes, in
the true spirit of an anti, set himself against all this. He
must forsooth bring men back to the primitive simplicity
in dress, manners, etc. So, like a wise fool, but a true
anti, as he was, he goes over to the opposite extreme, and
seeks to correct an amiable fault, a pardonable sin, by
committing himself an unpardonable one. Here you have
the cynic, the man Antisthenes, as contemporaries have




98  IMMEDIATE SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES.
drawn him, and as his own life and doctrines show himtrue type of a class of men to be found in every progressive
age, and of a spirit which never has been, perhaps never
will be, quite extinct in this world.
Annoyed at the little success with which his school met,
he broke up the concern and drove away the few scholars
that lingered about his doors; for an original character,
however unamiable, will always have some followers and
admirers. One only remained, Diogenes of Sinope, too
much like his master to be driven away; so a compromise
was effected, and the two kindred spirits remained in
company, like master like pupil, till the death of the
former. Which was the more unlikely character it would
hard to say.
The doctrines of Antisthenes seem to be little more than
this one idea-stern, determined resistance to all luxury
and effeminacy, absolute resistance to all indulgence and
all pleasure. In this was virtue. This was morals. The
very name of pleasure seems to have filled his righteous
soul with horror.  "Pain, labor, even injury, is a good.
Pleasure, on the contrary, an evil." " I had rather go mad
than experience pleasure;" so Diogenes Laertius (vi. 3)
makes him say. Poor man, he had his choice; pleasure certairnly he could have had but little experience of; mqad he
certainly did go. He formed a theory on the subject, in
which he endeavors to maintain that there is no such thing
in fact as pleasure, what we call pleasure being only the
limitation of pain.
It is possible to put a more favorable construction, however, upon this doctrine, by supposing that he meant by
pleasure only sensual gratification, while by labor and pain
he intended those manly struggles by which the soul attains
true intellectual wealth, and pleasure, and freedom, and
becomes great in action. If this were his meaning, it is
easy to see how he was merely carrying out, though intem



IMMEDIATE  SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES. 99
perately and to extremes, the true Socratic doctrine of
temperance and self-denial.
According to this view, the philosophy of this school
amounts simply to this principle: Live in the simplest and
most natural way, in order, like the Deity, who wants nothing, to lead the happiest life of which man is capable.  Thus
Socrates said: "To want nothing is God-like; to want
the least possible is most nearly to resemble God"
(Xen. Mem. i. 6, 10).
Virtue, according to Antisthenes, is the true supreme
good (Diog. L. vi. 103, 104); everything which stands
between it and vice is indifferent, such things as wealth,
poverty, honor, birth, and the like, matters of no moment. Virtue consists in action, and must have reason
for its basis and ground-work, its true root and essence.
"'Man must have reason or a hzalter," is his pointed and
bitter expression. What is this virtue? An insight into
the good; something which he cannot further explain
than that.
His system was a purely selfish and morose one. He
isolates man entirely within himself, makes him sufficient
for himself. Affection, love of kindred, are of no moral
worth; civil institutions are contemptible; love of country,
ridiculous. Marriage has no further value or sacredness
than as it relates to the propagation of the species. Insolent, proud, overbearing, shameless men, were the sages of
this school.
As to other matters, Antisthenes held that the Socratic
method of arriving at truth by definitions is not of much
use, since the essence of a thing cannot be expressed in or
learned by a definition, but only by intuition (Aristotle,
Met. v. 29; viii. 3).
Science he cultivated to some extent. IHe wrote a work
on physics; and shows in his writings, which are numerous, a good acquaintance with logic. In his old age, and
increasing moroseness, he seems to have regretted his own




100 IMMEDIATE  SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES.
literary labors, speaks depreciatingly of science, and comes
to the conclusion that nothing is of use but virtue, not
even the ability to read and write.
Socrates well understood the man, and thus keenly
rebuked his pride.  " I see your vanity, Antisthenes, peering through the holes in your cloak." The cloak was his
only garment. Being told that many persons praised him,
he said, " Have I done anything wrong then, that I am
praised?"
Diogenes of Sinope, he of the tub, is the natural result
and termination of this system. This man outraged all
decency; filthy in person, vulgar and degraded in habits
and manners. When Plato on one occasion gave an entertainment, Diogenes burst in, uninvited, and stamping on
the carpets with dirty feet exclaimed, "Thus I trample
on the pride of Plato! "  "With greater pride! " was the
admirable rejoinder. He died at ninety, of eating a raw
neat's foot I
~ 3. — MEGARI SCHOOL.
Most of the disciples of Socrates, after his death, retired
to Megari, to escape the popular excitement against the
friends of the illustrious martyr. This was the abode of
Euclid, one of the oldest of the disciples of Socrates (Diog.
Laert. ii. 106); and about him naturally clustered the
outlawed band. After a time the little society, no longer
held together by the common bond, the influence of the
great master, and differing among themselves in many
things, broke up; a few only remaining with Euclid, who
thus became the leader of a school, called, from the place,
the Megaric.
It is related of this man that so great was his admiration of Socrates, and his desire to profit by his instructions,
that disregarding the law which forbade any citizen of
Megari from visiting Athens on pain of death-such was
the feud between the two cities-he used to travel the dis



IMMEDIATE  SUCCESSORS  OF SOCRATES. 101
tance, twenty miles, on foot, by night, in order to escape
detection, and was rewarded by an interview  with the
great master; after which, in like manner he returned,
meditating on the truths he had heard. Knowledge thus
hardly acquired we may well suppose to have been of value
to him.
He seems to have been present at the death of Socrates
(Phmedo, p. 59).
Though a disciple of Socrates, Euclid seems to have
been partial to the Eleatic system  and to have made that
the basis on which he erected his philosophical structure.
He is represented as mild and conciliating in disposition,
moderate in character and conduct, but fond of subtle
disputation and sophistic distinctions. His doctrines were
Eleatic, modified  by the  Socratic.  They partook  of
the moral element and the scientific cast of the latter school.
" The one" can be known only by reason, not by the
senses, and is unalterable.  This only one is "the good,"
known under other names as, reason, intelligence, wisdom,
God, etc. By this " one," they seem not to have intended
an ontological unity, a being, so much as an abstract conception-being in general. The distinctive character of
true morality, as of true being, lies in its oneness, unity,
or identity.
The system assumes a strongly negative character. In
refuting an opponent, Euclid does not attack the premises
but drives right at the conclusion. Of course his method
is indirect, nor does he admit the validity of definitions, nor
even of comparisons; for these must be either of like to like
or to unli/ke; in the first case, it were better to speak of
the object itself; in the latter, comparison must mislead.
Sophisms and fallacies play a conspicuous part in the, later
history of this school, employed as convenient instruments
of refuting opponents and of showing the vain pretensions
of superficial thinkers.
Several of these fallacies are ascribed particularly to




102 IMMEDIATE  SUCCESSORS OF SOCRATES.
Eunuxzlides, though not invented by him, but by the Sophists, as, e. g., the somewhat noted sophisms termed the Liar,
the Sorites, the Horn, the Bald-head, etc. These were
employed, perhaps, merely to show the necessity of care
and skill in the employment of even scientific terms, perhaps as means of posing arrogant pretenders, probably however with the further and laudable purpose of casting a
doubt upon all acquired knowledge-for it was a maxim
with the Sophists that to learn what we do not know is
impossible. Thus the sophism of the liar, which is thus
stated by Cicero. If you say that you lie and say truly,
you lie; but you say that you lie, and you speak the truth;
you lie therefore. Another of the sophisms has reference
to the fact that you may meet a disguised person without
recognizing him, in which case, though you know the person, ever so well, yet you do not know him.
Diodorus Chronos seems to have figured somewhat conspicuously in this method of reasoning. His favorite
doctrine was that nothing is possible, except that which is
necessary. This, as Aristotle says, leads naturally to the
denial of all motion and generation; it attacks the contingent, the visible phenomenal order of things, making
against the senses and all sense, and knowledge. His
arguments to show that motion is impossible are quite
ingenious. For instance he contends that if a body consists of several parts, the motion must begin with one and
be communicated to the others. Suppose, then, two out of
three parts to be already set in motion, but not as yet the
third; we must conclude that the body as a whole is in
motion, since the greater part of it is so; the moved portions
preponderate; suppose now another, a fourth part, be added,
which is unmoved; the body still moves, for the one part
last added to the body which was moving cannot destroy
the preponderance of the moved parts, it is only one to
three, the body moves, then, that is the whole four; add on
now to your heart's content, you get by and by a body of




PLA T 0.                     103
ten thousand parts, only two of which are actually in motion
yet the whole body is so. Is this absurd? then it is impossible to show that a body is in motion in its preponderating parts, and of course, then, impossible to show that in
its totality it moves, since the majority of parts must move
before the whole can stir.
By a little artifice he demonstrates the impossibility of
change, as shown in case of a wall. If that wall is ever to
cease to be a wall, it must be either while the stones of it
are together, or when they have been separated, but while
they are together the wall continues, after they have been
separated the wall does not cease to be, for it is then
already in pieces and has no further change to undergo.
When did it cease, then, in the name of reason? Never,
and never will, is the implied answer; your senses altogether mystify and deceive you in this whole matter of
material existences and the changes to which they appear
to be subject.
Stilpo was a later disciple of this Megaric school, and a
philosopher of some note.  But his doctrines present nothing of special importance in distinction from those of the
school generally.
CHAPTER III.
PLATO.
Is treating of the philosophy of this most distinguished
disciple of Socrates, it will be convenient to speak first of
his life and character; second, of his method; third, of his
psychology; fourth, of his theology; fifth, of his ethics and
politics; sixth and lastly, of his physics.  Abundant materials are at hand for such investigation; first of all, his own
philosophic writings, chiefly dialogues, then commentaries
almost innumerable on these by scholars and critics of all




104                    PLATO.
ages since Plato's day, and of almost all nations of the civilized world. On no one writer of antiquity, perhaps, has
so much been written by subsequent writers as on Plato.
Many of these writers, it must be confessed, had but a
a limited knowledge of the original works, for of all ancient
authors, Plato is probably the most difficult to be intelligently read and the least likely to be completely and thoroughly perused.
~ 1.-LIFE AND CHARACTER OF PLATO.*
Born about 429 B. c., about the time of the Peloponnesian war and of the death of Pericles; a most active
and brilliant period of Grecian history.  His family was
of noble descent, connected on the maternal side with
Solon.  His real name was Aristocles, surnamed Plato, or
the broad-browed (Diog. Laert. 3. 4). Fable relates that
he was the child of Apollo, and his mother a virgin (Plutarch, Symposium viii. 1). However that may be, he was
unquestionably connected with the most illustrious families
of Athens, and hence had many opportunities for superior
education and for a career as a statesman had he chosen;
but from this he was deterred by weakness of voice, which
unfitted him for public speaking, and also by his turn of
mind.  He seems to have divided his early efforts and
enthusiam between poetry and philosophy. Wrote epics,
lyrics, etc., not so much, as Ritter well conjectures,
because of any true poetic genius, but because of a vague
longing to express that which was in him, the reflections of
his own mind, coupled with a profound study of the creations of earlier genius. It was not till he became acquainted with Socrates, in his twentieth year, that his mind
took altogether a philosophical direction, and he abandoned
poetry (Val. Max. 1. 6. 2Elian. Var. Hist. 10, 21).  From
this time till the death of Socrates he remained with the
* Tenneman's Life of Plato; Biblioth. der Alten Lit.; Vit. Plat.;
Ritter, Hist. Phil.




PLATO.                      105
great master, a disciple not of him alone, however, but of
all ancient philosophy. After the death of Socrates, tradition makes Plato travel and reside for many years in
foreign countries, in Egypt, Phcenicia, Babylonia, Assyria,
etc.  To Egypt he probably did go; perhaps to other
countries.  " Whilst studious youth," says Valerius Maximus, "were crowding to Athens from  every quarter in
search of Plato for their master, that philosopher was wandering along the winding banks of the Nile, or the vast
plains of a barbarous country, himself a disciple to the old
men of Egypt."
On his return, he opened a school for gratuitous instruction in his favorite science. The place was one fitted
rather for the poet or the artist than the severe dialectician.
The beautiful grove of Academus, in the highly wrought
description of Lewes, "was planted with lofty plane-trees,
and adorned with temples and statues; a gentle stream
rolled through it, with
"A sound as of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
Which to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune."
It was a delicious retreat, "for contemplation framed.
The longing thoughts of posterity have often hovered
round it and made it the centre of mingled associations.
Poets have sung of it.  Philosophers have sighed for it."
Nor did the beauties and graces pertain entirely to the
place where the exercises were conducted, for whatever
poetry there may have been in the grove, the lectures and
discussions of the Academy proper, while of the highest
order of thought and requiring hard thinking in the
hearer, yet were clothed in the most poetic and imaginative diction.  Such was the renown of the master that
there was no lack of hearers and disciples.  His school
was frequented by many of the higher classes. His pupils
were among the most distinguished.  Women even, it is
5*




106                    PLATO.
said, attended his teachings.  They were probably of that
class which, at that period of Grecian history, combined
the highest mental cultivation and the highest personal
accomplishments with not the strictest ideas of virtue.
Plato visited Sicily in his fortieth year, to see ~Etna.
There he saw, however, the tyrant Dionysius, whom  he
so offended by his plainness of speech that the monarch
sought the life of the philosopher, and the latter escaped
death only to be sold as a slave. He was purchased by a
Cyrenian, who immediately set him free. Without prosecuting further his studies upon volcanoes, tyrants, and
other Sicilian curiosities, Plato seems to have made the
best of his way home and contented himself thenceforth for
the most part with the safer investigations of the Academy.
Twice, however, afterwards he visited Syracuse, to confer
with Dionysius the Second.  Actively employed in philosophical composition, death overtook him in a peaceful and
tranquil old age, 346 B. c., at. 83.
Against the character of Plato malice has found little
to say or insinuate.  His enemies reproach him, but without
ground (Diog. L. iii. 26).  He seems to have been eminently
a moral, blameless, just man, given chiefly to abstraction
and severe thought; little to pleasure, little to the practical matters of life.  He has been accused of plagiarism!
What will become of the rest of us, if a mind as rich as
Plato's is liable to this charge? He is accused of haughty
and overweening self-esteem. Not unlikely. Where was
ever the truly great and noble mind, towering above its compeers and all its time, that was not somehow self-conscious
of superiority.  He attacked, it is true, with some bitterness, the philosophical opinions of certain contemporary
teachers, but not till they had as violently assailed him.
It is said that his school was not, like that of Socrates,
aimed at the salvation of the country, through reformation
of the manners and morals of the age, but that it neglected
this high aim.  True, Plato did not, like Socrates, make




PLA TO.                     107
himself a martyr to virtue; nor did he so directly and
resolutely assail the vices of the age. He probably saw
the iifevitable drift of things, and that it would be useless
to think of renovating a country and an age so corrupt.
But he did present to the mind a high and noble aim, and
sought to elevate those within his reach and sphere to a
loftier style of thinking, feeling, and acting. His school
was doubtless one of culture and refinement as compared
with the Socratic. In place of the pristine severity, there
was ornament, splendor of thought and diction, a true
refinement, and severely cultivated but exquisite taste.
That it was lacking in the sterner and more essential qualities of excellence has never been shown.
" Plato," says Lewes, "was intensely  melancholy.
That great broad brow, which gave him his surname, was
wrinkled and sombre. Those brawny shoulders were bent
with thought, as only those of thinkers are bent. A smile
was the utmost that ever played over his lips; he never
laughed.'As sad as Plato,' became a phrase with the
comic dramatists. He had many admirers; scarcely any
friends. In Plato, the thinker predominated over the
man. That great expansive intellect had so fixed itself
upon the absorbing questions of philosophy, that it had
scarcely any sympathy left for other matters.  Hence
his constant reprobation of poets... He had a feeling not unallied to contempt for them, because he saw in
them some resemblance to the Sophists-an indifference
to truth and a preference for the arts of expression.
His soul panted for truth.  Poets, at the best, he held to be
only inspired madmen, unconscious of what fell from their
lips... There is something unpleasant in Plato's character, which finds its echo in his works. He was a great,
but not an amiable man.  His works are great, but lamentably deficient. His ethics are the ethics of a logician, not
of a large-souled man familiar with and sympathizing with




108                     PLATO.
the complexities of life; they are suited only to an impossible state of humanity. "
This is, perhaps, a severe judgment of Plato's character.;
but it contains an element of truth. Plato may very probably have been but a poor companion and friend. He was
too much absorded in his own contemplations.  He was too
far above all his contemporaries. He was, not unlikely, a
sad and melancholy manll; for what great soul is not so?
Like the wind, like the ocean, the great soul murmurs to
to itself a low, sad, mighty strain, heedless of passing incidents. If Plato had little in common with humanity, it
was because humanity was so far below him.
What, now, was the effect and influence of this man
upon his time and the world?  " The influence of Plato,"
says Ritter (Hist. Phil.), "must be estimated not so much
by its effect upon his contemporaries, as upon posterity and
ourselves. This influence has been wrought principally by
his writings. It rarely happens that a great thinker is
rightly and fully understood by those who receive his inspirations directly from his own lips; time is requisite for a
due and rightful appreciation of their import. All posterity gathers around him as his scholars, in the same
manner as he had applied himself to all antiquity as his
teacher.  As to Plato, the ancients have, with great care and
often in an envious spirit, explored the sources from which
he might have derived the system of his philosophy, or his
artifice of language. We are told by his great disciple
Aristotle that he had diligently studied the doctrines of
Heraclitus, Pythagoras, and Socrates; he might have added
of Parmenides and Anaxagoras, for of Plato it may justly
be said that he reduced into a beautiful whole the scattered
results of the earlier Greek philosophies, reconciling their
seeming differences and conflicting tendencies.  From this
fountain, as well as from the abundant sources of his own
good powers, flowed the rich elements of his philosophy.
In fact, where we compare the barrenness of the earlier




PLATO.                      109
philosophers with the fertility of Plato, that love, which
Plato knows so well how to inspire in us, warms almost to
veneration: so rich, so varied, and so abundant are his
observations, and so profound his knowledge of man and
the world!"
~ 2.-METHOD OF PLATO.
Was he a sceptic or a dogmatist? Was he a mere
expounder of Socratic doctrines, or himself the founder of a
school? As to the first of these questions, the ancients are
divided, some regarding him as a sceptic, others as a positive teacher.  Cicero says, "Plato affirms nothing, but,
after producing many arguments, and examining a question on every side, leaves it undetermined." This is true,
doubtless, of some of the writings of Plato, those which are
intended as mere exercises of dialectic skill, but by no
means of his more important dialogues.  Plato was no
sceptic. Yet he doubtless did attach more importance to
th/e method of investigating truth than to the results of that
investigation; doubted the certainty of those results, and
of his own knowledge as regards the higher elements and
objects of thought; expressed himself usually with reserve
as to the definite objects of knowledge; sought truth without professing to have arrived at certain apprehension of it.
In all this he followed Socrates. But he was not a mere
expounder of the Socratic doctrine.  He enlarged the
boundaries of the Socratic philosophy, and added to it new
elements and instruments of great power. He brought
into the sphere of philosophical investigation whatever was
truly valuable in the researches and results of preceding
thinkers, gathering from  the Pythagorean, the Eleatic,
even the ancient Ionian, valuable and needful materials
for the symmetrical and complete structure of the temple
of truth.  He was not so much a creator as a composer; a
critic, an eclectic, rather than a dogmatist; an architect and
skilful builder of materials already elaborated.  " He was,"
says Lewes, " the culminating point of Greek )hiloso)? v."




110                     PL ATO.
What, then, was the Platonic method?  Socrates had
relied on induction and definition.  Definition was with
him the basis of all science. To know what a thing is, you
must also know what it is not. But in arriving at his
definitions Socrates proceeded by a purely inductive or
analogical process. Plato gave exactness and a scientific
form to this part of the process of investigating truth, by
adding the new and more efficient instruments of analysis
and synthesis. Analysis, the decomposition of a thing
into its component parts, the study of those parts, the idea
of the whole thus acquired, the seeing the one in the many,
— this process Plato was the first to introduce into science.
(The process of this dialectical procedure is described in
Phaedrus, 265 seq.). Would you know what virtue is?
Resolve the term into all the separate virtues, build up all
these again into one, and you have virtue; you know what
it means, you have a definition of it or a knowledge of its
essence (Rep. vii. 534). The definitions of Plato relate to
general and abstract ideas, for these alone are capable of
definition; these alone are permanent, while the individual
thing is transitory, phenomenal, not the subject of science
at all. Science has nothing to do with individuals, but
only with general terms, or classes, abstract ideas.  These,
according to Plato, stand for the only real existences, the
only proper objects of science.
Plato is generally represented to have been a Realist
an-d not a Nominalist.  He gives to his general terms, as
Socrates did not, a distinct and separate existence," says
Aristotle, and called them ideas. This, however, is strennously denied by Butler (Anc. Phil. ii. 16. seq.). Lewes
has well stated in brief the summary of the Platonic
method.  "I is great dogma was the necessity of an
untiring investigation into general terms (or abstract
ideas).  He did not look on life with the temporary interest of a passing inhabitant of the world. He looked on it
as an immortal soul longing to be released from its earthly




PLATO.                     1l
prison, and striving to catch by anticipation some faint
glimpses of that region of eternal truth where it would some
day rest. The fleeting phenomena of this world he knew
were nothing more. But he was too wise to overlook them.
Fleeting and imperfect as they were, they were the indicae
tions of that eternal Truth for which he longed, footmarks
on the perilous journey, and guides unto the wished-for
goal. Long before him, wise and meditative men perceived
that sense-knowledge would only be knowledge of phenomena; that everything men call existence was but a perpetual flux-a something which, always becoming, never
was; that the reports which our senses made of these things
partook of the same fleeting and uncertain character. He
could not, therefore, put his trust in them; he could not
believe that Time was anything more than the wavering
image of Eternity.
"But he was not a sceptic. These transitory phenomena were not true existences; but they were images of true
existences.  Interrogate them; classify them; discover
what qualities they have in common; discover that which
is invariable, necessary, amidst all that is variable, contingent; discover The One in The Many, and you have penetrated the secret of Existence" (Hist. Phil. i. 210, 11).
~ 3.-PLATO'S DIVISION OF PHILOSOPHY.
Before treating of psychology in particular, it is necessary first to inquire into Plato's general view of philosophy,
and his division of it.
Philosophy Plato divides into Logic, Physics, and Ethics
(so Cic. Acad. Post. i. 5, 19; Sext. Emp. adv. Math.
vii. 16), as comprising the various departments of human
knowledge. There is among the many different sciences
one, whose office is that of regulator of the others, to
determine the value of each special science. This, the
science of all other sciences, he terms dialectic, or logic. It
embraces all, gives unity to all, and no particular science




112                     PLATO.
is of any further value than as it contributes to advance
the soul in this all-comprehensive science.  Mathematics,
astronomy, etc., are like sportsmen who seize whatever
prey comes to hand, without even the ability to make any
use of it.  Dialectic teaches the true use and value of all
such acquisitions. It is the "self-consciousness of the
reason, the conviction it has of itself. This first gives to
life its intellectual energy, by affording a definite end to
whatever the soul enters upon and accomplishes, while it
contemplates the supreme truth, the true good of the soul,
of all things." This perfect scieiice is difficult to attain,
indeed can never be fully attained by man, for everything
in him is perpetual change, his very science is fluctuating
and never the same; imperfect therefore. The object of the
one true science is eternal truth, the unchangeable, unborn,
imperishable; that which is, that which we call God, and
which is possible, knowable, only to God.  Nevertheless this
absolute and perfect science, though above human reach,
is yet the true ideal at which the soul of man should ever
aim; the province and privilege of the rational and truly
intelligent mind.  This, then, is the basis of the Platonic
idea of true science or pure philosophy, viz., that science
which from its high vantage ground overlooks and reviews
all others; embraces all others within itself; determines the
value and true end of each-the science which is "cognizant of all notions in their respective differences and affinities, and whose object is being in general "; the science
which orders and disposes all things, can discourse of all
things, presides over every thought and every utterance, real
only as existing in Deity, but the grand ideal of the excellence
and endeavor-divine philosophy.  He refuses the name of
science to all other arts and branches of knowledge, however accurate, as mathematics and its application to music
and astronomy, in comparison with this ideal, this one
grand true science of them all.
In order to reach toward this, a feeling of desire is need



PLATO.                      113
ful, a consciousness of our own ignorance. Curiosity comes
in also, and a feeling of wonder Plato calls the first step
toward philosophy; wonder, that is, at the uncertainty of
our present knowledge and the vagueness even of right
opinions.
No mental tendency or development, in his view, was
legitimate and right which did not contain in itself the
germ of this lofty ideal, of this science par excellence; this
highest development of human consciousness.
Plato distinguishes between opinion and science. Right
opinion is a transition to philosophy, but is not itself
science.  Even mathematical science, geometry, astronomy,
music, in so far as grounded on abstract truth, and so immutable, are only so many means of forming the soul to
philosophy; helps and necessary steps to it (Rep. vii. 526, vi.
510); they are more certain than mere opinion, right opinion, intermediate between it and philosophy (Rep. vii. 533).
But they are not themselves philosophy; for they proceed
upon the assumption of certain primary notions, and give
no account of principles —a method quite unscientific; they
employ, moreover, visible figures for illustration, yet do
not really treat of them, but only of what the mind alone
perceives. Hence Plato refuses them the name of science,
and calls them  tiavota, cognition, something clearer than
opinion, but less clear than science.
To this one lofty and only real science Plato applies the
term dialectic, meaning by it the true and pure philosophy.
By dialectic, the ancients usually meant the same thing as
logic in its widest signification.
Plato makes a similar use of it. Dialectic, or logic,
being with him (Soph. p. 253; Phmdrus, 266) essentially
the art of right thinking and right speaking, language and
thought being identical, except that the latter is a dialogue
in the soul without sound, the former is vocal or uttered.
His logic, then, is the science of thought and being (Philebus, p. 57), in so far as these are eternal and immutable.




11;4                    PLATO.
Combining with this physics and ethics, two subordinate
sciences, philosophy is complete.
~ 4.-PLATO'S PSYCHOLOGY.
We are ready now to proceed with the inquiry as to
Plato's psychology.  The soul, according to Plato, is of a
twofold nature, or rather we have two souls, the rational
and the sensitive; the latter regards phenomena, the former
deals with and is percipient of the noumena, dwells in the
region of pure ideas (Phmedo, 25; Phaedr. p. 247).  Each
completes the other, and both together make the complete
soul.  Sensation is the result of the union of the soul with
the body, the sentient and the sensible-the union of the
same with the other. Beside sense and reason there is a third
principle, as bond of union to the two, i. e., the spirit or
active principle, emotion; this is inferior to reason but
superior to sense. These three potentates rule the soulappetite, spirit, reason-like the three divisions of plant,
animal, and man in nature. The soul has existence in a
previous state (Meno, p. 81), is indeed an eternal, imperishable existence (Phwedrus, p. 245; Tim. p. 41; Phaedo, 62107). In that previous state it dwells in the region of celestial truth, travels with the gods, beholds and is conversant
with real existences, self-existences, not mere phenomena.*
If, however, it fail of reaching the necessary height and
perceiving these realities, if its wings are clogged and
weighed down by vice, it loses its primitive state, loses its
wings, falls to the earth, enters and animates some corporeal body, and the person thus animated becomes a lover
of wisdom and beauty, or a monarch, or statesman, or artist,
or poet, or sophist, or prophet and religious teacher, according to the nature and rank of the preexistent soul. They
who conduct wisely in these different circumstances will
next time obtain a more eligible lot. The soul never
* On this supposition of preexistence, see beautiful passage in
Butler (Anc. Phil. vol. ii. p. 229 seq.).




PLATO.                       115
regains its pristine state, in less than 10,000 years; its
wings requiring that time for growth. At the end of its
first mortal life, it is judged, sentenced, and either sent for
punishment under the earth, or rewarded in heaven. At
the end of a thousand years it is called back, to choose by
lot a new life. This time it may pass into the body of
a woman, a bird, a beast, or a fish, according to its intelligence and virtue, or the soul of a beast, if once human,
may now pass again into the human body. Thus it
changes each thousandth year, till the decade is complete
and its pristine state regained, if it ever is to be. The
souls, however, of those who diligently seek wisdom and
philosophy with sincerity, if they thrice successively
choose this kind of life, in the three thousandth year
regain their wings and are off. The soul in its mundane
existence has many ideas of a higher and purer order than
those of sense, ideas of things according to their kinds
which are the combination of many perceptions into one by
the reason. These ideas are reminiscences of its former
state, when it was with the gods and beheld self-existent
truth (Phkedo, 74, 5; Phaedrus, 249).  This differs widely
from sense-knowledge. Sense-knowledge is vague and uncertain: it is the knowledge of that which is never permanent
and certain, but always in a flux, always becoming, never
being. Were it not for our recollections of our previous
state, the soul would apprehend only the becoming, the
changeable, the sense-world, never the real and the true.
"It is as if in our youth," says Lewes, "we had listened
to some mighty orator whose printed speech we are reading
in old age. That printed page how poor and faint a
copy of that thrilling eloquence! And yet that printed
page in some dim way recalls those tones, recalls that face,
and stirs us somewhat as we then were stirred.  Long years
and many avocations have somewhat effaced the impression
he first made, but the printed words serve faintly to recall
it. Thus it is with our immortal souls. They have




116                      PLATO.
sojourned in that celestial region where the voice of truth
rings clearly, where the aspect of truth is unveiled,
undimmed. They are now sojourning in this fleeting,
flowing river of life. Stung with resistless longings for
the skies, and solaced only by the reminiscences of that
former  state, which  these fleeting, broken, incoherent
images of ideas awaken in them." *
What say we, now, of this doctrine; the soul's preexistence, its reminiscence of that former knowledge?
Beautiful it certainly is, nay more, sublime.  It explains
some things not otherwise resolvable. But is it true?
Not more improbable a priori than its future existence after
death, says Archer Butler.  Who knows but it may be
true?  Who will say positively it is not?  What is soul?
Whence comes it?  Who can tell?
~ 5. —TrEE PLATONIC "IDEAS."
In order to understand Plato's system it is necessary to
know what he meant by the term  sd much employed, so
fundamental to his philosophy, yet so much disputed, and
after all so uncertain in its meaning-the term  Idea.t
Whatever it means, it lies at the basis of the Platonic philosophy, and even gives it its most appropriate name-the
Ideal philosophy. - Greek philosophy and Greek art, it has
been well said, were eminently objective; their tendency
was to transform the mind's conceptions into perceptions;
to project its ideas out of itself, and then to look at them
as images, as entities.  This is characteristic of Plato's
philosophy.  He was, in this sense at least, a Realist.  Our
general conceptions were, with him, the images or representatives of eternal realities; our abstract universal notions,
notions of man as a genus distincet from all individual men;
of virtue in general, apart from  the specific virtues-these
* Vol. i. p. 222.
t For a clear and admirable statement of the Platonic doctrine
of Ideas, see Butler's Hist. Phil. ii. p. 112, 113.




PLATO.                       117
genera, these universals-were with him not mere conceptions of the mind but represent real existences, entities;
which entities he call Ideas.  Not only were these " Ideas"
existences, but the only real existences, the noumena, of
which all individual things were the phlenomena.
" Thus the object of Plato," says Butler, "was to trace
all that was offered by the senses throughout this wondrous
world down to its root in a deeper and invisible world."
It is in these ideas that science seeks to seize the essence of
things, to exhibit what everything is, in and by itself, or
absolutely. These ideas are themselves unchangeable,
always maintaining one and the same character.  All else
that exists beside ideas has reality only so far as it partici- i
pates in them.  It is by participation in these ideas, that
things are what they are, for all is formed out of ideas, and
numbers are to them as copies to originals. The word is
not limited to species and genera and similar abstract and
universal terms, but comprehends every sort of true being,
not merely, the most perfect, the beautiful, the good, etc.,
but the base and vicious even. There are ideas, also, of
the one and the many, the great and the small, health and
strength, speed and slowness; of unity, of the sphere by
itself, the circle by itself, of individual and sensible things,
a bed, a table, etc. (Repub. x. 596).  Nay, the ideas of bed,
table, etc., were first formed by the Creator, first existed,
before man copied the idea by making the sensible table,
etc., the shadow, as it were, of the reality. The qualities of
things are also ideas, and so likewise actions and activities;
a color, a'sound, etc. (Cratyl. 423), even a name; finally the
soul itself is an idea.  To use his own words, an idea may
be attributed to whatever as a plurality may be indicated by
the same name (Rep. x. 596; so Arist. Met. xiii. 3).  The
extent to which the term is thus applied is explicable,
if one consider that in Plato's view there is nothing which
is not comprehended in the range of true science as its
legitimate object, while at the same time science deals only




118                     PLATO.
with the fixed and immutable; of course, then, something
fixed and immutable pertains to all, even the most changing
and sensible things, and that something is its idea-the
prototype of its existence. Thus only, universal science
becomes possible.  Here the question arises, since ideas
comprise all reality, and truth, all real existence, what
becomes of the sensible, how comes it to be, and of what
value is it? The transition from the ideal to the sensible
is the most difficult point in the whole Platonic philosophy,
the point least clear, most doubtful and ambigious.
The sensible, according to Plato, is a compound of the
"Idea" with the " Other," or " non-beizg " (Tim. p. 35)a combinatibn of different ideas to form one essence, for it is
the nature of the sensible to comprise opposites within it,
as the beautiful and the ugly, the great and the little, etc.,
as confusedly presented by the sensuous perception. This
sensible world, however, is not a mere conception, but has
reality in a sort, because it participates mysteriously in the
nature of ideas.  The relation of the sensible to the ideal
is, however, merely that of resemblance (Rep. x. 597).  The
idea is the true measure or standard of the sensible. Plato
in one place speaks of God as creating these ideas or prototypes of sensible things, in another place as creating the
sensible after the pattern of these ideas already and eternally existing.
The close resemblance of the Platonic theory of ideas to
the Pythagorean doctrine of number is noticed by Aristotle
(Met. i. 12,13).
As an example or illustration of what Plato means by
ideas, W. A. Butler (Ancient Phil. vol. ii. pp. 116-118)
instances the law of causality. Our senses perceive the
changes that are -going on in the external world, but it is
only by the faculty of reason that we perceive the necessity
of a cause to produce that change.  Thus every change
brings the reason of man into contact with an " Idea," and
that idea is independent of the mind that conceives it;




PLATO.                      119
eternal. In like manner in all the phenomena of the
world the "idea" of the God is revealed; the idea-partially developed it is true, but yet manifest-of absolute
perfection.  And so throughout, as the phenomena of sense
cannot be explained without calling to our aid something
beyond sense, so in the eternal world exists a reason for every
phenomenon of sense, a reason antecedent to the sensible
phenomenon. And these reasons, or general principles, are
the "ideas" of Plato.  Nor are these reasons, or laws, or
ideas, to be regarded as identical with being or the conceptions of God. He is as far above them as they above sense.
~ 6.-PLATO'S THEOLOGY.
These ideas all stand related to each other; the less
included in the greater, rising rank on rank above each
other, and it is the business of science to trace each idea
up to its higher and still higher sources, till the last is
reached. And what is the last, the supreme, the grand
idea that comprehends under it and in itself contains all
others? What is this great supreme idea? It is God, the
grand ultimate of all existence and reality. A perfect
knowledge and comprehension of this being is impossible
to man. No one general term will express the idea of
God, or the good, as Plato interchangeably expresses it, but
under these three terms it may be exhibited; viz., BEAUTY,
PROPORTION, AND TRUTH. God is the supreme object of
science (Rep. vi. 505) and the sum of ideas; as all variable
phenomena proceed from and suppose an invariable essence,
so the essence of all ideas and essences is in the last analysis
to be found in the idea of the good (Rep. vii. 517), or God;
the pattern after which all is fashioned and to which all
things tend; God is the really beautiful and good. Man
can strive after the beautiful and the good, and so participate in it, become assimilated to the divine. God is ever
the same, for the more perfect anything is, the less liable
to be changed by another; hence Deity, as the most perfect,




1L 20                  PLATO.
is incapable of being thus changed.  Still less can he
change himself, for nothing good voluntarily becomes
worse. Yet, being perfect, there is no change possible
except for the worse. He changes not, therefore. Pleasure and pain are alien from him, yet his existence is eternally blissful, since participating in the good. All sensuous conditions of time and space are of course inapplicable
to the Deity of Plato. He is omnipresent and omnipotent,
and provides for all things, alike the great, and the little
without which the great cannot be. He wills good to all so.far as each is calpable of receiving it. He unites in himself
all wisdom and virtue. Hence God is reason (Phileb. 22).
But wisdom  and reason exist not without a spirit. A
sovereign soul and sovereign reason belong to him. Such
is the God of Plato, in comparison with whom man is
worthless and contemptible. Yet Schwegler (Hist. Phil.
p. 96) questions whether with Plato God is a personal
being.
~ 7.-PLATO'S ETHICS.
As Plato includes Theology under Dialectic or Philosophy, so his Ethics comprise not only Morals but Politics.
It will conduce to clearness, however, to consider the two
separately.  The basis of ethics, with Plato, is not the
idea of obligation or duty, the idea of the right, on which
in our own view all morals rest, but the idea of human
perfectibility, as attained by the right regulation of the
conduct. Hence the close connection of ethics with dialectics, the latter furnishing the knowledge of the good,
the true, the perfect, by which alone man can rightly
govern his conduct. This is the distinguishing feature of the
Platonic system of ethics, it being based, not on the idea
of obligation, but of man's capacity for scef-imzprovement,
and its consequent intimate connection with science or
knowledge.  Indeed, in this latter point, Plato only carries
out the Socratic doctrine, that virtue is knowledge,-that




PLATO.                       121
the two ideas are inseparable, no one is willingly or voluntarily evil, only from ignorance does any man do evil; but
not voluntarily is any one subject to ignorance, since every
volition aims at the good; only from ignorance does the
soul ever yield itself to the baser desires, following the
apvparent good, mistaking it for the real. Where science
is, then, there is the knowledge of the true and the good,
and so there is morality. The mistaking of evil for good
is an involuntary fault, a want of art; the virtuous man is
the skilful and successful artist, who knows how to accomplish the right and the wrong. The vicious, i. e., ignorant,
man is a bungling artist.  This is a grand defect in
Plato's system. It sets aside the influence of the passions
as a moving and disturbing force, and makes virtue a mere
matter of intellect.  It makes every man do as well as he
knows howe, and even excuses his ignorance, since that, too,
was involuntary. Is this a true picture of human nature?
Whose consciousness does not say no? Who will not say
with Ovid, "Video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor";
with Euripides, " I know that what I am about to do is
evil, but desire is stronger than my deliberations"; with
Paul, "that which I do I allowo not, or approve not,"
Rom. vii. 15.
As to the idea of pleasure, what part does it play in the
Platonic ethics? The Sophists had taught that the good
consists in pleasure.  Plato refutes this error, yet does not
deny that it is a good thing. It does not consist, according to Plato, simply in the negation of paini, as the Cynics
maintained, but is a feeling of fitness and harmony in
man's composite nature. Pleasure is of different species
or kinds. There is that which is preceded by pain, as in
case of hunger and thirst and other bodily desires, where
the sensation of a want or pain precedes the gratification.
This species of corporeal pleasure has its source in the,iant.  There is another sort of pleasure which arises from
painless desires, e. g., sight of beautiful colors, forms, etc.,
6




122                     PLATO.
perception of agreeable odors, tunes, and purely intellectual pleasures. These are the simple and pure, while the
former sort are impure or mixed pleasures. True enjoyment consists in those pure delights which mingle not
with pain; that which the rational nature feels in the possession of truth and goodness.
Virtue, according to Plato, is of fourfold character.
The soul is of threefold nature: reason, spirit, and sense;
each of these three has its appropriate virtue (Rep. iv. 441);
that of reason is knowledge of the good, or wisdom; that of
the spirit, courage; that of the desires, temperance. There
is a fourth, however, whose office it is to regulate the others
and secure their due proportion and harmony, that is, justice. By means of this, each faculty of the soul without
interference performs its due functions and produces
within the man complete and perfect order and harmony.
Hence the just man alone can live in harmony with himself
or with others.  Weakness is the natural result of injustice;
strength, of justice.  The just man alone is at one with
himself; the unjust is not one but a compound of many
disjointed parts; no strength in such a man.
Happiness, says Plato, consists in the possession of the
good and the beautiful (Sympos. 202, 204); or, as he elsewhere expresses it, in the possession of justice and wisdom
(Gorgias, 508), or in the possession of moral beauty and
goodness (Gorgias, 470).  In the Euthyphron, Plato takes
ground expressly against the doctrine, that the moral qualities of actions are dependent on the will. of the supreme being.
In the language of Butler (Hist. Phil. vol. ii. p. 145, 146),
" his whole philosophy of ideas as related to God is a structure
raised to fortify the elementary principles of the eternal law
of right against the irruptions of this degrading tenet."  In
the mind of Plato the nature of goodness is coeternal with
God himself, not produced by him, nor dependent on him;
but he governs himself in all his acts according to these eternal relations of things, and makes his work conform to




PLATOo                       t23
that perfect model. " Plato has, indeed, with his usual metaphysical accuracy, seen that the eternal laws of Right are
in some mysterious bond (altogether beyond our conception), entwined with the divine nature, and he accordingly
represents them as contained by him in his own divine
reason; but nevertheless he maintains their substantial
distinctness from the personal activity or volition of God,
and their relation to him, not in the bond of cause and
effect, but, to express eternal truths by sensible analogies,
in that of model or examplar.  They are coexistent, they
may even be pronounced coincident; but they ale not
consequential, resultant, inferior... God is related to
the eternal ideas, as an architect is related to the model by
which he labors."
As to the relation of the divine being to the good and
evil that are in the world, there is a fine passage in the
Laws (x. p. 903-4), in which the position is taken that the
goodness of God is the final cause and law of creation and
that everything is arranged with a view to the greatest
good, while at the same time he has left to the disposition
of our own wills the causes on which our distinctive characters depend, " The King of the world, having known all
this, conceived, in the general distribution, the system
which he considered simplest and best, to the end that good
might have the upper hand and evil be zundermost in the
-universe.  It is with this view to the whole, that he has
constructed his arrangement of the positions that each
individual, according to his distinctive character, is to
occupy, —at the same time that he has left to the disposal
of our own wills the causes on which these distinctive
characters shall depend; "for men are what they make
themselves to be" (Quoted by Butler-whose translation
I follow —Hist. Phil. vol. ii. p. 159-60).




124                     PLATO.
~ 8.-PLATO'S POLITICS.
With Plato, the individual is subordinate to the state.
This is the grand characteristic of his political system.
The distinction of individuality is an unavoidable imzperfection of a state, as also the difference of sex, temperament,
character, etc. —distinctions to be, as far as possible, merged
and lost sight of in the polity of the state.  The state is a
unity, composed of individual parts indeed, but the parts
are of no consequence except as constituent of the whole;
are not to come up with an importance of their own. To the
good of the state all these individual distinctions are to be
sacrificed. The state is everything. In this he only carried
out with great vigor the spirit of the earlier Greeks.
Accordingly, the right of property is to be given up, or is
allowed only to the baser order of the community, viz.,
tradesmen and mechanics. Property belongs not to the
citizen but to the state. In like manner, children are the
property, not of the parents but of the state; nay, parentage is to be unknown. A community of wives is to exist.
The domestic and family relations are to be ignored.  The
increase of the race is to be provided for on the same principles as farmers provide for the increase and improvement
of stock. Women are to be selected for marriage with special
reference to this, and to be assorted to the men, not indiscriminately, but with special reference to the temperament
and character of each-the mild of one sex with the violent
of the other, and the reverse. Yet no man is to have wife or
children of his own. The state is to provide nurses for
the early education of the children, and the state is also, at
a proper age, to assign each to his proper rank or office or
profession, according to his capacity and talent.  Woman
is to share with man the toils of war and agriculture,
and the few that are fitted to do it may share with him
also in the pursuits of philosophy and government. The
sick and the aged, as no longer useful, are to be abandoned.




PLATO.                       125
The duty of education lying thus in the state, the arts,
music, poetry, dancing, etc., are under its exclusive control.
Education is twofold: that of the body, gymnastics, and
that of the soul, mnwusic; the former, all training of the
physical man, not for its own sake but for the benefit of
the soul; the latter, including the fine arts, grammar, the
arts of the muses, the sciences. These latter, however,
subject to restrictive laws, by which he would counteract
the prevailing tendency to effeminacy and luxury in the arts,
substituting the simplicity and gravity of the olden time.
Poetry, dramatic and epic, he proscribes, as striving to
imitate the passions and emotions, and so dangerous; but
lyric poetry, under due care and authority of the elders, is
to be allowed as a branch of culture, so it be decent and
grave, abstaining from all seductive ornament, and singing
devoutly the praises of gods and heroes.  As to this, Plato
was a regular puritan.  No, even John Calvin looked with
a colder and more philosophic eye on the fine arts, nor
stout old John Knox on Queen Mary's music and dancing.
The best form of administration he regards as the
monarchical, or power vested supremely in one rather than
in the many. Hfe is no friend to democracy. Very few
are endowed with the capacity for governing the state.
One truly intelligent mind is alone competent for this.
But he must be intelligent, knowing the good, a philosopher; not till kings are philosophers will the state be well
governed.
As to different classes of society, the state is to be
divided, as the individual soul, into three orders. Corresponding to the reason is to be, in the state, the sovereign
power; corresponding to the spirit, the next order in rank,
assisting the sovereign; parallel to the appetite, a third
class, ministering to the bodily wants of man; the ruler,
the warrior, the craftsman.  This last order, including
merchants and mechanics, and. workmen generally, he
considers as of little consequence except as necessary for




126                     PLATO.
the support of the other classes. They are left to train
themselves; are a sort of serfs; nay, these manual and
mechanic arts should as far as possible be confined to slaves,
not citizens. Slavery, as an institution of nature, he maintains.  The warrior class is vastly more important.  From
this, the sovereign is to be chosen. Hence the whole class
is to be most carefully trained and educated in gymnastics
and music (as above explained), and so made fit for the art
and office of government. The prosperity of the state depends on its care and faithfulness in this matter of educating
its future rulers. Such is the model state of Plato, as developed particularly in the two dialogues, " the Republic"
and "the Laws."  A strange admixture, you will say, of
aristocracy, despotism, Fourierism, Puritanism, and the
most thorough-going inhumanity. It is, indeed, a strange
compound, but viewed as a whole, with all its defects, it
excites our admiration, as an idea of government at once consistent, symmetrical, comprehensive, grand, and far-reaching in its general view, and altogether beyond and above
the ideas of his age. Ueberweg (i. 131) regards it as an
advance on all Hellenic forms and ideas of government, and
an anticipation of the Hierarchy of the Middle Ages-the
philosophers of the former being replaced by the priests in
the latter. Plato indeed admits that it is a model not to
be fully realized on earth, a perfect standard that can only
be approximated.
~ 9.-PLATO'S PHYSICS.
Plato denies to physical inquiries all pretension to true
science, since they deal with the indeterminate and everchanging,-with material forms, —and the knowledge thus
derived cannot be therefore itself precise and permanent.
The fundamental idea in his theory of physics is that of
becoming,; all nature is in a state of inchoation, it is always
becoming, never is; nothing fixed and determinate about
it; hence nothing positively certain can be known or laid




PLATO.                        127
down respecting it (So Tim. p. 28). Matter or, as he
calls it, the absolutely indeterminate, and which he does
not distinguish from space, is the receptacle, the mother of
all things, it is eternal, coexistent with Deity (Timreus,
passim; Cicero Acad. ii. 37, 118).  It is wit/hout form,
without an idea, without any primal property, unless it be
that of a certain disorderly motion. Matter, then, is
simply the condition of all natural existence, becomes
orderly and animate only by the formative energy of ideas,
of the good, of Deity, operating on it, giving it form,
figure, fashion, order, beauty.
Plato conceives of matter, space, and time as not real
existences.  Matter is the substratumz of sensible qualities,
a conception of the mind, a fine abstraction (Timaeus, p.
49-51). Space is a mere condition of the sensible (Timmus,
p. 49 seq.). Matter is eternal; did not originate in time.
Time is merely relative to the phenomenal world, created
with it, and to end with it, if there be any end; closely
resembling the doctrine of Kant respecting time (Krit. der
Rein. Vern. i. Theil. ~ 4). The Epicurean view is analogous
in some respects.  They held the sense-world to be real, but
time to be a mental conception; Plato holds both the
sense-world and time to be equally unreal, the copies of
the supersensible realities (See Butler, Anc. Phil. vol. ii.
p. 173, 174). The reality is eternity, of which time is the.noving image.  "The Creator," says Plato (Tim. p. 37),
"determined to create a moving image of eternity, and
in disposing the heavens, he framed of this eternity,
reposing in its own unchangeable unity, an eternal image
(a.6Svtov elcdva), moving according to numerical succession,
which image he called time."
The world as it stands, is it from eternity, or had it a
beginning? The latter. It is visible, tangible, corporeal;
that is, it is sensible, and the sensible is not eternal but
produced (Tim. p. 28).
It must have a cause then, rational and intelligent;




128                     PLATO.
the father and fashioner of it. The operations of this
cause proceed according to an idea or pattern, and that
pattern is not itself an imperfect and perishable one, but
eternal and immutable, for the world is the most beautiful
of the works of God, the best of causes, and is made after
his own resemblance and likeness (Tim. p. 29; Arist.
Metaph. i. vi. 2). But God, reflecting, perceived that, to be
the best, the world must not be irrational; and that to be
rational it must have a soul. IHe therefore made it an intelligent, rational, ensouled, and living being.  This soul of
the world is the medium of connection between the eternal,
immutable nature of reason and the changeable, divisible
nature of corporeal things, God uniting "the other" with
"' the like " (Timmaus, p. 35). The world, then, is an animate
and rational being, and as it is modelled after a perfect
idea, itself the image of the supreme idea, it is of necessity
a unity; there is but one world. It is perfect, moreover,
subject neither to age nor dissolution; indestructible, save
by the power that formed it; yet even this divine work is
limited, for whatever is produced must decay, has its
periods of decay and reproduction, has already experienced
several successive revolutions, both by fire and waterwhich few of the race of men alone survived; not to be
destroyed, however, but to commence again a new era and
a new existence. Its periods are determined by a perfect
number. This periodic decay, this limitation of its existing forms, is closely connected in his system with the
existence of moral evil, a fact which Plato finds it as difficult as any other and all other reasoners satisfactorily to
explain.  It cannot be from God, this he is sure of (Repub.
ii. 379). His view on this point closely resembles the ancient Manichman doctrine of two opposing principles, the
good and the evil; the latter inherent in matter or the
corporeal. He calls this latter principle, in one place, the
evil soul of the world (De Leg. x. 896; see also Polit. p. 268).
Evil subsists only for the souls that are enshrouded in cor



PLATO.                      129
poreal and mortal forms. The ground of its existence is
that the body united with the reason or soul, disturbs its
action, the mortal is impelled by its sensual desires.
Hence the desires are classed by Plato among the passive
states, and even diseases of the soul. Physical evil exists as
a consequence of the moral, and the gods are, in some
sense, its authors; that is, so far as it contributes to good
results.
The world in order to its perfection, and to containing
in itself all animals, must comprise every possible figure;
hence it is spherical, the most perfect and symmetrical of
forms. As living, it has motion, and this, too, is the most
perfect of motions, the circular.  The body of the world,
as that of man, exists only for the soul of it, which is diffused through the whole, yet has its chief seat in the centre,
whence the action extends to the utmost heaven, which it
draws about itself as a vesture.  The four elements are the
forms through which the becoming, or nature, necessarily
passes in space, so many modes of the corporeal.  These
are necessary modes, since without fire nothing can be
seen; without the solid, or earth, nothing can be felt, and
the corporeal must be visible and tangible.  God necessarily, then, composed the world of fire and earth. But two
things cannot cohere without a third, and if bodies are to
have volume as well as surface (that is, to have four
connected surfaces), there must be two connecting media,
two more elements, water and air. The five regular
bodies or figures correspond to these four elements (the
pyramid to fire; the cube to earth; the octahedron to
air; the icosahedron to water, while the dodecahedronequivalent to the cube-corresponds to the shape of the
world and comprises all the elements). The entire sum of
vitality is divided into seven parts, according to the harmonic numbers in the octave.  By this, Ritter supposes he
intended the seven planets of the ancients, in accordance
with the Pythagorean doctrine.  The external regularity
6*An




130                    PLATO.
of phenomena, the principle of beauty, the health and
strength of all living things, result from this determinate
order and harmonical composition of things according to
numbers and figure.  To make the world as like the
eternal prototype as possible, God gave it, since he could
not make it eternal, the property of measured time, the
moving image of eternity.  The sun, moon, and five planets
were created to determine and watch over the numbers of
time. Plato supposes a double revolution of the mundane
bodies: the outer circle, the sphere of the fixed stars, whose
movement is from left to right; the inner, comprising the
seven planets, moving from right to left, less perfect
motion than the former.  The former is the motion of
"the same "; the latter, of "the other," or of matter; the
former, revolution round its own centre, moving ever in
the  same space, after the pattern of true reason; the
latter, the movement of the other, or of matter, progression in a straight line. These stellar bodies are also living
beings, more or less perfect according to the regularity of
their movements, composed principally of fire, to look as
resplendent and beautiful as possible, and spherical in
form, similar to the shape of the All. Plato calls them
divine beings, a race of heavenly gods, yet distinguished
from  the eternal God, since created and visible.  The
Earth is first and oldest of all the fixed stars, its place in
the centre of the universe, where it spreads itself around
the mundane axis, balanced by its own equilibrium, the
guardian and artificer of night and day. It is uncertain
whether he supposed the earth to be at rest in the centre of
the universe, or to move round the axis of the world.
Beside these immortal gods, or fire bodies, the stars,
three species of mortal creatures were formed to inhabit the
earth, the water, and the air.  The Supreme God himself
could not make these, since they would have been like and
equal to the gods, consequently he committed the work of
their creation to the subordinate deities, reserving the right




PLATO.                     131
to communicate to these creatures whatever in their nature
was to be immortal. A like number of these mortal creatures is assigned to each of the stars. The male man
was the first birth of all mortal creatures, and after a fixed
period, known only to the gods, did the female and all other
animals issue from this mortal form.
As soon as the world, that vast animal, began to move,
live, and think, God looked upon his work and was glad.
In this account of the Platonic system of the universe, one
cannot but be struck with the close resemblance in several
points between his theory and the account given in Genesis
of the creation of the world.  The earth in the centrefirst and chief of all-sun, moon and stars moving round it
and subordinate in rank; the latter bodies created and
moving to measured periods of time for the convenience of
the former. Man first created, the eldest born of time;
woman from him; Deity beholding his finished work and
rejoicing.  Had Plato read Moses? Had he caught fragments of floating tradition? Or were these the ideas that
would most naturally commend themselves as probable to a
deeply thinking and penetrating mind? The latter is, I
think, the true solution. Such is the Platonic system of
the world, the soul, the universe (see p. 225-253).
The influence of Plato on the subsequent thinking of
the world has been perhaps even greater than that of
Aristotle. At present it is on the increase. One cause for
this, as Butler suggests, "is doubtless to be found in the
attractive and (affectionate tone, in the high and consoling
doctrine, with which from the depth of antiquity Plato
still addresses every elevated spirit.  Wearied with the
daily nothingness of a life which mocks with the illusion
of happiness that retreats as we approach it, it is wonderfully
soothing to speak, across the chasm of ages, with one who
could thus distinctively perceive in the nature of his own
retason, the promise of an eternal heritage above and beyond
the visionary scene of earthly life" (Anc. Phil. ii. 11).




132                 ARISTOTLE.
Another cause of this influence seems to me to lie in the
peculiar charm  of Plato's poetic and highly imaginative
style, of which the same writer just quoted has so well said,
"The'IHomerus Philosophorum,' as Cicero calls him,
loves to see everything flush with the colors of pure and
solemn poetry; standing forever in front of the changeless
and eternal, his spirit is filled with the exceeding awfulness
of the presence; and when he would speak, his thoughts swell
into the strong rapture of a hymn" (Anc. Phil. ii. 215).
CHAPTER IV.
ARISTOTLE.
THE great master mind of antiquity.  Less lofty and
imaginative than Plato, less ideal, less grand; but with a
keener insight, a more sharp and subtle penetration, a
more thoroughly scientific spirit; of wider erudition and
vaster learning, content to deal with facts and phenomena,
but content with nothing short of a thorough comprehension and complete mastery and scientific arrangement of
these; a mind that has left its impress more thoroughly on
all succeeding time and all succeeding progress of the race,
than any one mind, beside, that was ever created. Plato has
had and will always have his admirers. But to Aristotle men
go, even at this day, for information.  Is there a parallel
instance in all antiquity? Professor Agassiz says of him,*
"Aristotle knew more of certain kinds of animals and
their general relations than is known now. For instance,
he never confounded sharks and skates with ordinary fishes,
while all modern naturalists would put them in one and the
same class. Strange to say, I have studied the Selacians on
the South American coast by the light of Aristotle's
* Agassiz' lecture at Cambridge.




ARISTOTLE.                    133
researches upon them in the Mediterranean Sea, made by
him more than 2,000 years ago. I can fairly add that the
knowledge of Aristotle on these topics is so far ahead of
the current information recorded in modern works of
natural history that his statements can only be understood
by one who has made a special study of these animals.
The community evidently shared his knowledge, for he
refers to text-books of natural history which must, from
the details he gives about them, have been superior to
those we have now. You may seek in vain in the anatomical atlases of Wagner or Carus for information about the
structure of the reproductive apparatus of Selacians, to
which Aristotle alludes as contained in the text-books of
anatomists and belonging to the current knowledge of the
time. My aim is to give you in this course a comprehensive though very condensed sketch of zoological science in
our own day and generation, attempting to do what
Aristotle did in his zoology.  I wish I could handle my
subject with the same mastery."
I can best present what you will wish to know of Aristotle by sketching first his life, next the leading outlines,
briefly, of his philosophy in general, and then discussing
more particularly the chief divisions of that philosophy,
under the several heads of Logic, Physics, and Ethics.
~ 1.-LIFE OF ARISTOTLE.
Born at Stagira in Thrace (hence called Stagirite), 383
B. c. His father, a distinguished physician, friend of
Amyntas, king of Macedonia, descended from Esculapius,
left many works on medicine and natural history. This
gave a bias to the intellectual development and pursuits of
Aristotle, a tendency to physical investigations which is
strongly characteristic of him through life. Aristotle was
agreat naturalist.  At early age lost both parents; carefully instructed in physical science by Proxenus. Tradition makes him a wild and not very economical youth;




134                 ARISTOTLE.
obliged when the patrimony was expended to resort to arms,
in which career he is said to have distinguished himself
chiefly for that species of valor which is commonly called
discretion and consists in keeping one's self in reserve for
more important occasions. This I take to be a malicious
slant, however, at philosophers in general. Better authenticated accounts make the youth, at the early age of sixteen,
become a disciple of Plato at Athens, where he continued
for twenty years, during which time he was most assiduously studying, not the system of Plato merely but all the
works of the earlier philosophers, and indeed of all Grecian
literature. He seems to have been impelled by a restless
and insatiable desire for knowledge-a desire which no
acquisitions could satisfy and no attainments quench.
Plato calls him the reader. Aristotle's wonderful extent of
information in almost all the branches of natural science
may doubtless be attributed to these diligent years of investigation and research in early life. Among other branches
of knowledge, he was a proficient in medical science and,
according to tradition, always uncertain, practised medicine
in Athens.
It is frequently asserted that Aristotle quarrelled with
his great teacher, and was guilty of signal ingratitude and
want of due respect toward him. Of this, however, there
is, I think, no sufficient evidence. Plato may have disliked the caustic and severe spirit of his pupil, his keen and
unsparing criticisms of all preceding systems and teachers;
he may have disliked his manners and life. But there is
no evidence that the former friendship had given place to
mutual enmity. Aristotle does indeed attack with unsparing severity many of the doctrines of Plato; but this he
was certainly at liberty to do, as one to whom truth was of
more consequence than even the authority of a great name.
It must be confessed, however, that he seems on the whole
to have become widely and perhaps unnecessarily estranged
from the Platonic views, and to have assailed those views




ARISTOTLE.                     135
often with a bitterness that was needless and unbecoming.
On the death of Plato, Aristotle left Athens, and resorted to
the court of Hermeas, tyrant of Atarneus, a former pupil,
it is reported, of Plato and Aristotle, at Athens. After the
death of Hermeas, Aristotle, out of gratitude to his deceased friend and patron, marries his sister Pythias, left
destitute by her brother's death. Shortly after, he is
called by Philip to take charge of the education of his son
Alexander, then three years old.  He enjoyed the highest
confidence of Philip, and also of the youthful prince.
Stagira, his native town, was for his sake restored, and a
gymnasium built there for his lectures.  Aristotle did not
accompany Alexander, as often reported, on his Asiatic
expedition, but parted from him at the commencement of
the Macedonian war and returned to Athens, where he
opened a school. He taught in the Lyceum, walking up
and down the shady avenues with his disciples, whence
called peripatetic; taught not philosophy alone but all useful sciences (Diog. Laert. v. 3; Cic. de Orat. iii. 35), especially rhetoric. Two sorts of pupils: in the morning,
those who discussed with him the profound questions of
philosophy, and in the evening more general and preparatory instruction; the first called acroatic, the latter exoterical, investigations. Spent thirteen years in these pursuits at Athens, during which time composed many of his
ablest works, and pursued his extensive investigations in
natural history. After the death of his friend and patron
Alexander, under whose displeasure he had latterly fallen
in consequence of too free remarks on the habits and character of that monarch (Diog. L. v. 10; Plut. Vit. Alex.
55), Aristotle fled from Athens, to escape a fate similar
to that of Socrates; and died soon after at Chalcis, set. 63.
His works still extant are numerous, while at the same
time many of his most valuable treatises are supposed to
be lost.
His general character as a philosopher is well drawn by




136                  AR I STOTLE.
Ritter in the following paragraph (Hist. Phil. vol. iii. ): " In
his works, on the other hand, we see him the calm, sober
inquirer, who does not, like Plato, pursue a lofty ideal, but
keeps carefully in view the proximately practical, and is
not easily misled into any extravagance of language or of
thought.  His principal object is to examine truth in all
her aspects, never to step beyond the probable, and to
bring his philosophical system in unison with the general
opinions of men as supported and confirmed by common
sense, observation, and experience.... Generally a wise
moderation characterizes his views of science and of life.
The love of scientific pursuits was the predominant feature of his character... Moreover, in Aristotle we have
the cold inquirer and little more. Rarely, if ever, does he
step aside to consider the bond which connects the science of
the universal and of nature with the human intellect and
will. Consequently his works have more of that impressiveIness which constitutes the principal charm  of Plato's
writings.  In  the intimate contemplation of the soul's
activity he is neither so profound nor so natural as in the
observation of the forms and shapes in which outward
nature reveals herself.  In whatever degree this neglect of
all that moves and excites the mind may have contributed
to the simplicity of his works and the rigor with which the
intellectual view is carried out, they have suffered in
warmth and earnestness of style... Aristotle, even if
his mind were not totally alien from every poetical element,
was unable to combine the sober results of science with a
lively imagination. Hence his deficiency in large coordination of matter; hence the necessity of his frequent repetitions; hence, notwithstanding the occasional purity and
clearness of his style, his ordinary exposition is rude,
abrupt even in details, which renders it difficult to seize
the connection of his ideas, and which seldom attains to
perfect transparency of thought. At times the perusal of
his works creates a suspicion that he had  formed anm




ARISTOTLE.                    137
aversion to and intentionally avoided every grace of style,
consequently he is always serious, at times cutting and even
bitter, generally brief, though occasionally on unimportant topics he becomes diffuse from an incapacity to seize
his own meaning. With Aristotle, erudition has taken the
place of art. He is the first philosopher in whom this is
noticeable, and assuredly he contributed no little to establish
that estimate of the preeminence of mere learning which
was entertained by the later writers of Greece."  Ritter
further adds that we must look upon this "as the sign of
incipient decay. For in the freshness of its youth the
Greek mind loved art more than learning."  He admits,
however, that Aristotle is not chiefly to blame for this,
since he only follows the tendency of the age, and allows
that in his conclusions Aristotle is more vigorous and
decisive, and in his expressions more precise, than either
Socrates or Plato.
~ 2.-GENERAL VIEW OF ARISTOTLE'S PHILOSOPHY AS A SYSTEM.
It seems to have been his aim to collect, compare,
digest the multiplied opinions and views of all past time in
all the wide domain of science, and from the mass extract
and set forth in scientific form whatever was there contained of truth and value. This was a magnificent plan,
and diligently and strictly was it carried out. Plato, it
has been well remarked, flourished at a period when the
"Athenians were for the most part content to be merely
spectators of events," and had leisure to reflect upon the
springs of human conduct.  His philosophy accordingly,
is mainly directed to the inner, and has little application
to the outward and actual. But the course of events
was now changing.
The Greek mind began to look out of itself. Important revolutions were now commencing in history. Greece,
as a nation, was about to lose its high and independent
position. But it was also to become the teacher of nations,




138                 A R I S'T o T L E.
and, while the sceptre of national dominion passed out of
its hands, it was to wield that mightier sceptre of intellectual ascendency over the minds of men. Greek letters
and Greek philosophy were to become the predominant
culture of other and great nations. What shall better
prepare the way for this than that some capacious and
great mind should arise and lay out for itself the bold
scheme, to grasp in one comprehensive and complete view
the whole product hitherto of Greek thought and science,
arrange, collate, reduce to scientific form, and then, if
anything were wanting, by diligent investigation of nature
and her phenomena, add that to the already existing material. Such a mind was Aristotle's. Such a plan, such a
work was his; and faithfully he wrought it out.  " This,"
says Ritter, "this exactly, is the signature of great minds,
to be almost perfect representatives of whatever is peculiar
and characteristic in their age."  It will be perceived, then,
that the aim and labors of this great workman were twofold: to seize and set forth scientifically the results of
past efforts and previous thinking, and also to present in
complete and compendious form the objects and laws of
the external world as the sphere of man's activity; facts,
and the philosophy of facts; the "what is," and the
C" why it is." Of these, he looked on the latter as even the
more important. With Plato, he regarded a knowledge of
the first grounds of things as the most perfect science.
These two aims seem to be very seldom combined in the
labors and plans of any one mind. It is usually the work
and delight of one man to investigate and collect facts and
phenomena; of another, to inquire into the first causes and
grounds of these phenomena, and set forth the laws and
philosophy, according to which it must needs be so and so.
It is a striking peculiarity of Aristotle that he proceeds
cautiously, is never rash in his conclusions, limits his own
assertions and conclusions, goes no farther with any confidence than phenomena will bear him, is undecided and




ARISTOTLE.                     139
hesitates the moment facts are wanting on which to rest
with certainty, does not hazard an assertion then; "we
must wait," he says, "for further phenomena, for phenomena are more to be trusted than the conclusions of the
reason."  What more truly philosophical remark did Lord
Bacon or Sir Isaac Newton ever utter?
Aristotle's general view and definition of philosophy
would seem to be this: the science of the ultimate grounds
of all being; the science, whose object and aim it is, by
purely scientific reasoning, to ascertain the grounds on
which all science rests. This view distinguishes philosophy from every species of action and all the arts of life; for
these do not, like the former, regard the eternal and immutable, but respect the changing circumstances of life.
"All science," says Aristotle, "must set out from
something already known —in a word, must have its first
principles or grounds, apxat, which are not themselves
science, but the result of immediate cognition (Anal. Post.
i. 1; Eth. Nic. v. 3), which he distinguishes from strict
science, though he calls it a certainty.  Who does not
perceive in this the very doctrine and almost the very
language of Reid, Stuart, and others, who claim for their
philosophy a basis of first principles, and style it accordingly the philosophy of common sense. The very term,
apXai, first principles, is the very expression employed by
Dr. Reid.
Aristotle divides philosophy generally into the theoretical and the practical (according to Diog. L. v. 28; so also
Metaph. vi. 1), including under the former, metaphysics,
physics, and mathematics (Metaph. x. 7), under the latter,
or the practical, ethics and politics (Nic. Eth. 1. I, x. 10;
Rhet. i. 2), the former, whatever pertains to right thinking,
the latter, to right acting. The more general, the Platonic
division of philosophy into logic or metaphysics, physics,
and ethics (Cicero de Fin. v. 4, ascribes to him this division, and some of Aristotle's works, as Topica i. 14; Anal.




140                  ARI STOTLE.
Post. i. 33, indicate the same), seems, however, best to suit
his general system.  What we term  metaphysics, what
Plato called dialectic, and the ancients usually logic,
Aristotle calls the "firstphilosophy." "There is a science,"
he says, "which occupies itself with the principles of every
other science, investigates the nature of that which all other
sciences assunme. It is, then, the science of the universal;
has to do with being as being.  This is the first philosophy.
Physics would be the first and only philosophy, if there
were no other substance than physical.  But if there be
another, existing neither in matter nor motion, the ground
of all entity, then there is a science lying back of physics.
There is such a substance, the ground and cause of all
being-even God.  The first philosophy is, then, essentially
a theology; but it includes also the consideration of all
existence, so far forth as existence, independently of any
special mode in which it exists. Being, as distinct from
matter-this is the object and sphere of the first philosophy,
that is, of absolute philosophy.  Physics, on the other hand,
treats of being, not as being, but as participating in motion,
while mathematics treats of it as permanent, indeed, but
not as separable from matter. Physics and ethics cannot,
from their nature, then, admit of the same certainty as the
first philosophy.  Ethics, he grants, will not admit of
strict demonstration, but, as conversant about what generally happens, its reasonings start from phenomena, and
can reach only probable conclusions.  Physics are equally
uncertain; for nature is inconstant as well as opinion, and
so in this case also we must look only for probable, not for
certain, conclusions. Aristotle employs the term dialectic,
not as Plato, but with reference to such objects as admit
only of probable conclusions.
With Aristotle, as with Plato, the science of the good
is that which holds the first place above all others. This
falls, however, under the first philosophy, or metaphysics.*
* The relation of the logic proper of Aristotle, or the Analytica,




A RISTOTL E.                     141
Next follows physics, as the second philosophy.  In the
last place comes ethics, science of the practical or of
human nature, which Aristotle, however, designates by
the term  politics, rather than ethics.  Of all these, it is
only that which investigates first principles that strictly
deserves the name of philosophy.,i 3.-ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC.
The first thing which attracts our attention on looking
over this department of the Aristotelian philosophy is the
frequent reference to the so called categories.  These are
nothing more than the several genera under which the
various forms of thought and being-of whatever is-may
be included, and to which they may all be reduced. lHe
enumerates ten of these, without, however, professing to
give a complete enumeration. These are essence, magnitude, quality, relation, the where, the when, position, habit,
action, passion.  These were afterwards reduced to eight
(Anal. Post. i. 22; Phys. v. 4; Met. v. 7).  Whatever is
affirmed or thought of things falls under some one of these
heads, supposing the enumeration to be complete.
With Aristotle, as with Plato, language holds an important place as the manifestation of thought, and he directs
his inquiries specially to the investigation of the forms of
language, as the true way of arriving at a knowledge of
thought and being (Met. v. 7). He begins with the
simplest element of it, the word. This is neither true,
to the other divisions of his philosophy, is not very clear. It is not
to be confounded with the first philosophy, the science of the ultimate ground of things, to which the name logic, in the wider sense of
that term, is sometimes given. Logic proper is not included under
either of these three divisions, Metaphysics, Physics, or Ethics, but is
regarded as p2reparatory to them all. As to the logic proper, it has
been remarked by Kant that only in two points has the logic of the
moderns advanced beyond that of Aristotle, i. e., the fourth figure,
and the hypothetical and disjunctive syllogism. It may be seriously
questioned whether either of these is any true addition to the science.




142                  AlRISTOTLE.
nor false; cannot be; becomes so only when united with
other events in a proposition. The true and the false can
be expressed only by the union or separation of seubject and
predicate, indeed being and non-being are nothing else
than this.  Combining  subject and  predicate, or the
thought of one thing with that of another, we have the
proposition; and the proof is true or false necessarily,
since it expresses a relation of one thing or thought to
another, which relation may or may not be true —must be
either true or false. The simple enunciative proposition
is here intended.  This is of two kinds, affirmative or
negative; mutually opposed, and when asserted of one and
the same thing in one and the same sense, contradictory of
each other.  Propositions are either universal or particular,
and here again admit of opposition to each other. This principle of contradiction is with Aristotle the groundwork of
reasoning, the highest principle on which all demonstration
is founded. You can find no reason of this principle; it is
a first truth, that is, the affirmative and the negative, the
particular and the universal, cannot both be true at once
of the same thing in the same sense.
Aristotle finds it necessary here to confute those who
maintain the falsity of every idea predicable of thought and
of being, on the ground that the sensible, which comprises
all thought and being, is not worthy of reliance: in sensation the same object appears differently to different persons,
is susceptible of opposite changes, and consequently nothing
can with truth be affirmed of it. Aristotle replies that
sensation is not to be confounded with mere conception, that
every perception is true as regards its proper object, as to
its immediate declaration. Its testimony is not opposite to
itself, nor conflicting with itself, at one and the same time;
and when there is doubt at any time as to it, the doubt is
not as to what the immediate perception is, but as to
whether it corresponds to reality.  Sensation, he further
argues, is an operation of the sentient person, exists not of




ARISTOTLE.                       143
itself independently of the sentient being. There is something distinct from it which produces it, is the ground of it,
and so prior to it of course, and even if sensation itself be
false, this something which is the ground of it must exist,
and exist as true quite independently of all sensation.
Our knowledge Aristotle, with Plato, holds to be relative;
but things themselves are not mere relations. There is a
substance, a primary to which relations appertain, a first
ground and substratum of which all else is predicated.  Not
all things, then, can be reduced to mere sensations.  Aristotle also combats the notion of the Eleatics and Heraclitus,
who held that all things are equally true.  Even those who
had this view, he says, must admit that there is such a thing
as false opinion (else why do they argue or affirm), and if
all assertions are equally true, then distinctions of good and
evil are annihilated, and those who speak of what is as they
think are really speaking of what is not.
Aristotle next proceeds to examine the laws of right
reasoning, as regards especially the use and value of the
syllogism. He speaks only of the first three figures of the
syllogism, and regards the first of these only as perfect, i. e.;,
both universal and affirmative, while the others may be
reduced to this. Aristotle makes two sorts of syllogisms,
the demonstrative and the inductive; the latter sets out
from the consideration of particulars already known and so
reaches a general conclusion, the former sets out from some
general and admitted principle, and reasons to a particular
conclusion. Of these the former deals with what is best
known to us, but still is uncertain, since all phenomena are
changeable.  The latter is more certain and valuable.
These two are the only strictly scientific procedures.
~ 4.-METAPHYSICS OF ARISTOTLE.
There are four essential principles common to all realities.  These are matter, form, moving cause, and end or
final cause (Met. i. 3). And first, of matter.  Of all exter



144                   A ARISTOTLE.
nal existence, possessing such and such qualities and presenting such and such appearances, there must be back of
all these qualities and appearances, some primary substance,
the basis of all this becoming, the ground of it all, capable
of receiving all possible determinations, yet in itself indeterminate, imperceptible even, and unknowable.  This is
matter. It is to all determinate things what the wood is to
the table, or the marble to the statue.  Formn, or essence,
is matter become knowable and perceptible, having received
some determination, having become this or that which the
senses can recognize. It is whatever a thing is actzually,
not brass in the abstract, mere material without figure or
any determinable quality, but a brazen statue of such and
such dimensions and proportions.  With Aristotle, form
takes the place of the " Ideas " of Plato.
The Platonic theory of ideas as actual existences or
essences, Aristotle rejects, as inconsistent with physical
and even with ethical science, as confounding the grounds
of all things, and so at variance with truth and with phenomena, assimilating things that differ widely, as the
perishable and the imperishable, the sensible and the eternal-these all resting, according to that theory, on one and
the same ground, having one and the same essence, i. e.,
the idea; whereas there must be different grounds for
things so different. The only essence, according to Aristotle, is that of the individual (Metaph. i. 9, vii, 13, xiii.
9; see also, De Anima, iii. 4. 8).
Aristotle admits the idea and existence of infinity. The
infinite exists, but not as the actual, for that is always
finite; it exists as potential, and consists in this, that it is
always possible to take more and more in addition and
subtraction, and so on forever. In and by itself it is
inconceivable, however, and, like matter, is a ground of
things; itself, like matter, ingenerate and imperishable.
These investigations as to matter lead to similar inquiries as to the nature of motion.' How does matter pass into




ARISTOTLE.                     145
form, the potential become the actual? By motion, of
course. Motion is the passage from the potential to the
actual (Phys. iii. 1). Now the potential does not, of itself,
possess the power to become actual.  Motion does not result
friom it therefore, but from something out of it.  Matter
cannot move itself. There must be out of it some already
existing actual substance, as a moving cause (Metaph. ix. 8;
De Gen. An. ii. 1).  Motion, moreover, is without beginning; has always been; else, prior to all motion, the movable and the mover must 7have come into being.  This would
itself be motion, and that prior to all motion, which is
absurd; hence motion is eternal.  That is, the movable, the
moving cause, and the motion, are all without beginning.
The same thing follows also from  the infinity of time.
Time cannot be conceived without a now. A now is the
point intermediate between past and future; every now
implies a past, and as this is true of every moment, every
now, it is therefore impossible to conceive of the beyinnina
of time. Time, however, is only a particular kind or determination of motion.  If one is without beginning the other is.
As there is a moving cause, so there is also a final cause;
the former indicates the source or origin of the motion,
the latter the end or design of it.  Every becoming, all
motion, has some design, some end.'This tends to the consideration of final causes, which Aristotle regards as the
highest problem of philosophy. In answer to the question,
Wherein consists the end of all becoming? Aristotle replies,
Good is the final end, also Being; all change or becoming is
for the sake of Being or Essence, which is better than nonbeing. (He distinguishes two kinds of activities: that which
has its end in itself, and that which has not; as seeing,
knowing, life, etc., are complete in themselves, while to
learn, to be convalescent, and so generally anything not
yet complete, are activities looking to some end out of
themselves. The former he calls energies, the latter motions.
There are, then, four causes of phenomena; the material,
7




J146                 ARISTOTLE.
the formal, the moving, and the final (Phys. ii. 1, 3, 7;
Met. i. iii, xi. iv. 5, v. 2, 4, vii. 4), not acting independently
of each other, but cooperating in every sensible object,
distinct only as the object is regarded from these several
points of view. This he illustrates from analogy. A
house or statue, in order to be built, must have an art or
artist as moving cause; an end, the proposed work; a
form. or thought-logos-after which it is fashioned; some
material, of which it is built. So also in nature the same
four causes.
The existence of a self-moving cause, as a separate selfsubsisting essence, is a very important feature of the Aristotelian metaphysics.  He arrives at this position in the
following manner. If there is anything imperishable, there
must be also an imperishable substance as the ground of
what is imperishable.  But time and motion are imperishable. Therefore there is an imperishable substance as
their ground.  Moreover, phenomena would otherwise be
inexplicable if there were not a necessary mover, one whose
essence consists in activity and motion, else he might at
some time not have moved, and then motion were not
eternal.  Argument of Clark anticipated completely in this.
This cause is itself unmoved, since always working in the
same manner. It is one, since a single eternal unmoved
cause is sufficient to account for all phenomena; one, for
another reason also.  Motion is permanent and eternal;
what is permanent is one, and proceeds from a single cause.
Still another argument for the same. The eternal mover,
being all activity and not mere potentiality is, by the very
notion thus formed, devoid of matter (Metaph. xii. 6, 7),
but matter is the ground of multiplicity, hence the eternal
mover, not participating in matter, cannot be resolved into
diverse individual beings; must be one. This cause or
being is free from all constraint; is a necessary being, i. e.,
cannot be otherwise than it is, immutable, ever-existing,
therefore not to be compassed by, or contained in time —




a I S TOT LE.                    147
nor yet in space, for it is without parts and indivisible, and
so has not extended magnitude.  It is not sensible but conceivable by the understanding alone; hence is itself understanding, or reason, or mind.  Thought is th* mode of its
activity, the highest and most blessed form of life (Met. xii.
7). It is the essence of things, the best, the end of things.
It is the fulness of entity, the fulness of felicity-happy, not
by the accession of external good, but by the felicity and
perfection of its own nature. Its activity is its life. In it
the knowing and the knower are one. In the Metaphysics
(xii. 7), we have, as Schwegler appropriately terms it, an
almost devout sketch of the ever-blessed Deity. Such is
the sublime yet strictly scientific view of the Supreme Being
in the philosophy of Aristotle.*  Different quite from the
Platonic.  With Plato, God was the supreme unity, far
transcending all human conceptions, above reason and above
science. Aristotle is more definite, less mythical, discards
all figures of speech in such a connection, lays down everything in definite, exact, scientific statement.  Yet is cautious and reverent, aware of the sublime height which he
was endeavoring to scale. The God of Aristotle is not
indeed above all comprehension of science, for then it would
be only an imaginary God; but he is above all that pertains
to the human; above all virtzue even, for virtue is a human
quality; morality is not to be ascribed to Deity, who is far
above all such conceptions (p. 260). From this elevated view
of the supreme he seems to us to descend when he proposes
the question, whether the moving cause has its seat in the
centre or circumference of the moved world, and concludes
that it is in the latter, since the latter moves more rapidly,
and is therefore nearer the source of motion.
Ritter well remarks, in comparing the Aristotelian with
the Platonic doctrine of the supreme, that in either and
* In the De Nat. Deorum (ii. 37) Cicero gives, from the dialogue
concerning philosophy,a fine passage of Aristotle, in which he presents
an argument of a more popular sort, drawn from the divine works.




148                  ARISTOTLE.
in every possible theory of the system  of the universe, "a
principle of necessity gradually and as it were imperceptibly
takes its place alongside of the divine or intellectual power."
There must be a limitation somewhere. The difference
between these two systems is that Aristotle does not, like
Plato, ascribe the imperfection and evil of the world to the
nature of things, but at once and without explanation of
the evil, admits the coexistence of matter and of becoming,
such as it is, good or bad, with God from eternity.  God,
then, is not to be held responsible for the fact of evil.
Neither is he the absolute creator of matter.  He is limited
in this. He bestows on things, not their potentiality to bethat is inherent in matter-but only their actuality, and
even this in the sense merely of permitting these various
forms to arise. " Aristotle," says Ritter,;" was the first of
the Socratists to reconcile the idea of life with that entityso gave a wide extension to the domain of philosophy."
5. —ARISTOTLE'S PHYSICS.
Aristotle conceives of nature as an opposite to reason
and to art.  It has in itself the ground of motion and rest,
whereas works of reason and art have not. This idea lies
at the basis of his physical speculations. Nature is in
itself a principle of motion and rest in that to which it
pertains-an inward force or energy which sets things in
motion or at rest, according to their nature. Like God, it
performs nothing without an end; avoids all infinity; is not
omnipotent. It is both form and matter. It is that which
works in all things, and is the ground of their existence and
development-the universal mundane force. As there is
eternal motion-the life of all things-in the world, so also
a life-giving heat pervades it, and in some sense a soul.
The world is a sort of living being; for though some things
are lifeless, and have not power to move themselves, yet
even these possess the principle of universal nature, while
living things enjoy a special moving force. All phenomena




ARISTOTLE.                     149
are derived from this inner force of nature. IHence the
physiology of Aristotle is dynamical.  All becoming has an
end in view, God and nature do nothing without a purpose
(De Coelo i., 4), and the most important problem in physiology is to determine the ends which phenomena are
designed to accomplish. Nature always pursues the good,
but is limited by the nature of its means, and so often
produces the imperfect; is an artist working with a sort of
unconscious impulse, not self-conscious; it is easier for it
to produce the bad than the good; it is rarely, and only
with painful effort and many trials that it reaches excellence.  Whatever does not fall in with the general laws of
nature and attain the general and designed end, he calls a
deformity and abortion. Thus the female is a deformity
and not equal to the male, and all inferior orders of animals are deformities, judged by the same standard, the
male man.  This seems to have been the type at which
nature aimed, and whatever falls below  it is a failure.
The soiul is the end for which the body exists, and is the
essence of it; just as the several organs have some special
end, so the body is for the sake of the soul.
As to motion, this is the condition of all nature; for
there is no rest possible except where motion is also
possible.  Motion, as already said, he defines to be the
passage from the potential to the actual, a middle term
between the two. It must belong to what is continuous,
therefore, and must presuppose space and time. This
calls up the notion of the infinite and its relation to space,
time, and motion. Infinity of time has its ground in infinity of motion, and this again in infinity of space; which
latter does not consist in the infinite extension of corporeal
body, for that is limited by surface and cannot be infinitely
extended.  The world, as corporeal and special, is limited
therefore, in magnitude, and so not infinite.  Every wahole,
every comnplete thing, has an end and limit.  The infinite is
inmpe:fect, and nature has a 7zorror of it as such.




150                  ARISTOTLE.
Infinity of space, therefore, consists not in unlimited
corporeal extension; in what, then? in infinite  divisibility which pertains to space and all that is special.  Now
motion proceeds through the infinite parts of space, and
hence  is itself infinite, being equally continuous with
special magnitude.  But what is space?  This is a question which puzzled Aristotle as much as it does us.  It is
neither matter nor form; of that he is sure. It is that which
contains all things (Phys. iv. 4). He seems to have taken an
objective and physical view of it.  It is something which
admits of division into particular spheres, each with some
special faculty of its own. The proper place of the earth
is in water; of water, in the air; of air, in ether, while the
ether is in heaven, which last is the Ultinma Thule —nothing
beyond.  Hence Aristotle speaks of above and below,, the
right and the left, before and behind, etc., as relations not
referring to man only, but pertaining to nature itself.
Space is full of contents, no vacuum. And what now is time?
Had there been no motion this question had never been
asked, for without motion, without change and the perception of change, time would not have existed for us. If the
present did not differ from the past, there would be no time.
Time must either be change, i. e., motion itself, or some
accident of it.  But it is not motion itself, for motion is
something moving in space, which is not true of time.  It
can only be an accident, then, of motion. We become conscious of time only by designating motion as earlier and
later. In order to have a clear idea of time, we must in
like manner distinguish two parts of time, as before and
after, separated by an intermediate Now  (Phys. iv. 11).
Consequently time is the number of motion, the more or less
of it, the measure of it. But is it; not the measure of rest,
too, as well as of motion?  Yes, incidentally, but rest is
only the privation of motion and is therefore measured by
the same standard.  This intermediate Now is the indispensable condition of time, for it is the,imnit between the




ARISTOTLE.                    151
past and the future, holds them together, is to it what the
point is to space. Through it, time becomes continuous
and infinitely divisible, like space and motion; but the now
itself is indivisible and in it nothing can either pmove or rest.
Time could not be without a soul, for it is the number of
motion, but there can be no number without one who
~numbers, and only the human soul is capable of numbering.
This is of course a subjective view. Time does not with
him consist in the revolution of the heavens, though this
revolution, being uniform and well known, is best adapted
to be the measure of motion.
The motion of nature is uniform, continuous, and infinite.  But as the space of the world is finite, how can infinite motion go on in it? Not in a straight line, of course,
for the end would by and by be reached: only a circular
motion answers the conditions of the case, a motion in
circle and a motion always in one direction, returning into
itself, uniting the beginning and the end, thus perpetual
and unbroken, and proceeding through all time. Such is
then the motion of the world.  The world is a sphere which
is a perfect figure, a complete whole, and can receive no
accessions, and, as the world is itself a complete whole, it
must therefore be of that figure. Now the parts at the
centre of course have but an imperfect motion, those at
the circumference partake of the perfect revolution of
the circle. Heaven is at the circumference, fit abode for
the gods as nearer the source of motion. Earth at the
centre, far away from the perfect motion and the primemover, given over to imperfection. As to Heaven, Aristotle
with due modesty acknowledges our incapacity to know
much, yet holds it desirable to investigate that which is of
all things most worthy of regard. The stars he thinks are
passionless beings, more divine than man, who have reached
the highest end of their existence.  The Heaven has a soul
and possesses in itself the cause of its motion, else inferior
even to man. Its movements, unlike men's, require no




152                  ARISTOTLE.
repose. Its motion is from left to right, since that is the
better. The heaven is divided into two parts, the upper
the place of fixed stars, the lower, of the planets, sun, and
moon. The upper receives its motion directly from the
prime mover; the planets, influenced by the motion of the
fixed stars, move in contrary directions and in oblique orbits.
The earth is in the centre of the universe.  There are four
sensible elements, derived from the contrarieties of sensible
qualities, which may be reduced to four, viz., the warm and
cold, the dry and moist.  These combining, the warm and
dry constitute fire; the warm and moist, air; the moist
and cold, water; the cold and dry, earth.  These are the
only possible combinations, and therefore there are these
four elements.  All living beings are composed of these
four elements.  All nature is in fact endowed with life, in
his view; even the lifeless elements are organic parts of an
animated whole, and are in some sense animated.
There is regular transition and progressive advance from
the lower to the higher in all forms of life, from the element
to the plant, thence to the animal, and thence upward to
man. As life is, with Aristotle, only spontaneous nutrition,
growth, and decay, and as the soul is the energy (entelechy)
or power of every organic living body, so even the plant
has life and also a soul; yet plants have no sensation, for
they have no central seat of life, no internal principle capable of receiving the forms or impressions of the sensible.
Beside the four elements that enter into all forms of
life, there is a fifth equally universal, that of ether, the
first in rank, extending from the stars to the moon (Meteor.
i. 3; De Coelo, i. 3), the source.of the vital heat, which all
living beings possess, though in different degrees. *Those
creatures that have the most of this vital warmth are
noblest; those that have the least are the inferior.  Such
are plants and aquatic animals.
All animals have sensation, as necessary for the perception of their good, and therefore pleasure and pain, neces



AR ISTOTLE                      153
sary consequences of sensation. All have not voluntary
motion. Touch and taste are the most needful senses, and
so possessed by all; sight and hearing are useful chiefly to
the sagacious and self-moving animals.  There can be but
five senses, for no sensuous organism for more than
five is discoverable, the media through which the senses
reach distcant objects are incapable of transmitting any
other impressions than those of sight, hearing, and smell.
These five senses are referred to the four elements: taste
and touch to earth, smell to fire, hearing to air, sight to
water. The brain is not the seat of sensation, says Aristotle, neither the blood, which serves for aliment, but the
heart, which is also the seat of motion as well as sensation,
and in which all the activities of animal life meet and
centre.  Each sense requires a medium through which the
sensation may be conveyed to the prime sentient. The flesh
is such a medium, and all the perceptions of the several
senses are transmitted by means of it, and meet together in
a common or principal sense, the heart, which is cognizant
of them all. The brain is intended solely as a counterpart
to the heart, cold to temper the warmth of the latter.
As regards psychology. The soul is the reunion of all
the activities of the body. The hand has its end and
design, which is its proper action, so every member, so the
whole body also; and the design of the whole, its perfect
action, is the soul.  The soul is the first energy, or entelechy, then, of the organized body. It is not to be conceived as extended magnitude, for thought has not parts;
neither as in space, or capable of motion; it is above all
natural generation and all corporeal existence, itself the
cause and principle of body, both as essential, as final,
and as moving cause. The'soul possesses these several
faculties: the nutritive, which is alone the property of the
plant; the sensitive, which animals possess; the locomotive,
belonging to the higher classes of animals; the rational,
peculiar to man.  Each of these, as named in its order,
7*




154                 ARISTOTLE.
may exist independently of those that are higher, e. g., the
nutritive without the sensitive, etc. Man combines the
whole.  The heart, as already stated, is the common sense,
which takes cognizance of all the others. It also has
another office, to perceive certain sensuous representations
not perceived by tlie other senses, viz., motion, time, number, etc. Sensation he defines as a motion of the soul
through the body (De Somn. i. 185), and distinguishes
between sensation and the object sensed (De Anima, ii. 5,
iii. 1, 16; Met. ix. 3). From sensation are evolved imagination, memory, and recollection. Imagination (as Hlobbes
afterwards taught), is a weaker sensation, explained by the
motion which sensation leaves behind in the soul, and
which  continues awhile: memory  combines with the
sensation a perception of having had the same before, and
so is the faculty of those animals only which have the
perception of tine.  Recollection, the voluntary search for
the past occurrence, is peculiar to man alone, memory
pertains to brutes.
Aristotle rejects the doctrine of Plato as to the origin
of ideas-that they originally subsist in the mind, brought
over from previous existence and awakened to reminiscence
by sensation. He regards it absurd to suppose that we
knew all along certain things without knowing that we
knew them until the moment of sensation and reminiscence.
He rejects, accordingly, the Platonic doctrine of ideas as a
source of knowledge, and he traces the origin of all our
knowledge to sensuous perception or observation and experience (Met, i. I; Anal. Pr. i. 30; Anal. Pos. i. 18; De
Anima, iii. 5; Diog. L. v. 29; Cic. Acad. i. 9), which,
however, he makes the ground of a higher knowledge not
confined to phenomena, but acquainting us with principles
that are non-sensuous, and of which intellect alone takes
cognizance. Still the two are intimately allied. That which
the intellect alone grasps exists, not in and by itself but
only in the sensible, can only be known in the sensible,




ARISTOTLE.                      155
and in that sensation one could know nothing: not merely
perception of external objects, but memory and imagination
come through some previous sensation. But without the
imagination presenting some definite image to the mind,
something  conceived and  definitely present before our
minds, we cannot thiink; so that all intellectual activity is
due primarily to sensation.  The sensuouts presentation is
prior in time to the rationalintelligence, and the necessary
condition of it. The latter is the product of maturer age,
the former exists in childhood.
It is evident that Aristotle relies much on experience
as a source of knowledge, but yet not wholly.  In this he
is often misunderstood and misrepresented.  Mere experience, he admits, is not science. Men of mere experience he
calls lifeless instruments working without knowing what
they accomplish. Mere collectors of facts, they know
only that things are so and so, without inquiring why they
are as they  are.  There is then a higher faculty than
experience-the reason, or rational faculty of the soulwhich stands related to the sensible, much as the soul is
related to the body. This faculty is not dependent on the
senses; is impassive, incorporeal; has no bodily form; is of
gradual growth in the individual; exists at first as a mere
potentiality, not as an actuality; a blank tablet, on which
as yet no inscription is entered.  How is it awakened to
action? how written upon? not by sense or experience,
though these are the prior and necessary conditions of its
activity; but by the divine and internal reason, the supreme intelligence, acting on and awakening the individual
reason to action.  Science is the result.
Yet so intimately allied are the reason and the sense
that, though pure science is the product of reason alone,
still Indzcction is the basis of all science, and complete
knowledge the result only of complete experience.
Sensation is accompanied with pleasure or pain, and
these are always followed by desire, arnd so result in volun



156                   ARISTOTL E.
tary motion.  Conception, or thought also, as well as sensation, leads to voluntary motion; for a certain degree of
warmth attends thought, and thereby produces a motion
in the body, slight at first but greater as it removes from
the starting point. Reason or the rational conception and
sensation both stand in the same relation to desire.  Both
may produce desire, by presenting some good capable of
being attained. Sensation is often erroneous in its conclusions, however, while reason is not so. So that sometimes we desire real good, at others only apparent good.
These rational and sensuous desires are often in conflict,
and the soul is ruled now by one, now by the other. In
either case, however, we act freely, and are therefore responsible.  It lies in our power to follow the reason, and so
we are the authors of our own virtue and vice; else it
were idle to exhort man to virtue or punish him for crime. *
As regards the immortality of the soul, the doctrine of
Aristotle is by no means clear. The soul is the first enleleciy of the body, the perfect flower and blossom  of it,
that for which the body exists. It is the possession alike of
plant, animal, and man.  The former, the plant-soul, possesses the principle of nutrition; the second, the animalsoul, has not only this, but in addition, the principle of
sensation and voluntary motion; the man possesses, in
addition to all these, reason. Now this latter element of
the human soul is impersonal and eternal; not the soul
itself as a conscious existence, a personal being, but only
the impersonal reason. That is the only immortality I
can find in Aristotle (See Butler, vol. ii. p. 389-391).
* The Aristotelian psychology, or doctrine of the soul, is most
fully developed in the three books, repi pvIX7i, or De Anima, of which
Butler gives an excellent analysis in the second volume of his
Ancient Philosophy. See also Ueberweg and Schwegler.




ARISTOTLE,                      157
~ 6.-ETnICS OF ARISTOTLE.
The term politics he employs to designate what we
usually denote by ethics, comprising whatever has for its
object human good, whether in the family, the state, or
the individual. Hence a three-fold division of the subject:
into ethics, which investigates what is for the moral good
of the individual, and which is the basis of the whole
science; economics, the right management of the family;
politics in a stricter sense, or the offices of the state.
In general, it may be observed that Aristotle does not, in
his ethical investigations, take so high a ground as Plato.
The latter connected with all his inquiries on this subject,
the consideration of the highest possible good, absolute
good in itself, the divine element, while Aristotle limits
himself to that which is practicable for man (Eth. Nic. i. 2. )
Morality, according to Aristotle, grows out of many
natural endowments.  He is, by natrle, a social and political creature. Nothing, indeed, which is contrary to nature,
can be either morally beautiful or morally good. Nature
has implanted in man an impulse to action and desire, and
this is the spring of all our actions.  So that the basis of all
moral acts is some natural disposition. In this he diverges
from Socrates, who made reason the basis of morality. Aristotle makes the r7U, the disposition and affections of the
soul, the basis of moral conduct.  First, there arises an
irrational impulse to good. Reason afterwards comes in
with its sanction.  The child may act right from impulse
merely-instinctively.  This is not virtue, however.  Not
till, at a mature age, reason is developed, does virtue come
into play. Socrates overlooked that part of our nature
which brings us under the influence of sentiment and habit,
and the very important part which these principles perform
in our moral procedure; hence, the idea that man can
transgress only involuntarily, and of course irresponsibly.
True, Aristotle says, all men pursue what seems, or appears




158                  ARI STO-TLE.
good, and cannot control entirely their own conceptions of.the good, but then men have power by their moral conduct
over their imaginations and conceptions. While as yet
the moral character is in part only formed, it is under their
control. It is only by their actions that men acquire virtue or vice. As when one throws a stone, after it has gone
forth from his hand he has no power over it indeed; but
while it is yet in his hand he gives it force and direction,
and has full control of its movements.  Hence, men are
responsible for their conduct. It is in their power. Even
those who sin ignorantly should be punished for that ignorance, provided they could have known. Aristotle insists
much on the practice of virtue, as essential to the true
knowledge of it. The habit of virtue must precede the
practical knowledge of it.  It is not a thing to be learned,
as Socrates taught, at least in any other way than by practice. It is by three things, then, that man attains virtue,
viz. nature, habit, and reason.
The passive states of soul, or passions, desire, anger, fear,
love, truth, envy, etc., give rise to conduct which is, in Aristotle's view, contrasted with the moral. These feelings are
neither virtuous or vicious in themselves, do not make one
good or bad, are undesigned on our part, and man is irresponsible for them. Only it is necessary that there should
be observed the right measure and medium of them. Immoderation in them becomes a fault.  How we are to know
and attain the right measure in all cases, is left somewhat
in the dark.
The first and last object of man's endeavors should be to
realize the good and the beautiful.  The practical good is
that which is performed for its own sake alone.
Aristotle attaches a higher value to pleasure than Plato
and Socrates had done. Pleasure is not always happiness,
he admits; some are evil pleasures. But yet he goes not
with those who decry all pleasure as unworthy of man, and
as intrinsically bad. The real tendency of pleasure he




AnRI STOTLE.                    159
pronounces to be good. Pleasure is not with him, as with
Plato, a mere transient state; it is itself an end, an energy;
not a mere inactive enjoyment, but inseparably combined
with the soul's activity (Eth. Nic. x. 4).  The pleasure
which he recommends, is a rational self-love, desiring good
for itself, but not to the injury of others, held within due
limits, and subject to the control of reason. It is a pleasure
which is ready to sacrifice anything and all things for
some great and noble end; for, says Aristotle, " It is better
to live gloriously for a year than for many years as the
common herd; better to perform one great and glorious
deed than many trifling acts."
What, then, Is virtue? It is the acting, not from instinct,
impulse, and passion, but the doing of the good and the
beautiful, consciously and intentionally. It is not a mere
capacity of the soul, but a disposition acquired by practice-a habit of the soul.  The right standard of it varies
always with circumstances. What is right for one,
is not for another, necessarily. It is the due medium
between the too muich and the too little. All virtues are
inseparably connected with each other; and there are, in
fact, as many virtues or species of virtue, as there are of
passions of the soul.  Each virtue is the mean between two
vices. He makes a general division, however, into the moral
and the intellectual virtues, the desires to good, and the
intelligence or reason governing the desires.
The aim of all moral action is happiness —edatovia, ra eV
Ov or e' 7rrprretlv, right living, or well-doing; and this only
comes from doing the particular work which pertains to
man as man (Eth. Nic. i. 6, x. 7). Man's peculiar work
consists in a life of action controlled by reason, an honorable and a virtuous activity (Eth. Nic. ii. 5); and in this,
accordingly, lies his highest happiness (i. 6, x. 7).
The ethical virtues are courage, temperance, liberality,
love of hondr, mildness, truthfulness, urbanity, friendship,
justice (ii. 7).




160                  ARISTOTLE,
Courage is the  mean between fearing and daring,
between the fool-hardy man and the coward (ii. 7, iii. 10).
lie only is truly courageous, who is not afraid to die honorably, and who is ready to face danger and death for the
sake of the morally beautiful (Eth. Nic. iii. 9, 10).
Temperance is the mean in regard to pleasures and
pains-the mean between intemperance and insensibility
(ii. 7, iii. 14). Liberality is the proper mean in giving
and receiving-between prodigality and stinginess (ii.
7, iv. 1). Mildness is the proper mean as regard desire of
revenge or anger (ii. 7, iv. 11). Truthfulness regards
veracity in speech and action; friendship has regard to the
social relations; urbanity to the rendering ourselves agreeable to others (ii. 7, iv. 12-14). Justice, in the general
sense, is the exercise of all virtue toward others (v. 5), the
giving of every man his own or his rightful due.  Regarded
more specifically, it is of two kinds, distribultive and comngmntative, the former relating to the distribution of honors or
property according to the merit of the individual, the latter
exacting equality in wares, in the medium of exchange.
Aristotle limits justice solely to the civil relations of life.
It is the mean between doing and suffering injustice. He
distinguishes between what is naturally just, and what is
legally so in the state. Natural law is better than positive
law, equity than legal justice.
Aristotle gives few precepts for the conduct of practical
life. It has been justly objected to his system that it
leaves ultimately everything in doubt; that it directs us
to pursue a just medium, but tells us not how to determine what a just medium is.  The explanation of this is
that Aristotle did not look upon ethics as a distinct branch
of philosophy, but only as incidental to politics as dependent on man's relation to family and to country. As to
friendship, Aristotle has some fine thoughts (Nic. Eth.
viii. 9). Friendship may be based on the agreeable, the
useful, or the good. The latter is the noblest. Friendship




A RISTOTLE.                    161
is not indeed a virtue, but virtue cannot exist without it.
Society is indispensable to man, he cannot live alone, but to
live with others he must be virtuous. There can be no love
without return; still the loving is better than the being
loved, for to love is an energy of the soul. Love is possible
only among the good, who only are capable of a true selflove, since they only have attuned their souls to harmony
and concord.  Love and concord are the bonds of political
society, and there is a very close affinity between love
and justice.  The end of love and friendship is the social
and civil state.
As to the family: the family consists in the society of
husband, wife, and children, and the communion of property. As to the property, Aristotle thinks that the most
valuable possession is man, the slave; and therefore that this
is a necessary element in the family economy. Like Plato,
he regarded slavery as a natural dispensation.  Nature
determines the end of all her creatures, and of man the
destination is to govern or be governed. Some have intelligence to design and foresee, these she intends for ma~sters; others have bodily strength to labor, these are meant
for slaves, for whom it is better to be governed than to
govern, having not reason enough for that. If such, mistaking their calling refuse to serve, they may be forcibly
seized. The slave is the absolute property of his master,
and has no rights against him. Still he should be treated
kindly and well. The child until of age is in like manner
wholly under the father's control, though not a slave, yet
not his own governor. The father is the rightful king of
the house (Pol. i. 12). The rule in the family belongs to the
man as better than the woman, yet the woman is not to
serve like a slave.  Her duties are within the house, man's
without, and where she is obliged to do the latter, it is
proof of a degenerate race of men, unfit to be masters.
Yet she ought to be subject to her husband, "for though
she has a will of her own, still it is but weak."  It would




162                  ARISTOTLE.
seem from this last remark that Aristotle's experience in
this line must have been somewhat different from that of
Socrates. The latter, while thoroughly convinced that
woman has a will of her own, would hardly have added,
that it was a will deficient in strength.
Out of the family, a community arises, a company of
families forming a society, and several such communities
of families forming a state, that is, a sufficient number of
such families to be able to provide within their own limits
the necessaries of life.  The state arises, then, out of the
weakness of separate communities; out of considerations of
utility. Its object is not, however, merely to provide the
necessaries of life, but to secure good order and the general
welfare.  The end of the state is good living (TE;0), the virtue and happiness of the citizens (Pol. vii. 8). Its citizens must be men of virtue, then.  Not merely living in
the same country together, makes men citizens, and forms
them into a state; for the brutes do that, yet are no citizens. They only are citizens, who by a just constitution
enjoy rights, authority, and law. A state can only subsist
between freemen and equals.  Aristotle is decidedly conservative in his views; averse to political change. The duty
of the citizen is to maintain the constitution under which
he happens to be born and live.
There must be different classes in the state: cultivators
of the soil and mechanics are needful to provide the necessaries of existence; soldiers to fight; rich men to defray
expenses; priests to do the religious; and judges to do
the civil services.  Unlike Plato, he does not advocate a
community of property, for these reasons: that such a plan
would diminish the care of property; nobody takes such
care of the public property as of his own; and also it would
destroy the virtues of liberality  and modest demeanor
toward others.  The better way, he thinks, is to make property personal, but the benefit of it common by insuring
right sentiments among the people.




AR ISTOTLE.                    163
Nor would he have a community of wives and children;
such a plan is against the very notion of a state, as growing
out of the union of families. The true object of the statesman should be, to prevent both extremes-luxury and
indigence.  "It is much more important to make wants
equal than property."
Of the different forms of government, Aristotle regards
a monarchy as best, as being most favorable to virtue; aristocracy next; democracy least of all.  Tyranny is the very
worst. In this view, he shows the current of his age and
nation.  What is to be done, he asks, with a man far
superior to all others for political wisdom? put him to
death; banish him; let the mass and rude herd rule over
him? No, he is a lion among hares; let them submit to
his rule. But he may be a vicious king. To avoid the
danger from this source, let the monarchy be limited in its
powers; the king having more power than any other one,
but less than the whole together.
The political power varies with the various pursuits of
a people. Agricultural and pastoral nations suitable for
republics, being occupied with their own concerns, and not
disposed to change, or greedy of offices and honors.
Handicraft-men and hired laborers make the worst kind
of democracy. Riches tend to oligarchy. A flat country
will be likely to be democratic, a hilly one aristocratic.
The best form of constitution, not theoretically, but practically, is that where the middle classes preponderate over
both the rich and the poor, and have the supremacy.
It is advisable that laborers should be a distinct class
from the military and sovereign, as their pursuits are degrading. Those who are engaged in producing the necessaries of life should be a lower grade or caste of citizens, if
not slaves.
The first and great end of legislation should be the virtutous character and conduct of the citizens.  Politicians,
however, look more to what is expedient, he says, than to




164                  AR I S T O T L E.
what is good and beautiful, more to war than to peace.
Their object is to enlarge the territory, rather than to render the state just and wise.  This is a mistaken policy.
Whatever is not at the samle thimne just is in29politic; and it
is a wrong precept, he says, which bids men be gentle only
to friends and savage to enemies.  Noble sentiments these,
for an age like that! It is an erroneous opinion, he affirms,
that a state must be at war in order to its own activity and
prosperity. A state ought to possess within itself enough
to keep it active continually.  "'War exists only for the
sake of peace, and unquiet for the sake of quiet."  The
virtue of a state consists not in the bravery of its citizens
exclusively, but in their justice, moderation, and wisdom.
These four virtues ought to be the paramount object in the
efforts of the legislature.  In order to train the citizens to
these virtues, education becomes indispensable, and must
be under the control of the state.  The state should care
most of all for this (Pol. viii. 1).  The state should commence its care of the individual at birth, should direct and
control marriage with a view to the physical perfection of
the race; a deformed child ought not to be reared, and
the number of children should be limited.  To secure this,
abortion is allowable, but not infanticide. Education is
to begin at birth, and have regard first to the body, through
that it must influence the desires, and through these the
reason. Till the age of seven, the child is to be brought
up at the father's house, and this period is to be devoted
chiefly to the training and rearing the bodily frame. It
must be inured to hardships, not to luxuries and ease. Children must be kept as much as possible from  the company
of slaves, and especially from  everything immoral in word
or act.
Before five, they should be taught nothing to tax the
mind; education should not be mental until after that age;
from five to seven they may be shown what they are subsequently to learn. Two other periods of education follow




A RI ST 0 TLE.                     165
this: from seven to puberty, and from that to twenty-one.
During all this time, education is to be public and controlled by the state. As to the means of education, and
precepts for it, Aristotle is deficient. He simply informs
us that four means are usually employed: grammar, design,
gymnastics, and music.
Such is a brief outline of the philosophy of Aristotle,
as comprised under the different departments of Logic,
Physics, and Ethics or Politics.
In review of the whole, we are struck with this one
feature of his system, the magnitude of the plan and design
which he marked out for himself to accomplish; with the
general thoroughness and completeness also of his execution and detail. We are struck also with this general
characteristic of the man as a philosopher, viz., his want
of an ideal, his preeminent fidelity to the real, tangible,
possible, practical.  In this respect, how  widely does he
differ from  Plato.*  He is scientific rather than imaginative and lofty.  Yet he is theoretical, quite as much as
practical.  His philosophyt has been that of the schools,
* As to the agreement or disagreement of Aristotle with Plato, it
is sufficient to say that while in some important matters they agree,
in others equally important they widely differ, e.g., as to the doctrine
of " ideas," the nature, and previous existence of the soul, the nature
of virtue, the nature and value of happiness; in a word, as to psychology and ethics, to say nothing of other matters, the two writers differ
essentially, so that we can hardly accept as true the statement of
Cicero and the philosophers of the New Academy, that Plato and Aristotle agree in substance, and differ only in terms (see Cic. Acad. i. 4;
De Fin. iv. 2, v. 3; De Leg. i. 13).
t Beside those already mentioned, the following references may be
given as authority for the foregoing statements:
For the Aristotelian Ethics in general, (Eth. Nic. i., iii. 1-8, vi., vii.
12-15, x.; Mag. Moral. i. 1-20, ii. 7, 8, 10; Eth. Eud. i., ii., vii.
14, 15; Diog. L. v. 30, 31; Cic. de. Fin. v. 4, seq.).
For the doctrine of Aristotle respecting Natural Theology, the following general references: (Phys. ii. 6, vii. 1-3, viii. 1-9; Metaph.




166                      ARISTOTL E.
rather than of the nations.  Still, in its general influence on
the world, on all countries and all ages, for more than 2,000
years, it has no superior, no rival. Accuse Aristotle, and
all antiquity rises up as his pupil in his defence.
xii. 1, 2, 6-10; De Ccelo, 3, 4, 9; Nic. Eth. x. 8. 9; Cic. de Nat. Deor.
i. 13, ii. 37).
For the Psychology of Aristotle, the following: (De Anima, i. 1-5,
7-9, ii. 1-3, 5, 6,12, iii. 2; Eth. Nic. i. 13, vi. 2; Cic. Tuse. i. 10; Diog.'L. v. 32-34).




PERIOD THIRD.
POST-SOClRATIO.
GENERAL VIEWS.
WITH Aristotle the Socratic period terminates.  After
his death certain disciples of his school taught his doctrines
with  some modification.  TheopArastus, his immediate
successor, and Strato are the most celebrated of these.
The tendency of the school was more and more to sensationalism; to observation and experience and study of
nature, and consequently, finally ran out into materialism
with the later disciples, and especially with Strato, who so
far deviated from the ground of Aristotle, yet following
the general drift of that system, as to deny the immateriality and immortality of the soul and the being of God, as
first cause and distinct from nature itself. The influence
of the school and system diminished in proportion as it
reached these results, and gave way to other systems called
up in part by the spirit and tendency of the Aristotelian
views.
Before we proceed to speak of the several schools that
sprang up subsequently to the Aristotelian, it is well to notice
the state of Greek society, and especially of Athens, at this
period, since philosophy was greatly modified by it. Aristotle had survived the fall of Grecian independence.  The
liberties of Athens were at the mercy of a foreign power,
and after the death of Alexander, its political importance




168               POST-SO C R A TI C
and its independence were finally destroyed, and its degradation became complete. The Athenian mind consoled
itself for the loss of political distinction and prosperity by
a still greater abandonment to voluptuous gratifications of
every kind, and the city became as noted for its luxury
and refinement and manifold pleasures, as it had been
and still was for its intellectual culture. A general.corruption of morals had already become prevalent; the
pleasures of the table were immoderately pursued; cooks
were in as great demand as philosophers, and in fact both
were considered indispensable.  A life of pleasure was perhaps nowhere and at no time made so systematic a study
and business as at Athens at this period.  Hence it became
the favorite residence of the tyrant Demetrius, to whom the
Athenians paid worship as to a God, and to whose courtesans altars were erected in the temple of the chaste goddess
Minerva. Against this corruption Stoicism set itself with
scowling bitterness and asceticism; while the lighter
philosophy and the lighter comedy fell in with the current
and relished the spirit of the times. That was a strange
mingling of intellectual culture with the refinements of
luxury; of philosophy with the most open and systematic
voluptuousness, the like of which is nowhere else to be
found in history. Never in the palmiest days of Athens,
had philosophy and its teachers been in higher honor and
repute. Women of pleasure frequented the halls where the
profoundest questions of intellectual science were discussed,
and tyrants neglected their thrones to take part in these
discussions.
It was impossible, of course, that philosophy should
escape the degrading influence of such manners and such
an age. The stern spirit of Socrates, of Plato, of Aristotle, no longer ruled in the schools. That spirit, so profound, so calm, so earnest, so little akin to the merely sensual, so lofty and divine, had passed away, and in place of
it reigned a flippant, superficial scepticism  on the one




THE  SCEPTICS.                   169
hand, and on the other, a philosophy as easy and sensuous
as the age which gave it birth-the Sceptics and the
Epicureans.
CHAPTER I.
THE SCEPTICS.
THE most noted teachers of this school were Pyrrho of
Elis and Timon of Athens; the former a pupil of Democritus, the latter a noted author and poet. The general
tenet, or ground view, of this class of philosophers was that
virtue and happiness are one and the same.  Three things,
they say, are to be considered by him who would live happily: 1. What things are in themselves, 2. His relation
to them; 3. Consequences of that relation.
As to the first: All things are indifferent, and as to
truth uncertain; neither our senses nor our opinions are
to be relied on. All that you can say of anything is, that
whatever is affirmed of it, the opposite may just as well be
affirmed, and with equal truth. Nothing is certain, nothing
true, nothing beautiful or the reverse, nothing just or unjust (Diog. L. ix. 61, 62, 105; Cic. Acad. ii. 42; De Fin. ii.
11, 13, iii. 3. 4., iv. 16; De Offic. 1). Against the reliability
of sensation they argued that the sensations of men are not
always the same; things appear sour or sweet, straight or
crooked, according to circumstances; to one person the one,
to another the other, and even at different times differently to the same person. A strong sensation and a weak
one give us perception of altogether different qualities in
the same object.
To the second question, then, the answer is obvious.
Everything is doubtful; no positive assertion can be hazarded.  "We do not know certainly anything."  "I assert
nothing, not even that I do not assert anything."
8*




170             THE EPICUREANS.
As to the third point, consequences, the answer is,
Entire indifference to things in general, and a total apathy,
are the true and just consequences of this relation (Cic.
de Fin. as above, and De Offic.; Diog. L. ix. 66-68; Sext.
Emp. adv. Math. iii. 2; Hyp. Pyrrh. i. 25).  Things being
thus, it is not worth while for us to go out of our way for
anything. The sage will take things as they come, and
troubles himself about nothing. He will be a tranquil
man; happy because without agitation, and without opinion, almost without humanity.  There is no difference
even, nothing to choose, between sickness and health. Life
itself is not of any great value, for death is the end of all
disturbance, and insures that tranquillity which so many
things in life tend to disturb. In practice, however, these
philosophers were obliged to contradict their theory, and
conform to the state of things about them; could not be
indifferent to all things, nor totally inactive; were obliged
to choose, and to act, but did it under a protest of necessity, and contented themselves with the moderation of those
desires and passions which they could not wholly suppress.
CHAPTER II.
THE EPICUREANS.
THE philosopher from whom this noted sect takes its
name was born at Athens or Samos, it is doubtful which,
341 B. c., of Athenian parents.  His father was a teacher
of grammar, and his mother of magic. The youth was of
inquiring spirit, and early began to develop the philosophic tendency.  So early as his thirteenth year he puzzled
his teacher with a question which showed the bent of the
boy's mind. A passage of Hesiod was repeated to him
which speaks of all things arising out of Chaos: "And




TiHE EPICUREANS.                    171
from what did Chaos arise? "  The teacher extricated himself from this unexpected difficulty, as well as he could, by
referring the troublesome pupil to philosophy for an answer.
To philosophy he went, studied this and studied that, but
got nowhere an answer to his question; but instead of that
plenty of new questions to be settled.  His views in general,
however, were drawn from  Democritus and the earlier
philosophers.  After various changes and vicissitudes, he
opened a school for philosophy at Mytilene, and afterward
at Lampsacus, in which places he resided nearly five years.
In his thirty-sixth year he came to Athens, opened a school,
and continued it till his death, 270 B. c., at the age of 71.
When his reputation was established, he left the resorts of
the other philosophers and set up as an independent teacher
in a villa and garden of his own. Here, surrounded with
friends, he passed a life of ease and pleasure, devoted to
philosophy and tranquillity. IHe wrote more works than
even Aristotle, but by no means so profound.  The Epicureans are as noted for their friendship to each other, as
the Pythagoreans. In a time of need they contributed to
each other's support. No very strict or sombre views of
life prevailed in the garden of Epicurus.  Men of pleasure
patronized the new philosophy, so congenial to their tastes,
and daughters of pleasure were constant attendants upon
its teachings.  Yet the moral character of Epicurus is said
to have been far removed from that general corruption of
the time, in even the natural tendency of his own doctrines.
" Men are always better or worse than their opinions," said
a profound observer of human nature.
What was the real tendency of those teachings is matter
of doubt.  There are not wanting reasons to suppose that
the common opinion regarding the Epicurean school is
quite incorrect; that the looseness of morals so often
charged upon its disciples, and the pleasure-loving" and
sensuous character of its teachings, are not justly attributed
to this system, but are unfoun.lded calumnies arising, in




1 72             THt E  EPICUREAN S.
part, out of mistaken notions respecting that system, and
in part out of the malice of the rival and antipale sect of
the Stoics, who were not slow in charging all manner of
evil upon a sect so totally at variance with themselves as to
all the great principles of philosophy. Certain it is, that
Epicurus not only led a strictly temperate life himself, and
enjoined it upon his followers, but the essential principles
of the system make moderation in all sensible enjoyments
an indispensable requisite to true happiness. There can
be no doubt, however, that the philosophy of the garden
was of a character to be readily abused and perverted by
evil minds, and that it could be made, and was made, to
tolerate vice and justify unsound opinion and unsound
practice.
Nothing, certainly, could be more unlike the severe doctrines of Plato and Aristotle. The school of Epicurus set
out from an entirely different conception of what philosophy is and should be. With them philosophy is no longer
the art of truth, the science of the true and the good; but
the art of life, the science of the useful, the science of the
means of happiness. Hence ethics is the chief philosophy
(Diog. L. x. 24-31; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. xi. 169).
Science as such, Epicurus disregards, as contributing nothing to happiness. All logical discussions especially he despised as useless. Physics were subordinate also, and ethics
are the main philosophy with him. The supreme good is
happiness, the satisfaction of all our natural desires (Diog.
L. x. 131-139; Cic. Fin. i. 9, 11). Pleasure is the principal constituent of happiness. Not man only, but all animals instinctively pursue pleasure and avoid pain. Men
ought to do deliberately what animals do by instinct.
Every pleasure is a good in itself, but compared with other
pleasure may be an evil. Pleasure ought not. to be pursued,
then, for its own sake, but with reference to the general happiness of life, and so some pleasures should be avoided as
occasioning future grief and pain. No pleasure is oper se




THE  EPI C U REANS.                 173
to be rejected, but some must be sacrificed on account of
consequences (Diog. L. x. 141). Even pain is to be endured
at times, for the sake of the good to come from it. It is
not the happiness of the moment that is to be regarded, but
that of the whole existence.  In this he differs from the
Cyrenaics, who looked only at the present enjoyment.
Like Aristotle, too, he makes happiness and virtue to be
inseparably connected; —a life of true pleasure must be a
virtuous life (Diog. L. x. 132). Epicurus, moreover, places
the highest pleasure, not in corporeal gratifications, but in
mental, since the former pass away in the moment of their
existence, but the latter endure and are for the past and the
future, as well as the present.
This mental pleasure arises from  some past corporeal
pleasure remembered afterwards, or from  some like pleasure anticipated in the future. At least so Cicero represents him (De. Fin. i. 7, 17, ii. 30). But this is doubtful.
That the senses are the chief inlet of happiness, he doubtless did teach. The strictest temperance is enjoined, however, in order to the full enjoyment of even the pleasures
of the senses.  Epicurus lived plainly, dispensed with all
luxuries; is averse to costly pleasures as injurious, is content
with little; give him barley bread, and water from the
spring, and he will rival Jupiter in happiness.  He would
not limit man to the fewest possible enjoyments, but rather
multiply those enjoyments; but he must be able to live upon
little, in order to this. Contentedness with a little he
regards as a great good, and rma/es wealth consist, not IN
GREAT POSSESSIONS, but in SMALL WANTS.
As to pain: it cannot be dispensed with altogether, and
the only alternative is to make as little of it as possible,
and to ignore it as far as may be. He regards pleasure as
greatly predominant over pain, even in periods of lingering
sickness. Everything which is not pain is put to the account of pleasure; and the tru-st pleasure is the repose of
the soul, freedom fiom agitation and mental disturbance.




174            THE  EPICUREANS.
When everything else fails, death is at least the end of all
misery, and so ought not to be feared.  " For while we live
death is not, and when death is we are not; when it is we
feel it not, for it is the end of all feeling" (Diog. L. x.
124; Lucret. iii. 842, seq.).
It is but a meagre philosophy indeed, that can console
us under misfortune, not by the promise of some great
gain and future good, but only by holding out the expectation of a final and irremediable loss; not by the hope of
immortality, but only of that dreary blank which ends our
pains only by ending our pleasures. Still we see in this
philosophy only a prevalent form of that scepticism which
was the natural growth of the times, and, in some sense,
the natural result of preceding systems of doctrine, rather
than the peculiar characteristic of this philosopher or of
his school.  He  divides philosophy  into  Canonics or
Logic, Physics, and Ethics (Diog. L. x. 29).  Logic
merely introductory to Physics (Diog. L. x. 30; Cic. Acad.
ii. 30; De Fin. i. 7).  With respect to sensation.  Every
sensation is true, says Epicurus, for it is a motion produced in the mind by something else, to which nothing
can be added, and from which nothing can be taken away.
But what the sensible is which produces the sensation is
another question; that we do not learn in sensation itself.
Sensation is to be carefully distinguished from its exciting
cause, and also from the opinions and conclusions of our
own minds respecting them.  This was the doctrine of
Aristotle also —likewise of Reid and the Scotch school, you
will say.  Precisely, I reply.  There is nothing absolutely
new under the sun. The newest thing is at least two
thousand years old.
By sensations, says Epicurus, we know not things themselves, but only certain accidents of things, certain qualities.
Yet the sensations have some resemblance to the external
objects (see pp. 161, 167; Diog. L. x. 31. seq.; Sext. Emp.
adv. Math. vii. 203; Cic. Acad. ii. 25, 32). Beside sensation,




THE  EPICUREANS.                    175
Epicurus makes conception a criterion of truth, i. e., the
recollection of many previous phenomena produced by sensuous impressions from without.  Memory takes its place
beside sensation, then, even in cognition.  All investigation remounts to such conception based on memory; all
general thoughts resolve into sensations or the remembrance
of themn.  All conceptions are, like all sensations, true.
Error is possible in opinion formed upon sensation, but not
in sensation itself, e. y., a distant tower seems round-coming nearer we find it to be square; however, the first sensation was true; i. e., it seems round, but our opinion was
wrong, i. e., it is not round in reality, as we thought it to be
(Diog. L. x. 33 seq.; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. vii. 211. seq.;
Cic. Acad. as above; also De Nat. Deor. i. 16, 17, 20). In
all investigation words in their primary significations are the
main elements to be regarded. Dialectic, or the art of
syllogistic reasoning, he rejects.  Cicero complains of his
logic as deficient in many respects (De Fin. i. 7, 22).
Mathematics also he rejects (Cic. de Fin. vii. 21, 71).  In
physiology Epicurus adopts the atomic theory of Democritus.  The atomls are infinite in number, moving in an
infinite vacuum, and from eternity precipitated downward.
These atoms, colliding with and repelling each other,
produce a rebounding motion.  They combine together
and form  worlds ad libitqum.  No need of any external
ordering and producing power on this theory,  No need
of gods to do what is done as well without.  It is not true,
he says, that in physics, every regularly occurring phenomenon is brought about by some Zalaw, for the same thing
may have at one time one cause, at another, another, and
every possible cause may be admitted as a sufficient explanation of any natural event.
The soul is corporeal in a sort, as is indeed, everything
except vacuum, a space (Diog. L. x. 67). As it animates the
whole body, it must be difused through the whole, of course
(modern Scotch again). It is invisible, but suffers many




176             TH:E  EPICUREAlNS.
changes, consists of round and smooth atoms, which move
easily (Diog. x. 63). He compares it to a breath united to
a certain degree of warmth. In death these atoms are
scattered, and we no longer exist (Diog. L. x. 64; Lucret.
iii. 418). The soul has four activities; gives rise to motion,
to repose, to warmth, to sensation, each produced by a distinct element in the composition of the soul-motion by
breath, repose by air, warmth by fire, etc.  Body and soul
are mutally dependent, neither existing without the other.
The soul, being composite, admits of decomposition when
the body, which is its protection and covering, is dissolved.
Sensation is produced by the emanation from all bodies of
certain effluxes or corporeal images which enter through
the organs of sense, and in that way we get our conceptions.
All sensations and perceptions are true, because they correspond to these images.  This is also the doctrine of
Democritus. The theology of Epicurus is obscure.  The
Stoics call him an atheist (Cic. Nat. Deor. i. 30-44). He
admits the existence of gods of human form, but free from
human imperfections and wants, given to supreme repose,
troubling not themselves or mortals with any disposition
to interfere in human affairs. The world is too imperfect
to be their work-nor it is consistent with their repose and
dignity to create such a world (Diog. L. x. 39, 76, 77;
Cic. Nat. Deor. i. 9-16). Much of the popular belief in
gods he regards as superstition.  Such is a brief outline of
the philosophy of this somewhat distinguished, and, we
must confess, much calumniated sect.




THE  STOICS.                   177
CHAPTER III.
THE ST OICS.
THE degeneracy of the times, the general corruption of
morals, the softness and effeminacy of Epicureanism, the
indifference of scepticism, the fading out of the earlier
Greek earnestness of character and energy of soul, the
waning national courage and patriotism and spirit-these
influences combined cast a deep shadow over the period
of Grecian history as connected with Grecian philosophy
which is now passing under our review. But these influences, though widely prevalent and almost universal, were
not altogether unresisted. There did arise in certain
Greek minds a feeling of indignant resentment at the general spirit of the age and irresistible current of events.
By the law of opposites, there arose a sect antagonistic to
all this, planting itself firmly on the opposite extreme, and
battling to the last, on the field of acknowledged defeat,
against influences and opinions which were destined to prevail over all opposition.
Such a sect were the Stoics, who considered themselves
followers of Socrates. The leader of these, Zeno of
Citium, a small city in the island of Cyprus. He was born
about 350 B. c. His father was a merchant, and he himself (Diog. L. vii. 1, 2, 5) was early engaged in mercantile
pursuits; but in after years, losing his all by shipwreck on
a voyage to Athens, he betook himself in that city to philosophy, to which his mind had already received a bias
while yet in earlier youth, from the perusal of some writings of the Socratic teachers, especially Xenophon's Memorabilia and Plato's Apology (Diog. L. vii. 3).  The life of
a Cynic fell in with the circumstances and feelings of a
shipwrecked and penniless voyager, and he sought the in



17,8               THE  STOICS.
structions of that school; not fully satisfied there, he became subsequently a pupil of the Megarean philosophy,
and afterward of the Academy.  Twenty years were spent
in these studies,  There was a place in Athens where poets
had, in palmier days, been accustomed to convene for the
purpose of reciting their inspirations-the Variegated
Porch.  It now stood empty.  There Zeno opened a school
in philosophy, 310 B. c., and seems to have gathered
around him many disciples. It was not looked upon with
favor by the community, who regarded it as a sort of continuation of the Cynic sect, and it had few converts among
the wealthier classes, but was frequented mostly by the
poor.'Over this school Zeno presided fifty-eight years,
(Diog. L. vii. 28, citing Apollonius), and at last put an end
to his own life. Temperate, frugal, abstemious, living
upon a spare and meagre diet, he enjoyed the reputation,
not only of severe morality and strict virtue, but of remarkable integrity, so much so that Athens intrusted to him
the keys of her gates, and at his death erected (Diog. L.
vii. 6) a tomb and a monument of brass in his honor,
bearing for inscription the simple but high eulogium that
his life had been accordant with his teaching. A few fragments only of his works have come down to us. His successors were Cleanthes, of Assus in Troas; of poor parentage, a boxer in early life (Diog. L. vii. 168), working at
night as a common laborer that he might study by day,
attaching himself to the doctrines of Zeno, and faithfully
retaining them in their purity; finally, like his master, ending his own existence;-and after him Chrysippus, a native
of Cilicia, 282-209 B. c.; likewise of poor extraction, but remarkable for quickness of apprehension and great sagacity,
a bitter opponent of the Epicurean system and of the new
Academy, a diligent cultivator of all branches of science, and
a voluminous writer above all the great names of antiquity.
His works amounted to 705! (Diog. L. vii. 180), not one
of which, however, has come down to posterity, and which,




THE  STOICS.                   179
as might be well conceived, were not remarkable for clearness or elegance, for care of composition or grace of style.
It was his custom to produce five hundred lines a day.
~ 1. —GENERAL VIEW OF THE STOIC PHILOSOPHY.
With regard to the philosophical views of the Stoics, it
may. be observed, in general, that the systems of Plato and
Aristotle were not, on the whole, sufficiently simple and
natural in their method; were too cumbrous and complicated to satisfy fully the wants of inquiring minds, especially at a period not remarkable for patient investigation
or profound thought. Some simpler and more direct solution of the great problems of human inquiry was demanded.
The Stoical system grew out of that demand, in part, and
set itself in a straightforward way to solve the difficulties
and satisfy the doubts of the human mind on the most
abstruse and important as well as difficult subjects.  It
takes decidedly a practical and common sense view of things;
bases itself in part on that sound common sense which
governs men in practical life; appeals to the current opinions and prevailing views of men; connects itself intimately
with the practical duties of life; combats the notion that a
life of solitude and contemplation is best for the sage; demands a life of activity and virtue; makes philosophy in
part to consist in the practice of virtue-that only useful
art. Science and virtue are thus intimately blended. A
life of virtue is a life of true science, as both Socrates and
Plato had- taught. Wisdom is the science of divine and
human things, and philosophy is the pursuit of wisdom.
As this relates to thought, to knowledge and to practice,
so accordingly they divide philosophy into physics, ethics,
and logic (Diog. L. vii. 39, 40, seq.; Plut. de Plac. Phil.
i. 1; Cic. Acad. i. 10, 11). They make the two last subordinate to the first, and logic especially so-the handmaiden of the other sciences, the shell of the egg-while
cthics are the white, and physics the yolk. Plato and Aris



1Su                 THE  STOICS.
totle would make logic or dialectic the yolk, and physics the
shell.  It is to be noticed, however, that in this deviation
they followed the already existing tendency of the times, to
make logic rather the organtum of philosophy than philosophy itself, while, on the other hand, they transferred
to physics many of the inquiries which had hitherto fallen
under the department of logic.  The cognition of the
Divine is, in fact, declared to be the great object of
physics.  Under logic, they include grammar and rhetoric.
They are in fact the founders of grammar, and inventors
of the terms which designate the different parts of speech.
Under physics, they treat of whatever is most sublime and
divine, and discuss mythology, and  pagan  superstition
even; while the domain of ethics is enlarged by practical
rules of life and treatises on duty and propriety.  We shall
do best to consider separately these several divisions of
their philosophy.
~ 2.-LOGIC OF THE STOICS.
Discarding as already obsolete the theories of Plato and
Aristotle as to the source of ideas, they set out with a
theory on the whole simple and perspicuous.  Under the
term (pavraia), fantasy, or conception, they include the contents of the consciousness both of man and brute; the representation of the sensible, and the notion of the non-sensible-representation by a present object, and also that
which has the semblance only of being thus caused.  Corresponding to the representation (which is a passive affection of the soul, and supposes some active object, external,
as its producing cause), there is also something capable of
being represented, some 0avrar76v for every oavTaoa, and this
active cause, this 0avra7r6v, is some external object, which,
by means of the senses, produces an impression on the soul
(Sext. Emp. adv. Math. vii. 244, 227. seq.; Diog. L. vii.
49-54; Cic. Acad. i. 11, ii. 6, 24). The soul is originally
(as others had previously taught), a blank tablet, unwrit



T HE  STO I CS.                  181
ten, but ready to be written on. Sensation writes on it
(Plutarch. de Placit. Phil. iv. 11), thence memory, and as
the result of memory, analogous sensations, experience.
So far, they agreed with Aristotle.  But they went further,
and derived from  sensation not mere knowledge of phenomena, but also intellectual thought, thus coinciding here
with the Epicureans.  Science is a firm conviction, or any
system of such convictions, incapable of being shaken by
argument.  The reciprocal action of outward objects and of
the faculties of the soul gives rise to cognition and sensation.  Assent of the mind is subjective and voluntary;
and yet sensuous impressions may constraint it.  The idea
in the soul produced by an outward object is a passive
affection, but reveals its cause, just as light shows not only
itself, but the objects which it illumines.  This manifestation of objects by sense, they say, leads at once and of
necessity to the judgment that such objects have real existence. *  But how are we to distinguish the false from
the true, since all are not equally credible and veritable?
Since all knowledge results from sensation ultimately, and
there is no higher faculty to sit in judgment on the representations of sense, evidently the only criterion of truth
must be found in these representations themselves. This
seems to have been the distinctness of the sensuous impressions. But how can the representation express what is in
the object? Answer: It is a sort of copy of that object,
formed in the soul like the impression of the soul left on
wax. Chrysippus, however, objects to this view on the
ground that many ideas may exist in the soul at one time,
just as many sounds in the air, which could not be on the
above supposition. His explanation is simply this, that an
idea is a modification of the soul by some outward object;
further than this, the matter is inexplicable (Sext. Emp.
adv. Math. vii. 228). With the Stoics ideas are merely
conceptions, have no existence out of our minds (Plut. de
* The doctrine of Reid and the Scottish School.




182                 THE  STOICS.
Plac. Phil. i. 10). In this they differed from Plato. They
distinguished two kinds of the true-the sensible, and the
intelligible.
They distinguished also between the true and truth.
Truth is in essence corporeal, as is all true substance,
while the true is incorporeal. The number of categories
with them was four: (a) the substrate, lying at the foundation-the ground  of things; (b) that which has a
quality; (c) that which has some general relation; (d)
that which has some particular relation, as the terms
father and son, right and left, relations which change
with change of circumstances. To these four categories
the four parts of speech correspond, the article, noun,
verb, and conjunction. The Stoics were nominalists.
~ 3.-THEIR PHYSIcs.
The Stoics regarded everything as material or corporeal,
following out the tendency of the Aristotelian system in
this; hence physics were of so much importance in their
philosophy. They derived their views on this subject, however, mostly from Heraclitus and the earlier, or pre-Socratic
philosophers.  Of incorporeal things there are four kinds:
vacuum, place, time, the inexpressible. Body with them
is not simply the extended in three clirections, but something,
moreover, which is active or passive. Virtue and vice,
the thoughts and dispositions and faculties of the soul, and
faculties of the body, the seasons, day and night-all such
things are bodies; whatever has aproperty, and even properties themselves, are bodies. They do not accordingly distinguish between a thing and its properties. The property
is with them the body itself. The passive, as a ground of
things, is matter without property  or quality.  The
active is God in matter (Diog. L. vii. 134; Seneca Epist.
lxv. 2; Cic. Acad. i. 11; De Nat. Deor. i. 14, ii. 8, 9). Matter is the primary subject, and universal essence, yet inseparable from  the active force.  The world is simnply the




TEE  STOICS.                     183
substance or mnatter of God.  If the universe were to pass
away, both matter and God would remain.  The dissolution
of heaven and earth is merely the resumption of all into
himnself again by Deity, from  whom they first proceeded.
The divine Spirit, as also the human, is conceived by them
as a force inherent in matter, rather than as a nous or
intelligence subsisting apart.  God and matter are one.
Viewed in one aspect, as passive, it is matter; in another,
as active, it is God. They regard God also as the universal
reason, pervading all as the soul does the body, governing
all, providing for all, wise, source of natural law, punishing
the evil, rewarding the good, perfect, and conscious of felicity. This soul of the world is destiny, moreover; and is
associated by the Stoics with the idea of vital heat in the
body-the breath, the artistic fire, the ether (Cic. de Nat.
Deor. ii. 9), also called spirit,,rvua (ii. 14, Diog. L. vii.
139).  He is distinct from the world in a subordinate sense,
as producer, fashioner, disposer of it, according to the
universal law of reason (Cic. de Nat. Deor., as above, 9, 14,
22; Diog. L. vii. 134, 147-156, seq.), as the active and
passive are different, as soul and body are different; yet
one life, unity of being. This development of soul or
active force, as fire in the world, etc., proceeds through
certain fixed gradations and periods and finally returns
into itself or God, and closes with a grand conflagration
(Cic. de Nat. Deor. ii. 46; Plut. de Stoic. Repugn. 41;
Diog. L. vii. 142). It is a period in the divine life, having
its beginning and end. In the world evil will always exist,
but in the final conflagration will cease. The development
of things and worlds is one which will continue in successive formations, precisely like the  preceding  ones; all
returns, comes round again by the same old laws as before.
As to the existence of evil. God wills not war, disease, etc., but they come in consequence of the good which
he does will.  Moral evil, which is real evil, is necessary for
the perfection of the world. God wills it not; for law




184                 THE  STOICS.
never sanctions its own infraction; but he wills that of
which evil is the necessary consequence. W~ithout evil, good
could not be; so that it is neither possible nor expedient
to get rid of it altogether. Nothing can exist without its
contrary, as Heraclitus taught; not even good without evil.
If there were no such thing as injustice, there could be no
justice; nor courage without cowardice, nor truth if there
were no falsehood, etc.
With respect to inferior deities, the Stoics defended
the popular superstitions and beliefs against the current
scepticism of the day.
The world, as being the work of God, must needs be
beautiful, for the divine act is not to realize the useful only,
but the beautiful also. Variety, multiplicity, diversity, is
the rule of beauty. Hence the wonderful diversity of nature,
who, in all her works, never repeats herself. The individual
in the Stoic philosophy exists for the universal; brutes for
the service of man; plants and inferior animals for brutes;
man for the gods; the gods for society, for the whole, for
each other.
The four elements are derived originally from the
primary fire, which, condensed, becomes air, which further
condensed, water; which, still by condensation, becomes
earth, but by rarefaction and evaporation goes back to air
again, and so finally becomes fire. This process is set in
operation  by  precipitation, which, commencing at the
centre, extinguishes the adjacent fire, but the surrounding
fire combats it, and by the contending fires the universe is
founded.  Of these elements, earth is in the centre, water at
circumference, air next, and highest is fire, which embraces
and surrounds the whole.
All individual objects are compositions of these elements.  Inanimate objects have but one property, and
that oneness of quality is what binds them together; plants
and animals, many, and are held together, the former by
their "nature," the latter by their soul.  Individual souls,




THE  STOICS.                    185
being a part of the mundane soul, are not immortal strictly,
but will subsist after death, till the final conflagration,
when absorbed into the divine (Diog. L. vii. 157).  Chrysippus taught that only the wise and good would survive
death. The human soul is a breath inborn, pervading the
whole body (Diog. L. vii. 159), a fiery spirit (Cic. de Nat.
Deor. iii. 14:; Tusc. Quaest. i. 9). There is a ruling principle
in the soul, which directs and governs it, the subject or
ego, the reason or intelligence, the seat of which is in the
heart. There are eight parts of the soul: the ruling
portion in the heart, five operating in the organs of sense,
one in the organ of voice, one in the organs of generation
(Plut. de Plac. Phil. iv. 4; Diog. L. vii. 157, seq.).  Every
appetite, desire, lust, is an opinion, knowledge incompletely
developed.  The soul is not ccapriciously moved, not by
chance, but by motives; though sometimes the motive
which strikes the balance is unperceived. By the freedom
of the soul, they understand the assent which it gives to
certain ideas, not arbitrarily but according to its nature;
still, in so acting, we go according to destiny, a universal
fate. just as a stone, rolling down hill, receives its first
impulse from without, but the course depends afterward
on its weight and figure.  The liberty of things is simply
the law of their nature; but the law of individual nature
is dependent on the nature of all.
~ 4.-THEIR ETHICS.
Nature is the ground of right; yet, as God and nature
are one, the divine reason is the ground of right (Diog. L.
vii. 88, 89, seq.; Tusc. Quvest. iv. 13, 15; De Off. i. 5; Fin.
iii. 7, 9, 15, 18); and physics is the ground of ethics,
according to the Stoical philosophy. A virtuous life is a
life conformable to nature (Diog. L. vii. 87), or in harmony
with one's self, as Zeno expresses it. All virtue is founded
in instinct, a certain natural propensity of the soul. This
instinct in man is developed according to the reason, and




186                  THE  STOICS.
in this differs from that of brutes.  It is the assent which
he gives to a particular representation, or the idea of good
determining him  to action.  Follow nature, then, is their
ultirnate principle of ethics. A life agreeable to nature is
one in which all the elements of the individual life are in
perfect harmony (Diog. L. vii. 87-89; Cic. de Fin. iii. 6,
7; Acad. i. 10. ii. 45).  The mnoder for this is that animnal state, or state of nature as we say, in which, as yet,
life is not spoiled by custom, law, habit, etc. Pleasure
was of no account with the Stoics, not the end of nature,
without moral value, a mere passive state of soul. The
morality of a deed lies not in the outward act, but in the
volition.; consequences, works,. are not to be regarded;
virtue alone is good; he who has it wants nothing, though
destitute of all things.  Still, health, wealth, etc., though
not good, and without real value, nevertheless (by a refined
distinction), are preferable to other things, as sickness, poverty, etc., and so the sage may choose them  of the two,
when he can (Diog. L. vii. 101-107; Cic. de Fin. iii. 3,
15, 16; Sext. lEmp. adv. Math. ix. 59-67, 73, 77). Self-preservation is the instinct of nature, and so due regard must be
paid to life, health, etc., as well as to knowledge of things.
These objects are " the first things according to nature " of
the Stoics; opposed to which are disease, weakness, deformity, etc. Self-love, or love of existence, is, then, the foundation of moral action.  There is a period in life when reason
awakens and takes command of the soul and all its impulses.
If under this guidance, the soul is wholly good; if without
it, wholly evil.  There is no medium.  Four things indispensable to virtue: knowledge of good and evil, temperance, fortitude, justice.  Man cannot wrong himself, nor
other animals, for they exist only for his good.  The perfection of humanity is a state of apathy-freedom from the
emotions, of which the chief forms are desire, fear, joy,
sorrow; complete mastery of these, so as not to be governed
by them  (Cic. Tusc. iii. 9, iv. 9; Acad. i. 10, ii. 47; De




THE  STOICS.                   187
Fin. iii. 7, 10). There is a difference between the merely
befitting, and duty, which is the befitting according to
reason-the act of walking may be befitting, though not a
duty unless some moral end in view; or perfect and imperfect duties. The sage is superior to law and custom; like
Zeus himself, his own law. So long as the motive is not
selfish or voluptuous, he may do almost anything: lying,
suicide, prostitution; entire disregard for customs of society
are allowable, with that limitation only. The sage is one
who cannot err, and whom reason never fails-a character,
in fact, nowhere to be found. Such, in brief, are Stoic
ethics and philosophy.
~ 5.-GENERAL ESTIMATE OF THE SYSTEM.
In forming a general estimate of the system which has
now passed under review, it is impossible to deny it a very
high, possibly the very highest, place among the ethical
systems of ancient philosophy. As a system of pure and
elevated morals, it has perhaps no superior among them
all; yet its defects are by no means to be overlooked. The
very elevation of its standard, the very loftiness of its ideal,
rendered it, in a measure, ill suited to the ordinary conditions of humanity. As has been well remarked by Lecky,
in hi-s- Iistory of European Morals (vol. i. p. 204-5): "A
moral system, to govern society, must accommodate itself
to common character and mingled motives. It must be
capable of influencing natures that can never rise to an
heroic level. But Stoicism was simply a school of heroes.
It recognized no gradations of virtue or vice.  It condemned all emotions, all spontaneity, all mingled motives,
all the principles, feelings, and influences, upon which the
virtue of common men mainly depends. It was capable
of acting only on moral natures that were strung to the
highest tension, and it was therefore naturally rejected by
the multitude." The principle of self-approbation, the
essential inherent dignity Of man, constitute the centre



188                 THE STOICS.
idea of the system. A life of virtue is to be pursued,
because such a life alone is consistent with this self-approbation, and this inherent dignity. Of sin, in the Christian
sense, and of repentance for sin, it has no idea. It would
deter men from  evil by appeals to their pride and selfrespect.  These are its highest motives, its prevailing
influences. The emotional part of our nature-and this is
one of the most serious defects of the Stoic system-it discourages, and seeks in every way to repress. All feeling,
sensibility, emotion, the joys and sorrows that agitate the
human heart, it regards as unworthy the true man. There
must be no tears over our own losses, no sympathy with
the bereavements of others; but calm and lofty indifference to the gifts of fortune and all human ills. It would
train us to self-reliance and complete self-control, as the
goal of human endeavor, the ideal of human excellence.
And if at length the burdens and the ills of life are such
as can no longer be borne, one method of escape is always
in our power, we have but to put forth our hand, write
finis, and close the volume.
Yet I know not where to find, even among Christian
writers, loftier sentiments than abound in the writings of
the later Stoics. The excellence of virtue, for its own
sake and not merely for the advantages it brings; of virtue
concealed from the world, and known only to the peaceful
soul that in obscurity and silence cherishes and adores
it; the greatness of a soul calm and self-reliant under all
the storms of adversity, the duty of uncomplaining submission to the Divine will- these and the like virtues are
even more earnestly and beautifully set forth in the pages
of Epictetus and Seneca, of Marcus Aurelius and Antoninus
Pius, than in those of the Christian fathers.  "Nothing
for opinion, all for conscience," says Seneca (De Vit. Beat.
c. xx.); "Hie who wishes his virtue to be blazed abroad
is not laboring for virtue, but for fame" (Ep. cxiii). A
great man is none the less great, when he lies vanquished




THE STOICS.                     189
and prostrate in the dust (Cons. ad Helv. xiii.).  "Never
forget," says Marcus Aurelius, "that it is possible to be at
once a divine man, yet a man unknown to all the world"
(Marc. Aur. vii. 67).  " To ask to be paid for virtue, is as
if the eye demanded a recompense for seeing, or the feet
for walking" (ix. 42).  Nor is virtue to be sought merely
for its advantages.  "Non dux, sed comes, voluptas," says
Seneca; " pleasure is not to be our leader, but our comdanion; " and again " Voluptas non est merces, nec causa
virtutis, sed accessio;" "pleasure is not the reward nor
the cause of virtue, but its incidental acquisition " (De Vit.
Beat. c. viii. ix.).  " Misfortunes, and losses, and calamity,
disappear before virtue as the taper before the sun"
(Seneca Ep. lxvi.).  In the Stoic theology, the soul of man
is but "a detached fragment of the Deity"; hence its
best impulses and efforts are of divine origin or inspiration.
"Nothing is closed to God," said Seneca.  "He is present
in our conscience. He intervenes in our thoughts" (Ep.
lxxxiii.).  "I tell thee, Lucilius, a sacred spirit dwells
within us, the observer and the guardian of our good and
evil deeds.... No man is good without God" (Ep. xii.).
To the allotments of Providence the Stoic philosophy
enjoins an unquestioning and uncomplaining submission.
"To fear, to grieve, to be angry, is to be a deserter," says
Marcus Aurelius.  "Remember you are but an actor,"
says Epictetus, "acting whatever part the  Master has
ordained. It may be short, or it may be long. If he wishes
you to represent a poor man, do so heartily; if a cripple,
or a magistrate, or a private man, in each case act your
part with honor " Ench. (xvii.). Never say of anything that
you have lost it, but that you have restored it; your wife
and child die-you have restored them; your farm is taken
from you-that also is restored. It is seized by an impious
man.  What is it to you, by whose instrumentality he
who gave it reclaims it" (Epict. Ench. xi.).  "God does
not keep a good man in prosperity," says Seneca; "He




190           THE NEW  ACADEMY.
tries, He strengthens him, He prepares him for Himself"
(De Prov. i). As we listen to such sentiments, it is difficult
to persuade ourselves that they are the precepts of a
pagan philosophy, and not the meditations of some devout
monk of the middle ages.
CHAPTER IV.
THE NEW ACADEMY.
WE are approaching the close of the history of Greek
philosophy. The great systems, of which we have already
spoken, stand forth as the almost complete embodiment of
that history. Nothing worthy of the name of a system is
added to them afterward, but only such modifications of
them are made as would adapt them to the tendencies and
habits of thought which characterized the times. The New
Academy, as it was termed, somewhat later than the foundation of the Epicurean and Stoic schools in its origin, presents the principal of these modifications of earlier systems.
As the name indicates, it was a school attaching itself to
the Platonic system in its main features, while it modified
the views and widely departed from the earlier spirit of
that system.
~ 1.-FOUNDER OF THE SCHOOL.
The author of this new school was Arcesilaus of Pitane,
born 315 B. C.; at first given to oratory, afterward to philosophy, under Theophrastus and Polemo, also the sceptic
Pyrrho. He seems to have considered himself a good
Platonist; like Plato manifests great respect for the earlier
philosophers. Into the Academy he introduces the old
Socratic method of teaching by dialogue. He is highly
praised for his smooth, ready, and flowing eloquence; did
not commit his doctrines to writing.  His views, learned




THE NEW  ACADEMY.                   191
mostly from works of his opponents. According to the
statements of these persons, a perfect scepticism would
seem to be the main result of his speculations.  He knows
nothing; not even his own ignorance, which even Socrates
admitted that he knew. He denied the certainty, both of
intellectual and sensuous knowledge (Cic. de Orat. iii. 18,
67). He attacks vigorously the Stoics, who were his chief
opponents. With Plato, he appeals to the uncertainty of
the senses, which declare opposite things of the same
object, and cannot reveal the true nature of things.  He
sets forth the mutual inconsistencies and contradictions of
the  different philosophic systems. Still his scepticism
assumes a practical direction.  Men should study, not
works of art, etc., but their own lives and conduct, which
are the most instructive objects of science.
Hence nothing is known for certainty of the real existence and nature of things; our knowledge falls of course
into the domain of the probable, and we do well to suspend
our judgment (Cic. Acad. Quest. ii. 24, i. 12; Sext. Emp.
adv. Math. vii. 150, 154, 108). In the pursuit of good we
must be guided by probabilities. In this, the New Academy
differs from the Sceptics, who made the end of life to be the
attainment of a perfect equanimity, and the difference of
good and bad to be the result of convention, not of nature.
The New Academy, on the contrary, allowed the sage to
conform more nearly to the customs of society, observe its
decencies and proprieties, without, mortifying entirely his
natural passions and desires, or bursting away entirely from
the bonds and restraints of civilized life. Arcesilaus is said
to have been rather inclined even to luxury, and, as the
3tory goes, killed himself at seventy-five by hard drinking.
~ 2.-His SuccEssoR.
His only distinguished successor was Carneades of
fyrene; born 213 B. c.; carefully instructed in the principles of the New Academy, and also in those of the Stoics.




19,2          THiE NEW  ACADE-M'Y.
Learned in the history of philosophy, he seems to have
labored mostly to refute the positions of all the systems of
philosophy, but chiefly the Stoical. His reputation rests
chiefly on his refutation of the latter.  "Had there never
been a Chrysippus, I never should have been what I am."
Noted for his eloquence, on account of which he was
chosen one of the ambassadors to Rome on a certain
occasion, where he enchanted multitudes, chiefly young
men, by his powers of oratory. He discoursed one daywhen Cato, the stern, stoic Roman, was present-on justice: setting forth in such lofty tones its praise, that the
old Roman grimly smiled. Next day, however, he showed
the falsity of all his preceding arguments, and Cato's brow
grew dark. So much was the stout old Roman troubled
that he persuaded the Senate to dismiss the Grecians with
all despatch, lest the youth of Rome should be hopelessly
corrupted. He generally presented both sides of every
question, insomuch that his most trusty pupil admitted
he could never discover what was, on any subject, the real
opinion of his master.
He attacks the doctrine of the Stoics respecting the
being and nature of God, and their defence of the popular
superstitions and mythologies; he shows the folly of ascribing human form to the Deity (Cic. de Nat. Deor. iii.
12; Sext. adv. Math. ix. 138, 140). He also attacks the
Stoic doctrine of necessity versus free-will. Practical life
he regarded as an art.  He takes a nobler view of humanity
than Aristippus, but less noble than the Stoics. Justice is,
according to him, a mere civil institution, not a natural
one (Cic. Repub. iii. 15, 24), since not identical everywhere,
but varying in different states and at different times in
the same state-hence not a virtue, for virtue is one and
invariable. Prudence and justice are often at variance;
often imprudent, for states to be just. Justice has its
source in the weakness of man, who, in order to protect
himself from injury, abstains from inflicting it on others.




THLE NEW  ACADEMY.                   193
The sovereign good is " enjoyment of the gifts of nature,"
"C union of virtue and happiness," and the like ambiguous
expressions (Cic. Tusc. v. 30, 84). It is impossible to find
any criterion of truth. If any, it must be either in sensation, conception, or reason.  But reason deals only with
objects first presented to it through conception, and this
latter only with objects of sense; so that all comes back to
sensation, which is notoriously untrustworthy, and carries
false tidings, like an unfaithful messenger. Still even as
to this scepticism he is sceptical; does not affirm positively,
but doubts, questions, denies.  His theory of probability is
somewhat noticeable. There is no certainty of anything,
only probability (Cic. Acad. Quoast. ii. 24, i. 12; Sext.
Emp. adv. Math. vii. 150, 154, 408). We choose between
opposite courses of conduct, not by blind impulse or necessity, but according to higher or lower degrees of probability. Every idea has two relations: one to the object, one
to the subject, or the mind that conceives it. In the first
case it is true or false, as it agrees or not with the object, and
this we can never know.  In the latter relation it appears
true or not true; that is, it is probable or improbable; and
it is of importance to determine which, for our conduct
proceeds on this principle. An idea is probable, according
as it proceeds from a perception which is invariable and
unquestioned; and if, on thorough examination, nothing be
found to contradict it. Carneades recommends the study
of philosophy as the best and only road to oratory.
~. 8-SUBSEQUENT FORTUNES OF THE SCHooL.
Carneades was the last distinguished name of the New
Academy. It began, after him, to decline and fall into
disrepute. Philosophy, both with the Academy and the
Porch, became less profound, more erudite, more artistical,
more popular, more sceptical. This tendency shows the
degradation of the science and of the age.  The differences
between the Academy and the Porch became less clearly
defined, and a sort of eclecticism grew up, and semi-concili-.




194           THE  NEW  ACADEMY.
ation and agreement between the two, the Stoics growing
more mild, and also more sceptical, as time passed on.
Efforts were indeed made to restore the Academy again to
its pristine purity, to bring it back to the doctrines of
Plato and Aristotle, but with little other than merely temporary success. Antiochus, pupil of Philo, is noted for his
labors to this end. Meanwhile, alongside of the Academy
and the Porch, the Epicurean philosophy now became
almost obsolete, and the Aristotelian became quite so,
dragged out a feeble existence represented by here and
there a disciple. And so we reach the close of that period
and movement which, commencing with Socrates, shed such
lustre on the Greek —nay more, on the human mind. It
is with melancholy interest that we take leave of Grecian
philosophy; that we see it gradually losing its hold on the
mind, as corruption and decay become more and more prevalent, until finally its brilliant light, which Socrates and
Plato kindled, and Aristotle with a master's hand had
trimmed and nourished, dwindles before our eyes into a
dim and solitary taper, and finally goes out in darkness on a
nation no longer worthy of his beams.
What was the result, now, of all these profound investigations from  Thales downward?  "Scepticism," says
Lewes.  "Centuries of thought had not advanced the
mind one step nearer to a solution of the problem with
which, child-like, it began; it began with a child-like question; it ended with an aged doubt."  "Was then all this
labor in vain? Were these long, laborious years all wasted?
Were those splendid minds all useless? No! Human endeavor is seldom without fruit. Those centuries of speculation were not useless. They were the education of the
human race.  They taught man's mind this truth at least:
The infinite cannot be known by the finite; man can only
know phenomena."  To this view, eloquent as it is, we
should somewhat demur; for Lewes is himself a sceptic
as to the possibility of any solid results in philosophy.  We




ROM AN  PHILOSOPIHY.                195
would not take so sad and sombre and despairing a view of
the labors of these old Grecians. They are the germ of
modern philosophy, the seeds of things, the dawn of a
brighter, higher day, that shines on us; our eyes behold
what these old kings and prophets of the mental world
desired to see, but died without the sight. Let us not forget our debt of gratitude to these first inquirers, these
patient thinkers, these ancient masters.
CHAPTER V.
THE GREEK PHILOSOPHY AMONG THE ROMANS.
IT remains only to notice the effect of Greek philosophy
upon foreign nations; and of these I shall select only the
Roman, as the one most directly and favorably influenced
by the Greek mind, and the one with whose history and
literary remains the student of the present day is most interested.  The Romans, while they conquered Greece, were
in turn conquered by it; the vassal became the master, and
the master, conscious of inferiority, submitted to willing
bondage; became the puplil and sat at the feet of the slave,
to learn of him the secret of that higher power which intellect wields over mere brute force.  The literature and
philosophy of Greece held the Roman mind in complete and
willing subjection.  Even stern old Cato, who sent off the
Grecian ambassadors, applied himself in his old age to
learning the Greek language.  Such men as Scipio Africanus and Caius Lslius and L. Furius were not only
patrons of Grecian learning, but maintained friendly and
intimate intercourse with the scholars and philosophers of
Greece. Eminent lawyers became the disciples of Pansetins, the Stoic and Platonic philosopher.  But no one of
Rome's distinguished men gave himself up with more




196           RO0 M AN  PHILOSOPHY.
hearty relish, perhaps, to Grecian erudition and philosophy,
than Cicero. At the outset, Epicurean doctrines gained
a popularity in Rome, and found numerous advocates. Subsequently and in the time of Cicero, the New Academy,
then in its brightest phase, became more generally the
prevalent philosophy of the Romans. The Peripatetic
doctrines also found adherents when Sylla brought home
the works of Aristotle. On the whole, the Epicurean, the
Stoic, and New Academy were the chief schools and favorite
systems at Rome. The practical turn of the Roman mind
led them to look with more favor on these schools, as being
practical rather than speculative systems, as Tennemann
suggests. The old Academy, however, had such adherents
as Lucullus, M. Brutus, and Varro, who nevertheless mingled much of the Stoical philosophy with the Platonic.
The same thing is more or less true of all those Roman disciples of Greek philosophy; they were really eclectics in
good measure, no one more so than Cicero; and while
they believed themselves to belong to this or that particular school, unconsciously or purposely mingled with
that the views of other sects, and especially the prevalent
Stoical doctrines.
The Stoics gained to their cause most of the learned
legists and teachers of jurisprudence. Q. Mutius Scoevola,
C. Aquillius Gallus, and L. Lucilius Balbus, distinguished
compeers of Cicero, were Stoics. So was Servius Sulpicius,
and, still another, the younger Cato, who contributed more
than any other to the glory of this school among the
Romans. At a later period, Seneca, [Epictetus, and M.
Aurelius Antoninus shed honor on this philosophy by their
writings.  On the other hand, Pomponius Atticus, the
bosom  friend of Cicero, and C. Cassius, the conspirator
against Csesar, were Epicureans; while as authors, the
Epicurean school could boast Lucretius, the poet, and
the sparkling Horace. It was principally, however, by the
labors of Cicero, that philosophy became domesticated in




ROMAN  PHILOSOPHY.                      197
the, Latin tongue. He claims for himself the merit of
being the first to earn for the Latin language the same
reputation in philosophy as the Greek had acquired.  A
glance at the philosophical views of Cicero must suffice for
the whole.  Early educated in the philosophy of Greece, hoS
owed to Grecian training whatever he had of intellectiL.I
culture.*  His fame rests, not so much on his political lif 
as on his oratorical efforts and philosophical writings. To
philosophy, when the ship of state foundered, he againl
devotes himself, in his later years, as a last and only
resource.  1Iis philosophic writings are clear, elegant, popular in cast; never original, but noble in sentiment.  He
professes to follow the New Academy, yet is something of
a Stoic and much a Sceptic.  A sober scepticism is the philosophy accordant with his mind. He was eclectic, however,
and strictly confined to neither of the three prevalent
schools.  To the Epicureans, in fact, he was decidedly and
unhesitatingly opposed. He wrote for the people, and
combined eloquence with philosophy, and especially gives
his philosophy a practical turn.  As to the great problems
discussed by the schools, he either does not thoroughly
comprehend them, or thinks them of less difficulty and less
importance than they really are, for he passes vaguely and
superficially over most of them. With regard to morals, he
is clear and earnest; as to physics most uncertain and wavering. He maintains eloquently the doctrines respecting God
and the human soul, but yet wavers between belief and
doubt as to the popular religion. He takes lofty views of
* Cicero studied philosophy at Athels and at Rhodes. He heard
the Epicurean, the Academic, and the Stoic teachers. In later life, he
turned again to the study of philosophy, as a resource from the ills of
the state; as he touchingly says (Tusc. v. 2), while in the early period
of life, our inclination and love of acquisition compelled us to the
study of philosophy, so, as a resort from these great calamities, we
fly again, tempest-tossed, to the samne peaceful harbor from which
we wandered forth.




198           RO MAN  PHILOSOPHY.
humanity, of virtue as superior to pleasure, of the dignity
of human nature, and the excellence of reason; strongly
advocates free will. In natural theology, Cicero is clear
and decided against the fortuitous or accidental origin of
the present well-ordered system of things.  As well throw
up the letters of the alphabet and expect them to assume,
in falling, the shape of the Annals of Ennius (De Nat. Deor.
ii. 37).  He attaches importance to those opinions and
beliefs in matters of theology in which different nations
and ages agree (Tusc. i. 13), especially the doctrines of a
superintending Providence and the immortality of the soul
(Tuse. i. 1. 2, seq. 49).  He is lofty and eloquent in praise
of disinterested virtue (De Fin. ii. 4, v. 22), and the
dignity of the human mind (Tusc. i. 24, seq.; De Leg. i. 7,
seq.); of a life devoted not to self alone, but to country and
friends (De Offic. i. 7; De Fin. ii. 14); and of philosophy
as the guide of life (Tusc. v. 2; Acad. i. 2; De Off. ii. 2).
He defines the morally good-honzestizun, as that which
is praiseworthy, per se: the ro,a;t6v of the Greeks (De Fin.
ii. 14; De Offic. i. 4), and is inclined, with the Stoics, to
regard virtue as of itself alone capable of securing happiness-all else being of little worth in comparison with it
(De Fin. v. 32; De Offic. iii. 3).
On the whole, we agree with Ritter, that while the
philosophical writings of Cicero have had not much influence on, or been much valued by, profounder thinkers, they
are the foundation of not only Roman philosophy, but of
that of the later church; have had great influence on the
opinions of the middle ages, and of the subsequent literature,
and have tended powerfully, in a word, to the general enlightenment of mankind.
While disposed to be something of a sceptic in physics,
Cicero takes refuge, in matters of practical and ethical
moment, in the certainty of our moral consciousness, the
universal consent of nations, and those intuitive conceptions which nature has implanted within us.  These are to




ROMAN  PHILOSOPHY.                   199
him a satisfactory ground of conviction and confidence,
and he does not wish them disturbed by the cavils and
questions of the mere sceptic, to whom nothing is sacred,
nothing certain. In theology, he would eliminate whatever is mythical and unworthy of belief, but retain as
sacred the great truths and beliefs in which all ages and
people agree, specially the grand doctrines of a superintending providence, and of immortality. Still he holds even
these beliefs not without some hesitation and question.
Virtue-the honestunm, the Tr KaLov, is instrinsically and
per se a good; good for its own sake; and is of itself sufficient to secure happiness-though he comes with some hesitation to this position of the Stoics. In common with the
Stoics he rejects the wao7-perturbations, as he calls themthe passions or disturbing forces and impulses of our nature,
as unworthy of us, and to be suppressed.
Cicero's highest ideal of government is one embracing
the monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic elements.
He regards the mass of men as unfit for freedom and selfgovernment.  He would allow the practice of consulting
auguries, and similar superstitions, in deference to the prevailing popular belief. It is when he comes upon those
great moral truths which the consciousness of man affirms,
that Cicero rises to his highest and most eloquent utterances.
The character of Cicero is well drawn by Ritter in the
following paragraph: " With the nicest knowledge of
men and things, without which no orator can be great, he
combined a fine sense of justice and benevolence, love for
his friends, who remained true to him through the various
changes of. his fortunes; unwearying diligence, and a
shrewd and comprehensive forecast of future events, and
the inevitable consequences of the present position of
affairs. To be as great as he was brilliant in political life,
he only wanted that perfect enthusiasm which is engendered in the mind by confidence in its own resources, and




200  JEWIS H-ALEX ANDR IAN  PHILOSOPHY.
resolute firmness in the moment of action. This, however,
is what indeed at all times is most difficult to attain to,
but especially in such circumstances and in such an age
as that of Cicero, when feeling as he did the clearest conviction that the fortunes of the state were hopeless, such
bold resolution could only have been purchased by a calm
spirit of self-denial, which was hardly to be expected of the
soft and yielding mind of Cicero. We cannot therefore
wonder if we see him often wavering, often hesitating and
dissatisfied with himself, unable either to encourage hope
or to banish fear, ashamed of his unworthy position and
ambiguous policy, and yet unable to follow out his own
plans of honorable action. His character and career as
a politician," Ritter proceeds to remark, "closely accord
with the part which he played as a philosopher.  The same
qualities which procured him splendor in the political
world, made him also a brilliant champion and disseminator of philosophic labors; the same defects which, as a
statesman, deprived him  of the highest praise, also prevented him from being truly great in philosophy. Moreover, all his philosophical labors were mainly dependent on
his political life" (Hist. Phil.).
CHAPTER VI.
THE JEWISH-ALEXANDRIAN PHILOSOPHY; AND THE
SUBSEQUENT NEO-PLATONISM.
~ 1.-JEWIsH-ALEXANDRIAN PHILOSOPHY.
ABOUT the beginning of the Christian era, or even
earlier, there arose in the East a school of philosophy,
mainly theosophic, or theologic, blending the doctrines of
of Plato with the Jewish theology-the result, in part, of
the general yearning after some more direct and satisfactory
knowledge of God than the preceding systems of specula



JEWIS H-ALEXANDRIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  201
tive thought had been able to attain. Such a desire seems
to have been very generally felt in the closing period of
the ancient, or pre-Christian world.  The result of so many
systems, and so many ages of patient thought and investigation, was what?-a heartless scepticism. To this had come
the brilliant speculations of the greatest thinkers-scepticism-eclecticism.  Not satisfied with this result, men
turned with restless longing to the systems of Oriental
theosophy, to see what, perchance, might be learned in that
quarter of the great problems of human thought and
human destiny. Chief among these religious systems of
the East in practical influence on the Grecian mind was
the Jewish theology, as presented in the Hebrew Scriptures, and which, as blended with the lofty idealism of
Plato, formed the philosophy known as the Jewish Hellenic, or Jewish-Alexandrian system.  In common with
the Neo-Platonists, of whom they were in fact the precursors, these philosophers opposed the divine to the earthly,
contemning the material and the sensible, holding the
descent of the soul from a superior world into the body,
requiring an ascetic emancipation of the soul from  the
bondage of sense, and believing in a divine revelation to
man in the state of enthusiasm.
Germs of this philosophy may be seen, though hardly
the philosophy itself, in the Septuagint translation of the
Hebrew Scriptures; as also in the Second Book of Maccabees, and in the Book of Wisdom  (Ueberweg, vol. i. p.
226). Aristobulus, 160 B. c., finds in the Pentateuch the
source of much that was taught by Grecian poets and
philosophers. He personifies the wisdom of God as an
intermediate essence between God and the world, preexistent before the heavens and the earth.  God himself is
invisible to the eye of sense not only, but to the eye of
the soul. The nous, or reason, alone perceives him. It is
the divine power or force that governs the world, and not
God himself, who is above and beyond all mundane
9*




202  JEWISI- ALEXANDRIAN  PHILOSOPHY.
affairs.  The light, which was created on the first day, is
symbolic of the wisdom which illuminates all things, and
which Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs, has described as
existing with God before the Creation. The whole order
of the world rests on the number seven.
But it is in Philo the Jew, that the system now under
discussion finds its first clear and complete exponent.
Philo, whose home was at Alexandria, was descended
from an illustrious family, according to Josephus (Antiq.
x-viii. 8); a sacerdotal one, according to Eusebius (Hist.
Eccl. ii. 4). His brother was superintendent of the Alexandrian library.  Philo went as ambassador to Rome in
40 A. D., then an old man; so that he was probably born
some twenty-five or thirty years B. C. Philo interprets the
Scriptures allegorically. His theology is a blending of
Platonism and Judaism (Ueberweg, 229).  God is the TO 0or,
the only true existence, above all knowledge and all virtue;
above even the idea of "the good," with which Plato identifies him. He is one and simple, the only free nature,
without suffering, grief, or fear; present everywhere by his
power though not in his essence. He is the place of the
world, for he encompasses and contains all things.
In creating the world, God employs certain ministering
agencies or potencies, the chief of which is "the logos,"
God's wisdom, or son, through whom he creates the world.
As the plan of an edifice lies in the mind of the master
builder, so the world of ideas lies from eternity in the
mind of the logos. He is the mediator between God and
man.  To imitate God, to become like him, and dwell in
him, is the highest duty, as it is the highest blessedness, of
man. All other knowledge is valuable only as a preparation for the knowledge of God. The highest aim of philosophy is this knowledge.
The logos doctrine of Philo, while closely resembling
that of the gospel of John, in many respects, differs from
it, loto cmlo, in this respect: that Philo, with his view of the




N E W  PLATONISMt.                203
essential baseness and impurity of matter, cannot conceive
of the logos as incarnate in the person of Christ, which is
the distinctive feature of the Johannean doctrine of the
logos.
~ 2.-NEw PLATONISM.
The golden age of Grecian philosophy had already passed
before the Christian era. Its great names and its illustrious
systems were remembered as traditions of a former time.
With the advent of Christianity, a new era was ushered in;
a new light arose upon the world. Yet not wholly had the
speculative spirit and tendency died out. As late as the
third and fourth centuries of the Christian era, an effort
was made, and with some success, to revive the ancient
philosophy-a last and almost despairing  attempt, as
Schwegler well characterizes it, of the ancient mind, at a
philosophy which should solve the great problems of speculative inquiry. The closing period of Grecian philosophy
was a revival of Platonism, Neo-Platonism, as it was
called. Its chief teachers were Plotinus, a pupil of
Ammonius Saccas (an Alexandriadii-jphilosopher of the
third century, founder of the Neo Platonic school); born at
Lycopolis in Egypt, in 204 A. D., teacher at Rome from
244 to 268, died in Campania, in 269; and Porphyry, his
disciple, born in Syria in 232 or 233, educated at Tyre,
pupil for a time of Longinus, afterward of Plotinus at
Rom   where he lived-and taught from 262 till his death,
about 304 A. D., a clear and vigorous writer, author of
several treatises, mainly expositions of the writings of Plato
and Aristotle, and of the system of Plotinus. Iamblichus,
disciple of Porphyry, a native of Chalcis, in Ccele-Syria,
and Proclus, born at Constantinople about 411, disciple
of Plutarch at Athens, were also eminent as Neo-Platonists.
The latter was the most distinguished of the later NeoPlatonists, and taught with much success at Athens, where
hle died 485 A. D. He collected the whole body of trans



~204            NEW  PLATONISM }.
mitted philosophy, arrayed it in systematic form, and added
what he deemed wanting to its completeness. The doctrines of Plotinus and the Neo-Platonists continued to be
taught at Athens, till the final closing of the school, by
order of the Emperor Justinian, in 529, who interdicted
the further teaching of philosophy at Athens.
The practical tendency of the school was to mysticism.'I*agic, sorcery, divine illumination, ability to foresee The
future, were claimed and professed. The scepticism of
the previous and closing period of Grecian philosophic
thought, led to unrest, and a vague yearning for something
which should better satisfy the craving of the mind for
solid and tangible reality. Christianity supplied this want.
Neo-Platonism sought to do it, in another way, by mystical
absorption into Deity. God, say the Neo-Platonists, is
the primal essence, or first principle, the One, the Good,
the First; not itself the voi) —the reason, nor yet vo)rd6v, to
be known by the reason, but infinitely exalted above that.
Superior to all being, to all thinking and willing and
energy, this primordial principle needs nothing, desires
nothing. Neither life, nor being, nor action, can be predicated of it. It can neither be expressed, nor thought.
The world is the emanation or effluence of this first principle. As the sun radiates light, as fire emits heat, so this
principle sends forth from itself that which is eternal —the
reason, voig, its own image. From this again emanates
the world soul, from which in turn the material, sensible
world proceeds-the transcript of the former, as that was
the image and emanation of the voi~c. Individual souls,
like the world-soul, partake both of the rational and the
sensible, having their proper home in the rational world,
from which they came, and to which all their aspirations
should ever tend. By means of virtue, and that immediate
intuition of God which is the soul's prerogative, it may
become mystically one with him, and thus return to him.
The system, especially as developed by Plotinus, is mani



NEW   PLATONISM.                   205
festly a modification of the Platonic doctrine of ideas, from
which it does not essentially differ, though not in all
respects the same. Iamblichus seems to have derived his doctrines, however, rather from Pythagoras than Plato; wvhile
the later Neo-Platonists, as represented by Proclus, diverge
yet more widely from the doctrine of Plotinus, as to the
order of creation, or emanation from the primordial unity-a
multitude of unities being supposed to proceed from this first
principle, instead of the voac, or reason, of Plotinus; from
which unities again proceed a triad of creative and formative essences.  The soul is in its very nature eternal, occupies a middle rank between the sensuous and the divine,
and is endowed with freedom of will.  Matter, in itself, is
neither good nor evil.








PART I I.
MODERN PHILOSOPHY.
CHAPTER I.
I N T R O D U C T O R Y.
THB SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY OF THE MIDDLE AG]ES.
WE have traced, in the previous pages, the progress of
speculative thought, from its rise among the early Greeks
of the Ionian and Pythagorean schools, through its meridian of Platonic splendor, to its decline and final disappearance with the Neo-Platonism of the first Christian centuries.
The philosophy of the church fathers of the early centuries, was more properly a theology than a philosophy, and
has its place, therefore, in the history of church doctrine,
rather than in the history of speculative thought. As such,
it is fully treated by ecclesiastical historians. It cannot,
however, be denied, that the theology of the early church
was very largely modified-whether for good or ill, may
possibly admit of question-by the philosophy of the preceding Grecian schools, more especially by the Platonic and
Neo-Platonic doctrines, and to some extent by the philosophy of Aristotle.  This is specially the case with
Justin Martyr-150 A. D.-a disciple of the Stoic and Platonic philosophy before he became a Christian, and who
ascribes whatever of truth is contained in the writings of




208     THE SC H OLA STIC  P H ILOSOPHY.
Grecian philosophers and poets to the influence of the
divine logos, present in them, and in all men, partially, but
revealed in his complete fulness only in Christ. Socrates,
Heraclitus, and others of the Greeks, living in communion
with the logos, and inciting men to a better knowledge of
the true God, Justin regards as Christians, though they
may not have been so called. Much of the theology of
Plato he regards as in reality borrowed from the Jewish
Scriptures. Even Tertullian, A. D. 160, who, in his opposition to the philosophic tendency, goes so far as to adopt
the irrational proposition " Credo quia absurclum," still held
many opinions in common with the Stoics, and highly
esteemed the writings of Seneca.
Clement of Alexandria and Origen-185-254 A. D.show very clearly, in their writings, the influence of the
Grecian philosophy, especially that of Plato, whose doctrine of preexistence was held by Origen.  Clement, like
Justin, held the Grecian philosophers, as well as the wise
men of other times and nations, to have been under the
guidance of the divine logos, and philosophy itself as a guide
to righteousness (Strom. vii. 2, i. 5, vi. 5).
Among the Latin fathers, Augustine-354-430-carries the Platonic spirit into the discussion of Christian doctrine; and even anticipates Descartes in placing -as the
immovable foundation of all our knowledge the consciousness of our own mental processes (Soliloquia, ii. 1).  The
very doubt implies the existence of the doubter. The same
principle is maintained in several of his most important
treatises, as in the De Vera Religione (72, 73), and in the
De Trinitate (x. 14, xiv. 7). As with Plato, the idea of
the good, or God, is the highest of ideas and the most
complete form of being, comprehending in itself all others
and crowning all; so with Augustine, God is the summa
essentia, eternal and unchangeable.  The soul is immaterial
and immortal; possesses the faculties of memory, intellect,
and will, under which latter term the passions and sensi



THE  SCHOLASTIC  PIILOSOPHY.    209
bilities are included; and partakes of immortality by virtue of its union with the eternal reason and the divine life
-a sentiment closely analogous to the arguments of Plato
in the Republic and in the Phoedo.
If, as already stated, the philosophy of the early church
fathers may more properly be called a theology, and relegated as such to the department of ecclesiastic or dogmatic
history, so on the other hand the Scholastic philosophy, so
called, of the Middle Ages, may be characterized in brief as
philosophy made subservient to theology. Scholasticism
was, in a word, philosophy subordinated to the doctrines of
the church, and made to do service in their behalf, as the
handmaid of religion.  Some indeed, as Scotus Erigena,
maintained the essential identity of religion and philosophy,
and sought to bring the doctrines of the church into harmony with reason and philosophy.  Still in the main, and
by far the larger number of the Scholastics, the dogmas of
the church were held as above the reach of speculation, and
when there was any conflict, real or seeming, between the
two, philosophy must give way to faith. The doctrine of
the church, and not reason, was held to be the standard.
Johannes Scotus, or Erigena-about 800 A. D., is the earliest Scholastic philosopher of note. He was born and educttoed in Ireland, then called Scotia Major; whence the
epithet Scotus by which he is designated. He was subsequently called to Paris, and placed at the head of the court
school. His conceptions are decidedly Platonic, or NeoPlatonic and mystic. With him true philosophy and true
religion are one; and the authority of the church fathers
is hardly surpassed by that of Scripture itself. God, the
creating and uncreated being, alone has real subsistence;
he alone truly is. He is the essence of all things, the beginning and end of all (De Div. Nat. i. 3, 12). Among
created natures are some which themselves have creative
power; viz., ideas, which are the archetypes or prototypes
of things, the first causes of individual existences. These




210     THE SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY.
ideas are contained in the divine wisdom or word, i. e., the
Son; and the influence of the Holy Ghost, or divine love,
causes these ideas to develop into the external forms of
nature (De Div. Nat. ii. 19).  The creation from nothing
is out of God's own incomprehensible essence (iii. 19); a
procession through the primordial causes into the world of
visible creatures; and this procession is an eternal act (iii.
17).  God is the substance of all finite things; our life is
God's life in us (i. 10). God descends to the finite, not in
the act of incarnation alone, but in all created existence.
All things ultimately return to God, and repose in him
(ii. 2). This view of God as the universal substance, the
one existence, the all in all, it need hardly be remarked, is
so clearly analogous to that of Spinoza, that it might
almost be pronounced identical with it. The doctrine of
ideas as creative powers residing in the divine being is manifestly of Platonic origin.
Nominalism, in distinct opposition  to realism, first
appears in the latter part of the eleventh century. Accord-'
ing to this theory, genera and species are to be regarded
as only collections of individuals, possessing the same
characteristics and called by the same name; having no
real existence therefore, the only real existence being
the individuals which constitute the class or collection.
And in like manner all general or universal terms are
to be regarded as names or terms only, and not, as Plato
taught, real existences. One of the most famous, though
not indeed the first who advocated this doctrine was
Roscellinus, a native of Brittany, in the latter part of
the eleventh century, a distinguished teacher, one of whose
pupils was the youthful Abelard. He applied the doctrine
of nominalism to the church dogma of the trinity, and
so became involved in controversy with the ecclesiastical
authorities, thus bringing nominalism itself into disrepute.
If, said his opponents, only individuals have real existence,
then the three persons of the Trinity are three individuals




THE SCHOLASTIC P HIILOSOPHY.    211
or three Gods; that, or else they have no existence.  This
Roscellinus admits; but is compelled by the Council of
Soissons, in 1092, to retract. He still adhered, however, to
the principle of nominalism. This principle was revived
and more successfully advocated in the fourteenth century
by William of Occam. The doctrine of Roscellinus was
vigorously opposed by Anseirn and also by Abelard, both
philosophers of note.
Anselm, born 1033, at Aosta in Piedmont, prior of a
convent in Normandy in 1063, Archbishop of Canterbury,
England, from 1093 till his death in 1109, was a bold and
earnest champion of the church and its dogmas. The
creed was to be the final test and absolute standard of truth,
and no questions asked.  Credo, UT intelligam, was his
motto. His fundamental principle is that knowledge must
rest on faith, and that in matters of faith the authority of the
church is supreme. Yet he seeks to establish on rational
grounds the essential doctrines of the Christian faith, as the
Divine Existence, the Trinity, the Incarnation, and Atonment.  The latter he regards as satisfaction to the divine
justice. With Anselm, goodness, truth, virtue, et cetera
possess real existence, independent of individual beings,
and not merely immanent in the latter. On this realistic
basis he builds a proof of the divine existence, on the
ground that all merely relative good implies an absolute
good, a summnzum bonumrn, and that is God.
The celebrated argument for the divine existence drawn
from the conception of God as the most perfect being,
and as therefore possessing necessary existence, can hardly
be pronounced logical.  True, the attribute of necessary
existence may pertain to the most perfect being, as conceived by our minds.  But do we know that such a being
really exists? If so, then he possesses this attribute.  In
other words, if there is such a being, then he exists in this
particular manner, to wit, by necessity of his nature.  But
the question of his real existence remains undecided (See




212     T HEE  SOHOLASTIC  PHILOSOPHY.
Ueberweg, Hist. Phil. vol. i. p. 384).  The validity of the
argument was called in question at the time by Gaunilo, a
monk, and has been much debated since.
The nominalistic doctrine  of Roscellinus was also
opposed by Abelard, born 1074 in Nantes, in France, a
pupil of Roscellinus. He taught at Paris from 1102 to
1136, and died at the priory of St. Marcel in -1142.  He is
justly regarded as the father of the Scholastic philosophy
of the Middle Ages, and is chiefly distinguished for his
rigorous application of dialectic or logic to theological
reasoning.  He tends, it may be said, to  rationalism,
rather than the opposite extreme of credulity, in matters
of religious belief. In the main a nominalist, he still avoids
the extreme view of that doctrine as well as of realism.
The universal exists, he would say, not in words as such,
but with reference to their significations or conceptions.
These conceptions existed in the divine mind before the
creation of the external objects to which they relate. In
opposition to the "credo ut intelligam " of Anselm, he holds
that rational insight must precede and prepare the way for
faith. Like Augustine, he takes a monotheistic, in opposition to a tritheistic view of the trinity, as held by Roscellinus.  He affirms the generic unity of the three divine
persons; whereas Roscellinus maintained the independent
existence of each, as three beings, tres substantice. Abelard
on the contrary likens the three persons to the three parts
of a syllogism, together constituting one syllogism (Introd.
ad Theol. ii. p. 1078).  In ethics, he maintains the doctrine that the morality of an act consists in the intention,
and that actions as such are indifferent. Sin is, properly
speaking, a voluntary error.  The propensity to evil which
we inherit is not itself sin. Only the consenting to evil is
sin; only that which is in conflict with our own moral
consciousness.  In these respects the views of Abelard were
far in advance of the theology and philosophy of his age.
In the later period of Scholastic philosophy, the doc



THE SCHOLASTIC PHI LOSOP HY.    213
trines of Aristotle became predominant as the approved
method of explaining the doctrines of the church.  So
with Alexander of Hales, who died 1245, and Albertus
Magnus, a Dominican monk of the same century, educated
at Paris and Padua, teacher at Paris and Cologne, and from
1260 to 1262, bishop of Ravensburg'; called "the Great"
from his extensive erudition. He was the first to reproduce in systematic order the whole philosophy of Aristotle,
in a series of commentaries and expositions, modifying the
system to suit the ecclesiastical dogmas. But though an
Aristotelian, still Platonism exerted no little influence
over his mind. His knowledge of Aristotle seems to
have been mainly through the channel of Latin translations, from  the Arabian commentators and from  the
Greek. He teaches that not only the nous of Aristotle is
distinct from the body, and immortal, but also with it the
inferior mental faculties. He held the freedom of the will
as the basis of moral action; and viewed the doctrine
of the Trinity as one not to be treated by rational and
philosophic theology.
ThFomas Aquinas, born 1225, near Aquino, in the territory of Naples; educated in the convent of Monte Casino;
a monk of the Dominican order; pupil of Albert the
Great; became teacher of theology and philosophy at
Cologne, Paris, Naples; died 1274.
He brought the Scholastic philosophy to its highest
development, uniting the Aristotelian doctrines to those
of the orthodox church. He wrote commentaries on Aristotle, and treatises of theology, of which the Summa Theologike is one of the most noted. With him, as with Aristotle, the supreme end of life is knowledge, especially the
knowledge of God. He is a realist in the Aristotelian
sense. The universal exists in the individual, not independently; only by the mental process of abstraction is it
separated from the individual. In the Divine mind also,
the universal exists, as the thought of God, before He




214    THE SCHOLASTIC P IT ILOSOPHY.
creates. But not independently do ideas exist, either in
the Divine mind or elsewhere.
Aquinas reaches the proof of the Divine existence by
the a posteriori method. The chain of causes cannot be
infinite.  The order of the world shows an orderer.  The
world is not eternal; yet its non-eternity does not admit
of demonstration. The soul, including the intellect with
its various faculties, is immaterial; for it thinks not the
individual merely but the universal. It is not preexistent; and has no innate conceptions. The will depends
on the understanding.  What seems good is willed. The
necessity which thus accrues is not the necessity of compulsion, but is true freedom. We have the power of
choice, and yielding ourselves to one or another class of
ideas it is in our power to control our own decisions and
shape our characters. Yet in order to right action we need
divine help. In the division of the virtues into ethical
and dianoetic, Aquinas follows Aristotle, adding however
to the philosophical the theological virtues, faith, love,
and hope. The good is good, not because God commands
it, but he comrnands it because it is good; a distinction of
highest importance in ethical science.
Another distinguished Scholastic teacher was Johannes
Duns Scotus, born in Dunston, Northumberland, or in
Dun in the north of Ireland, it is uncertain which; a
monk of the Franciscan order; a teacher first at Oxford,
afterward at Paris, and Cologne, where he died in 1308,
at the age of thirty-four. He was an opponent of Thomas
Aquinas and his system, and became the founder of a school
in theology and philosophy which bore his name. His
position is rather that of a critic than a dogmatist, assailing
the weak points of other systems, rather than establishing
positions of his own. Philosophy is with him only the
submissive and unquestioning handmaid of theology. That
which the church teaches is to be received with implicit
trust; the arguments by which these teachings and dogmas




THE  SCHOLASTIC  PHILOSOPHY.    215
are enforced, the proofs drawn from reason and philosophy
to sustain these doctrines, may be called in question, and
should be viewed with distrust.  Indeed, the principal
doctrines of religion cannot be demonstrated to be true oll
rational grounds, but must be received by faith as matters of
divine revelation. Not only the doctrine of the Trinity, the
Incarnation and Atonement, and other like dogmas of the
Christian faith, but also the Creation from nothing, and
the immortality of the soul, are beyond the power of reason to establish, but can only be rendered more or less
probable aside from revelation. Still there is no necessary
aLntagonism between faith and reason. His position is not
unlike that of Kant in respect to these matters.  Rejecting much of the reasoning employed to prove the existence
of God and the immortality of the soul, he bases the evidence of these truths on the moral nature of man (compare Ueberweg, vol. i. p. 459).
The authorit? of the church is, however, with Duns
Scotus, as not with Kant, the final court of appeal.
While in the main an Aristotelian, Duns Scotus is by no
means a blind follower of the great Stagirite, but sits also
at the feet of the Platonic and Neo-Platonic philosophy.
His notions respecting matter and form are of this source.
As regards the human will, it is not determined by the understanding, but is free and self-determining, and this power
of self-determination is the ground of the merit which
attaches to right conduct. The will, not the intellect, is
the grand moving agent in the realm of the human soul.
"Voluntas est superior intellectu," is with him  a fundamental proposition in psychology. In common with
Thomas Aquinas, Scotus rejects the theory of innate knowledge. Unlike him, he makes the arbitrary will of Deity
the ground of right. The good is good, simply because He
commands it.
Contemporary or nearly so with the distinguished
teachers last mentioned, were Roger Bacon, 1214-1244,




216    T HE SCIH OLASTIC P IILOSOPHY.
and Raymond Lully, 1234-1315, both names of honor
in the realm of letters and philosophy. William of Occam
followed; born in the county of Surrey, England; of
the Franciscan order; pupil of Duns Scotuns; afterward
teacher at Paris; died in 1347. A stout opponent of the
doctrine of realism, he is regarded as the renewer of
nominalism. Universals are a mere conception of the
lhuman mind; only the individual is real. He carried, even
farther than Duns Scotus, the destructive criticism which
calls in question or rejects the arguments from reason in defence of the doctrines of religion, He even denies that there
are any theological doctrines that can be established by reason alone, aside from revelation and church authority.
In the 14th and 15th centuries, Platonism was revived
by the mystics of Germany, under the lead of Eckhart of
Strasburg (1250), a Dominican, who taught at Paris, was
called to Rome and advanced to high honors, and afterward appointed Vicar-General of Saxony and Bohemia.
His doctrines awakened opposition; he was brought before
the tribunal of the Inquisition at Cologne; appealed to
the Pope, by whom a bull was issued condemning a large
number of his doctrines; but before the publication of the
same, Eckhart died, 1329. The psychology of Eckhart was
in the main that of Thomas Aquinas and of Augustine. In
theology his fundamental principle seems to be the idea of
the equality in essence of the soul with God. So far from
rejecting the aid of reason, in establishing matters of
faith, as preceding teachers had done, he maintains the
absolute supremacy of reason. It is by theoretical knowledge that we become partakers of the divine knowledge.
The highest function of the reason is, however, an immediate intuition of truth and of God, as Plato and the NeoPlatonists had taught. The will is made, by Eckhart, subordinate to the faculty of knowledge, precisely the opposite
of the doctrine of Scotus. Knowledge is a union of subject with object. The Absolute, or Deity, is without per



BACON -INDUCTIVE SYSTEM.                217
sonality, and is distinguished from God, who is contained
in the former-the Godhead and God being thus regarded
as distinct.  The Godhead is above all understanding and
comprehension, and cannot be revealed. God acts, and
can reveal himself. The eternal Godhead, as the beginning and end of all thlings, remains in eternal obscurity.
The one Divine nature, in the act or process of self-knowledge, develops into a Trinity of persons. The subject in
this process is the Father; the object, or the Divine nature
thus contemplated, is the Son, and the delight and love
awakened by this contemplation is the Spirit-a theory of
the Trinity which has been received in Germany in more
recent times. The whole system savors strongly of mysticism and fanciful speculation; but the object of Eckhart
and his followers was doubtless to present the doctrines of
religion, and also of the schools, in such a way as to touch
and impress the hearts of the people. And in this they
seem-to have succeeded.
CHAPTER II.
BACON AND THE INDUCTIVE SYSTEM.
THE Scholastic philosophy, however powerful in its
time, could not always hold in subjection the human mind.
Its servile submission to the authority of the Catholic
Church as a tribunal and court of appeal above reason; its
elaborate and ingenious word-quibbling, to which the whole
science of dialectic had in its hands become degraded, could
not always endure. Men were beginning to detect the
cheat, to inquire for truth, to demand some fruit of all this
immense erudition of doctors " seraphic," doctors " subtile,"
and doctors "invincible."  Men were beginning to think
for themselves independently of ecclesiastical dictation and
the authority of the fathers.
10




218      BACOX —-IXDUCTIVE  SYSTEM.
At this juncture arose one whose writings were destined
to create a revolution in science and philosophy, and turn
the thoughts of men into new channels of investigation.
And while his own researches lay ohiefly in the domain of
physical science, as the field then most neglected and most
needing to be cultivated, yet his method was one which
applied equally to the whole realm of knowledge and his
plan, vast and far-reaching, embraced the whole. It would
be an imperfect and incorrect survey of the history of
speculative thought, which should omit the name of Francis
Bacon, or fail to assign him a place as the illustrious precursor of that reformation in philosophy, hardly less remarkable than the religious reformation which followed.
Francis Bacon was born, January 22, 1561, at York
House, in the Strand, London, of honorable parentage.
He was the youngest son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord
Keeper of the Seals, who held that office, with rank of
Chancellor, for twenty years under Elizabeth. His mother
was a daughter of Sir Antony Coke, known as a linguist
of some repute. Born at a time when the arts and sciences
were beginning to be more generally and more thoroughly
cultivated, and endowed by nature with rare gifts, he has
been well described by one of his biographers as " an original genius, formed not to receive implicit notions of thinking and reasoning from what was admitted and taught before him; but to prescribe laws himself, in the empire of
learning, to his own and succeeding ages." * He was educated at Cambridge under Whitgift, afterward Archbishop
of Canterbury, having entered Trinity College in his
twelfth year. His progress was so rapid, that before he
was sixteen he had already "run through the whole circle
of the liberal arts as they were then taught; " and had begun even then to perceive the unsatisfactory nature of the
* Life of Lord Bacon prefixed to his Works. English edition.
5 vols., folio. 1778.




B a Co N   IINDUCTIVE SYSTEM.          219
philosophy then prevalent. While yet quite young indeed'
Queen Elizabeth, discerning the genius of the boy, took
delight in plying him with questions, and was so much
pleased with the readiness and manliness of his replies
hat she used to call him playfully her young Lord Keeper.
Having been left with but small inheritance at the death
of his father, he devoted himself to the study of law as a
profession, in which he soon rose to eminence. He was appointed by Elizabeth her counsel extraordinary, but owing
to the secret opposition of his kinsman Cecil, secretary
of state, he was not at first raised to any office of emolument. Essex, however, was his friend, and conferred on him
a fine estate. In 1605, two years after the death of Elizabeth, Bacon published his great work, " The Advancement
of Learning," the aim of which was to survey the whole
extent of the intellectual realm, both those fields which had
been cultivated, and those which had not, and to ascertain,
if possible, what might be done to improve and complete
the one and to supply the want of the other. This work
he afterward translated into Latin. How closely the aim and
purport of this work resembles that which Aristotle in like
manner laid out for himself, the student of history need
hardly be reminded.
After the accession of James, the fortunes of Bacon,
notwithstanding the enmity of Sir Edward Coke, attorneygeneral, and of Cecil, steadily improved. In 1607 he was
made solicitor-general, and in 1613, attorney-general. In
1617 he was intrusted with the keeping of the seals, and in
1619 was promoted to the dignity of Lord High (dhancellor; a post to which he had long aspired as the height of
his ambition.  Shortly after he was created Baron of
Verulam, a title which he afterward exchanged for that
of Viscount St. Albans.
Though now possessing a liberal income, he seems to
have been negligent of financial matters and destitute of
economy. His dependents squandered his fortune; and




220      BAC O N' —IND U CTIV E S Y STE M.
thus the foundation was laid for subsequent troubles
which led ultimately to his ruin.
But neither the weight and pressure of public business,
nor the dazzling honors of his position, could divert a mind
like his from the true end of his life, the study of philosophy. Already in 1610 he had published his second great
work, " The Wisdom of the Ancients."  In 1620, the year
following his appointment as Lord High Chancellor,
his " Novum Organum " appeared, the second part of the
" Instauratio Magna "; a work which he had been engaged
for twelve years in elaborating and polishing (Life of B.
prefixed to London edition of his works, 1778, vol. i. p.
23); according to others, thirty years. Rawley speaks of
having seen twelve autographs of the work " wrought up
and improved year by year, till it reached the shape in
which it was published (Hallam-Literature of Europe,
vol. iii. p. 38). And Bacon himself, in his dedication of
the work to King James, says that he had "been about
some such work near thirty years, so as I made no haste.
And the reason why I have published it now, specially
being imperfect, is, to speak plainly, because I number my
days and would have it saved." (A~orks, as above, vol. iii. p.
584). He seems to have written with an eye to the future,
for he assures his majesty, "I account your favor may be
to this work as much as an hundred years time; for I am
persuaded the work will gain upon men's minds in ages,
but your gracing it may make it take hold more swiftly."
The close of Bacon's career was far less brilliant and
commanding than his course had been. His sun was destined to go down under a cloud. He was accused of receiving bribes in his official capacity, nor was the charge perhaps wholly without foundation. That he had ever allowed
himself to be influenced in his decisions by presents thus
received there is no evidence, nor that in receiving such
gifts he had done more than was the custom of the time.
The government of James was notoriously corrupt; and




B A C o N -- INDUCTIVE  SYSTEM.           221
that monarch, compelled by pressure of public sentiment to
sacrifice either his Lord Chancellor or his favorite minister
Buckingham, the author of all the troubles, preferred to
give up Bacon as a scapegoat in order to save himself
and the guilty favorite. HEe would not even allow Lord
Bacon to be present at his own trial before parliament,
lest he might too successfully defend himself, promising
his royal word that if he would remain silent he would
screen him from punishment and reward him with favor.
The sentence was severe, the noble Lord Chancellor, full
of years and honors, was rudely stripped of all his dignities
and offices, condemned to inprisonment, and heavily fined.
The king partially redeemed his pledge, by restoring him
to liberty after short imprisonment, and remitting his fine,
but permitted his faithful servant to pass the remainder of
his days in penury, obscurity, and disgrace.  He died in
1626, about five years after his dishonor, at the age of
sixty-six, and was buried in the church of St. Nicholas,
near St. Alban's.
Although, as already intimated, the  researches of
Bacon were more particularly directed to the department
of physical science, as then demanding investigation, because most in the back-ground, still his plan embraced the
whole realm of philosophy, and his principle was applicable to mental and moral, no less than physical science.
That principle was the icnductive method of observation
and experience, as the only valid basis of conclusions and
ground of true science. In this he set himself in opposition to the Scholastic philosophy, then, and for a long
time previously, in vogue which, relying chiefly on the de.ductive or syllogistic method of reasoning, and employing
itself for the most part in fruitless discussions relating
often to the meaning of words, had shown itself for ages
barren of useful result, and had in all this widely departed
from the spirit of Aristotle, while yet claiming to be the
method and philosophy of that great master. This whole




222     BAC O   -IN DUCTIVE  SYSTE M.
method of the schools Bacon resolutely and vigorously
assails, and in so doing considers himself as opposing Aristotle. How far the Baconian or inductive method really
differs from that of Aristotle himself, may admit of question; that it differs toto coelo from that of Aristotle, as
represented by the schoolmen of the middle ages, there
can be no question. His merit as a philosopher lies
chiefly in having called back the human mind from the
wrong direction in which it had so long been seeking
knowledge, and setting it on a new path of investigation.
This, rather than any brilliant discoveries made by himself in science, constitutes his great merit and achievement. Yet this, in itself, has revolutionized the thinking
of the world. We cannot agree with Schwegler, that
" strictly speaking, we can allow no content to the Baconian Philosophy" (Hist. Phil. p. 167). The method is
itself a content of inestimable value. The progress of
science, the rapid advance of the human mind in every
department of useful knowledge for the two hundred and
fifty years since the publication of that method, is its content; and surely it is a sufficient one. In physical science
at least, though not perhaps in the realm of speculative
thought, in the outer if not in the inner and spiritual
world, to Bacon belongs the honor, now generally accorded to him, of being the father of modern philosophy.
The chief work on which his fame as a philosopher will
ever rest is the " Novum Organum," the second part of his
" Instauratio Magna."  The object of this was to furnish
the world a better mode of investigation of truth, that is,
a better logic than the so-called Aristotelian, or syllogistic
method; a logic of which the aim should be not to supply
arguments for controversy, but to investigate nature, and,
by observation and the complete induction of particulars,
arrive at truth. It was designed to be, as he expresses it,
" the science of a better and more perfect use of reason in
the investigation of things, and of the true aids of the un



BACON —INDUCTIVE  SYSTEM.                 223
derstanding." In its present shape it is rather a summary
of topics, or theses, which it was his intention to treat more
fully, than a complete and final statement; and of the
nine topics of which he proposes to speak in the second
book, we have only the first, the other eight not being discussed at all. He lays out the programme as follows.
"And so we will speak in the first place of prerogative instances; secondly, of the aids of induction; thirdly, of the
rectification of induction; fourthly, of varying the investigation according to the nature of the subject; fifthly, of
prerogative natures as regards investigation, or of what
shall be first inquired into, and what afterward; sixthly,
of the limits of inquiry, or the synopsis of all natures in
the world; seventhly, on the application to practice, or
concerning what is in relation to man; eighthly, on the
preparations for inquiry; and lastly, on the scale, ascending and descending, of axioms" (Lib. ii. Aphor. xxi.). Of
these the first only is taken up; the rest are wanting.
The Novum  Organum, as we have it, is in two books,
both consisting of aphorisms, or detached sentences. The
first book contains, among other things, an enumeration or
classification of the various illusions or fallacies which
deceive the mind-idola, as he calls them —"idola et
notiones falsm, qum intellectum   humanum  jam  occnparunt"  (Aphorism  xxxviii. lib. i.).  These  are idola
tribus, illusions or fallacies of the race, such as pertain to
human nature itself; "fundata in ipsa natura humana,
atque in ipsA tribu, seu gente  hominum"  (Aph. xli.);
idola specits, fallacies of the individual man; idola fori,
fallacies arising from the intercourse of man with his fellows, and especially from the use of words; idola theatri,
fallacies arising from false systems of philosophy and
incorrect rules *of reasoning —" ex diversis dogmatibus
philosophiarum, ac etiam ex perversis legibus demonstrationum" (Lib. i. Aphor. xliv.).
The second book contains the new logic or rules for




224      BACON -INDUCTIVE  SYSTEM.
the interpretation of nature after the inductive method;
consisting mainly of the prerogative instances above mentioned-"' prcerogativce instantiatrum" (Lib. ii. Aphor.
xxi.), or the phenomena to which our inquiries should be
specially directed in the study of nature.
The prominence given by Bacon to natural philosophy,
or natural science, in his whole discussion of the inductive
method, and the fact that all his illustrations are drawn
from that source, have led to the question whether he really
intended to include the realm of mind, as well as external
nature, among the objects to which the logic of induction
is applicable. He has himself decided this matter. " One
may doubt, not to say object, whether it is natural philosophy alone that we speak of perfecting by our method, or
other sciences as well-logic, ethics, politics. But we certainly intend what has been said as applicable to all; and
as the common logic which governs by syllogism pertains not only to natural but to all sciences, so also our
own, which proceeds by induction embraces all" (Lib. i.
Aphor. cxxvii.).
The Novum  Organum  constitutes, as already stated,
the second part of the Instauratio Magna, of which the
treatise on the advancement of learning, "De Dignitate
et Augmentis Scientiarum," in nine books, forms the first
part. The third part of this grand design is entitled,
"' Preparation (parasceue) for history, natural and experimental; or a description of natural and experimental history, such as may suffice and be in order for the basis and
foundation of true philosophy" (Insta. Mag., pars tertia'
This is rather a survey and outline of the vast field to b.explored than an actual exploration of it; a sketch or
chart of what is to be done in this department of knowledge. A field so vast it was not for any one mind, however comprehensive, to explore. He gives a catalogue of
one hundred and thirty particular histories, which are
necessary to the completion of this part of his grand work;




BACO0 - INDUCTIVE  SYSTEM.               225
as, for instance, a history of the celestial bodies, of the
configuration of the heavens, of comets, of meteors, of
lightnings, of winds, of clouds, of rain, hail, snow, etc., etc.,
including in the list a history of the natures and powers of
numbers and of figures (Works, vol. iv. p. 397-400). A
few of these he has himself sketched, as illustrations or
samples of the proper method of inquiry; as, for example,
a treatise on the history of winds, one on the history of
life and death, another on sound and hearing.
The fourth part of his great work is entitled "Scala
Intellectus, sive Filum Labyrinthi "-of which only the
opening pages were ever completed.
A fifth part was contemplated, which should furnish a
specimen of the new philosophy after the inductive method,
or as he calls it, "Anticipationes Philosophize Secundae."
A perfect system of philosophy according to the inductive
method, forming a sixth part, would be necessary fully to
complete the grand design of this Instauratio Magna;
but this Bacon had never expected to accomplish.  "To
perfect this last part," he says, "is above our powers and
beyond our hopes. We may, as we trust, make no despicable
beginnings: The destinies of the human race must complete
it" (Distributio Operis, Works, vol. iv. p. 13).  " Such,"
in the beautiful language of Hallam, "was the temple
which Bacon saw in vision before him: the stately front
and decorated pediments, in all their breadth of light and
harmony of proportion; while long vistas of receding
columns and glimpses of internal splendor revealed a glory
that it was not permitted him to comprehend" (Literature
of Europe, vol. iii. p. 37).
In the above sketch of his great work, the "Instauratio Magna," I have spoken more at length of the "Novum
Organum," as the more important of the several portions
which compose the grand whole, that in which the spirit
of the Baconian system is more distinctively and fully expressed.  The treatise De Augmentis is by no means, how10'




226      BACO N-I NDUCTIVE S Y S T E M.
ever, to be overlooked.  In this, Bacon divides human
learning into history, poetry, and philosophy, according to
the several faculties of the mind involved, viz., memory,
imagination, and reason. By poetry he understands fictitious narrative only. Philosophy relates to God, to nature,
and to man. Natural philosophy he divides into speculative
and practical; the former again into physics and metaphysics, the former having to do with material and efficient
causes, the latter with formal and final causes. Philosophy,
as it relates to man, is concerned with the intellectual and
moral faculties, and comprises the sciences of logic and
ethics, as related to the human reason, and the human
will, respectively. These sciences cover a wider territory,
however, than it is usual now to assign them.  The formerlogic-contains whatever pertains to the human intellect:
the art of inventing, judging, retaining and delivering the
conceptions of the mind."  The latter-ethics-comprises
whatever relates to the sensibilities and the will.  " Altera
decreta, altera actiones progignit." The main division of
moral science is into the nature of good, and the rules by
which the will may be conformed to that which is good,
which latter he calls "the Georgics of the mind."  The
essence of good he makes to consist in seeking the good of
the whole, rather than of the individual.
The mind of Bacon, far as it towers above that of the
race, is not without its individual blemishes. He is no
mathematician, and knows little of geometry. The pure
mathematics he depreciates. He would have mathematics
and logic " to be the serving-maids of physical philosophy."
His fondness for metaphor and analogies sometimes carries
him to excess in that direction. His phraseology is sometimes affected, his style obscure, and his arguments fanciful.
In the laying out of his work he proposes more than he has
achieved, or could possibly achieve. These things are often
said of him, and these things are true of him. These
defects may have impaired, as Brucker supposes, the infiu



BACO N-IiNDUCTIVE SYSTEM.                227
ence of his writings upon the public mind. By philosophers and men of science, especially on the continent, he
was at once appreciated.  Richelieu speaks of him in the
highest terms.  Gassendi was an ardent admirer.  The I)e
Augmentis was published in France the year after its publication in England, and was translated into French a few
years after. Three editions of that work, and three of the
Novum Organum appeared in Holland within forty years
of their first appearance in England. Leibnitz and Puffendorf are loud in his praise, as the reviver of true philosophy.
Bayle calls him one of the greatest men of his age. It
was not till near the close of the seventeenth century,
however, that he began to be specially honored in Great
Britain, and even then it was chiefly by natural philosophers
that his works were studied. Hallam even ventures the
suggestion " that more have read Lord Bacon within these
thirty years than in the two preceding centuries"; and
that the fashion of referring to brilliant passages of his
works, " at least in books designed for the general reader,
is not much older than the close of the last century " (Lit.
Eur., vol. iii. p. 73).
Referring to the fact that in the Novum Organum not
a single example is given from moral philosophy, and only
a single one from mental science or logic, the same writer
very justly remarks, "we must constantly remember that
the philosophy of Bacon was left exceedingly incomplete.
Many lives would not have sufficed for what he had
planned, and he gave only the leisure hours of his own. It
is evident that he had turned his thoughts to physical
philosophy rather for an exercise of his reasoning faculties,
and out of his insatiable thirst for knowledge, than from
any peculiar aptitude for their subjects, much less any
advantage of opportunity for their cultivation. He -was
more eminently the philosopher of human, than of general
nature. Hence he is exact as well as profound in all his
reflections on civil life and mankind; while his conjectures




228      BA C0N -INDUCTIVE SYSTEM.
in natural philosophy, though often very acute, are apt to
wander far from the truth, in consequence of his defective
acquaintance with the phenomena of nature. His "Centuries of Natural History " give abundant proof of this. He
is, in all these inquiries, like one doubtfully, and by degrees,
making out a distant prospect, but often deceived by the
haze. And if we compare what may be found in the sixth,
seventh, and eighth books De Augmentis, in the Essays,
the History of Henry VII., and the various short treatises
contained in his works on moral and political wisdom, and
on human nature, from experience of which all such wisdom is drawn, with the Rhetoric, Ethics, and Politics of
Aristotle, or with the historians most celebrated for their
deep insight into civil society and human character-with
Thucydides, Tacitus, Philip De Comines, Machiavel, Davila, Hume-we shall, I think, find that one man may
almost be compared with all of these together" (Literature
of Europe, vol. iii. p. 66).
Perhaps it is not too much to say with Dugald Stewart,
that "in the whole history of letters, no other individual
can be mentioned whose exertions have had so indisputable
an effect in forwarding the intellectual progress of mankind" (Life of Reid, sec. 2; quoted also by Hallam).
It is not without emotion that we read in the last will
of this great but unfortunate man, these touching words:
" First, I bequeath my soul and body into the hands of God
by the blessed oblation of my Saviour; the one at the
time of my dissolution, the other at the time of my resurrection. For my burial I desire it may be in St. Michael's
Church, near St. Albans: there was my mother buried.......   For my name and memory, I leave it to
men's charitable speeches, and to foreign nations, and the
next ages" (Works, vol. iii. p. 677).




BENE  DESCARTES.                 229
CHAPTER III.
RENE DESCARTES.
Ih order rightly to estimate the man to whom, more
than any other, belongs the honor of being the founder of
modern philosophy, we must know something of the age
to which he belonged, something of the man personally,
something of his system, something of the impress and
effect of the man and his system on other minds and ages.
~ 1. —TEE AGE.
The close of the sixteenth century, and the beginning of
the seventeenth, were a transition period in the history of
philosophy and the progress of human thought. The philosophy of Aristotle, which, in one form or another, for two
thousand years had held sway over the minds of men, keeping its throne and state amid all the commotions and changes
of empire, itself unshaken and undisturbed by the rise and
fall of nations, was now in its decadence, fast losing its hold
upon the mind of the age. Through the whole sixteenth
century, in fact, this process had been going on. Nothing
in the history of mind is more remarkable than this prevalence, for so long a period, of the Scholastic philosophy.
" For more than five centuries," says a somewhat too ardent
eulogist of Descartes, "this philosopher-i. e., Aristotleattacked, proscribed, adored, excommunicated; always
victor, dictated to the nations what they should believe."
"From the age of Aristotle to that of Descartes, I perceive
a desert of two thousand years, where original thought
loses itself, as a river which perishes in the sands, or hides
itself in the earth, and reappears, a thousand leagues away,
under new skies and in another land."* If these state* Eloge, par Thomas.




230            RE1NE DESCARTES.
mnents of the French eulogist are-somewhat too bold and
sweeping, as I must concede they are, they have nevertheless a basis of truth.
At the period of which we speak, the Scholastic philosophy, however, had lost its primal vigor, and was fast
falling to decay. Men had come to distrust and disbelieve
it, while as yet they had nothing better to accept in its
stead. It stood like some old edifice of a former age, its
glory dimmed, its columns fallen and shattered, but
majestic in its ruin. There needed some one to clear away
the rubbish, and lay the foundation of a newer and a
better structure. The first principles of human knowledge were to be readjusted. A right method of investigation was needed; a right field. In both respects men had
been led astray; seeking neither for the right things, nor
in the right manner. The nations, waking from their long
slumber, felt the need of an instructor. Something indeed had already been done in the way of discovery; the
light was already dawning. Copernicus had announced
the true theory of the earth's motion; Tycho Brahe and
Kepler had given definitions in the science of astromony,
and enlarged its domain; the telescope, by which, it has
been eloquently said, man touches the extremities of creation, was already invented; and Galileo, going forth on
voyages of discovery, had brought back strange tidings.
Sufficient had been done, enough had been disclosed, to
awaken and stimulate the minds of men. The materials
were at hand for the most successful research, but the
principle of order was wanting, the law and the lawgiver,
to reduce to form and method the discordant elements.
Such, in brief, was the state of human learning at the
close of the sixteenth century. In the language of Morell;
"There needed some master mind, who should be daring
enough to trample upon the sacredness of ancient and established authority, acute enough to show the true objects of
all philosophy, and powerful enough to furnish a new




RENE  DESCARTES.                   231
organum, and dig, as it were, a new channel, in which the
philosophic spirit of the world should flow."  Such a mind
arose; two such, Bacon and Descartes, and after them, in
the domain of human knowledge and philosophy, all things
became new.
~. 2. —TuE MAN.
Born in 1596, of honorable parentage, in Touraine
in France; his father, counsellor to the parliament of
Brittany, his mother, the daughter of the LieutenantGeneral of Poitiers; a feeble and sickly child, giving
promise of no long life; while yet a boy, noted for the
liveliness of his imagination, and a peculiar inquisitiveness
of mind, always seeking to know the causes of things, so
that before he was yet nine years old he had acquired the
title of the little philosopher. At the school of the Jesuits,
where he was placed at the age of eight years, he showed a
marked fondness for poetry and mathematics, which latter
alone, of all the sciences, gave him entire satisfaction, as furnishing the evidence of its own assertions. At sixteen he
finished his studies at the school, having learned not to
think much of his own attainments, or those of his teachers.'' The result, ordinarily," says one of his biographers, " of
one's first studies, is to imagine that one knows everything.
Descartes was already so far advanced as to see that he
knew nothing."  We next find him at Paris, seeking in the
gay and pleasure-loving city, occupation for his eager and
restless mind. Breakingly off presently from these follies
and dissipations, he shuts himself in entire seclusion in an
obscure section of the city, and devotes himself exclusively
for two years to the study of geometry, no one of his
former companions knowing of his whereabouts.  For the
next twelve years we find him travelling in foreign parts,
visiting, in the careful observation of men, the principal
countries of Europe, spending often not a few months but
years in one country before passing to another, sometimes
)earing arms, and serving as common soldier, always pass



232             R ENE  DESCARTES,
ing much time in seclusion and careful thought on the
topics suggested by his observation of men and of nature.
All this while, his mind was passing through those painful processes of doubt and struggle which laid the foundation of his own future system of philosophy. It was during this time also that he made those scientific observations
among the Alps, which constituted in fact the -material of
his subsequent work on natural philosophy. At the age of
thirty-three, he fixes his permanent residence in Holland,
choosing that in preference to his native land, principally
from the desire of escaping public notice and enjoying that
solitude so congenial to his spirit and so favorable to his
studies. Intrusting his secret to a single friend, who alone
knew his place of abode, changing often his residence as it
became known, hiding himself now in the throng of some
large town or city, now in the seclusion of some obscure
hamlet, now in some building, that stood solitary in the
fields or on the sea-shore, everywhere he sought retirement
and gave himself to profound thought.
At the age of forty-one appeared his first work, scientific in its character, with an introductory treatise on the
method of arriving at certainty in the investigation of
truth; in other words, the famous " Discourse on Method,"
which laid the foundation of his fame and also of modern
philosophy.  Four years later appeared his second great
work, entitled " The Meditations," the most strictly philosophical of all his works. His " Principia Philosophi'e " appeared in 1644, three years later, and is a complete system
of Natural Philosophy. The work on the Passions, or
Psychology, as we should now term it, followed five years
later, and is the last of his principal works.
Some of these productions, especially the "Meditations,"
involved him in controversy with the principal theologians
of the time, and these discussions, extending through a
considerable part of his subsequent life, form not the least
interesting part of his published writings.




RENE  DESCARTES.                  233
These works gave him precisely what he did not wish,
great celebrity. Previously to the publication of the
treatise on the Passions, he was invited to the court of
France, not so much, as it appeared, from a desire to profit by his wisdom, as from curiosity to see so distinguished
a man.  "I perceived," says he, in his peculiarly artless
way, " that they wished to have me in France, a little as
the great lords like to have in their menagerie an elephant,
or a lion, or some rare animal." Among those who sought
the acquaintance of Descartes, were those, however, who
were prompted by higher motives than mere curiosity;
among them two of the most illustrious women of the age,
Elizabeth of Bohemia, daughter of the Elector Palatine,
who preferred the honor of being the friend and pupil of
Descartes to that of being Queen of Poland; and Christina
of Sweden, who invited him to her capital, sent one of her
admirals to conduct him thither, received him with great
distinction, and in order to receive his instructions in philosophy, undisturbed by the cares of state, fixed upon the
hour of five o'clock A. M., in the depths of a northern
winter. Determined to retain him at all events in her
dominions, she was about to bestow.upon him the title of
nobility and extensive lands, but a monarch more iinperious demanded the man, and after a residence of only four
months in Sweden, Descartes was attacked by a fatal
malady, and died in 1650. It was her wish to have interred
him among the kings, and to have erected a splendid mausoleum to his memory, but Descartes was a Catholic, and
the rules of that church forbade his interment in other
than a Catholic cemetery. Years afterward his remains
were transferred to France, and interred with great pomp
in the church of St. Genevieve.
Whatever honors were conferred on Descartes at the
courts of princes, his own family seem not to have regarded
him with any feeling of pride or veneration-ashamed to
have had in their ancient and aristocratic family one who




234            RE6E DESCARTES.
was known under the vulgar title of philosopher. It was
not until his became the first name in France, that they
began to appreciate his merit.
The personal character of Descartes was unexceptionable. No one can study his life and writings, and not feel
that he was a sincere lover of virtue and truth, and carried
his philosophy into practice. He early laid down for his
own practical guidance, while tossed on the uncertain sea
of doubt and conjecture as to all speculative truth, the following rules: 1. To obey the laws and customs of his
country. 2. To adhere with constancy to a given course,
and be not easily turned aside from any proposed measure,
as those who, lost in the woods, wander round and round,
instead of striking out a straight path, and keeping to that
be it right or wrong. 3. To take the side always of the
moderate opinions, because, in morals, that which is extreme
is almost always wrong. 4. To labor to overcome himself
rather than fortune, because one's desires are more easily
changed than the order of the world, and nothing is in our
own power but our thoughts. By these principles he regulated his life. He seems to have had admirable self-control.
When one commits an offence against me, says he, I strive
to elevate my soul so high that the offence shall not come
anywhere near me.  Reputation he both scorned and
shunned, as inimical to the two most valuable possessions of
the philosopher-liberty and leisure. The line of Ovid was
his motto: " Sad the death of him who dies well known
to others, to himself unknown. " The modesty of Descartes
was conspicuous; yet no man better knew how much men
are influenced by other considerations than those of intrinsic merit. In dedicating his great work, the " Meditations,"
to the Doctors of the Sorbonne, he thus beautifully apologizes for what might otherwise seem an ambitious thing:
" I wished to avail myself of authority, because Truth is so
little a thing when she is alone."




RENE DESCARTES.                  235
~ 3.-THE SYSTEM.
The peculiar features of the Cartesian philosophy may
best be learned by an examination or analysis of his two
principal works, of a strictly philosophical nature, " The
Method" and "The Meditations," which contain the main
principles of his system. The Method opens with an account of the mental process by which he came to doubt of
many things commonly received. It is an exceedingly interesting narrative of the struggles of a noble mind, reaching after truth with a determined earnestness which no
difficulties could overcome or turn back from its purpose.
Having learned in the schools whatever others had learned,
and, not content with that, having run through all the
books most curious and rare on which he could lay his
hands, and finding to his surprise so little certainty and so
much doubt about all the matters thus investigated, that
m philosophy, for example, which had been cultivated by
the best minds for ages, there was not yet to be found one
thing which was not disputed, while other sciences, deriving their principles from philosophy, could of course be no
more solid and reliable than the foundations on which they
were built, he comes to doubt of almost everything-to
doubt if there be any such thing as positive truth and
certainty, in the whole circle of human knowledge, and to
regard whatever is only probable, as very likely false. He
casts about him to find some way of discovering and separating the true from the false, the certain from the doubtful in this mingling of truth and error. The careful manner in which geometricians proceed leads him to question whether, with a like process, he might not arrive at
like results in other departments of knowledge; might not
in them also reach clear and certain convictions of truth.
Such a method of procedure he resolves to adopt: 1,
never to take anything for true, which he does not know to
be so, which does not present itself so clearly to his mind




236            RE NSE  DESCARTES.
that he shall never have occasion to call it in question; 2,
to break up every difficulty into its constituent parts for examination: 3, to begin with the things most simple and
easy to know, and proceed gradually to the more difficult
and complex; and finally to make so complete a survey as
to be sure that nothing has escaped him. Applying these
rules, he begins by pulling down and tearing away ad
libitumn whatever he thought himself already to have known,
calling in question all preconceived opinions however venerable and sacred, not indeed as the sceptics who doubt for
for the sake of doubting, but only in order to arrive by this
means at some certainty of knowledge and faith. At the
outset, and at a single stroke, all the impressions made
through the senses are discarded, for these are often found
to-be erroneous. So also are his own mental convictions
and judgments; for the things which he thinks, and sees,
and does, in his waking moments, he not unfrequently
thinks, and sees, and does, in his sleep; and how can he
know that they are any more real in the one case than the
other? But granting all this, that the evidence of the
senses, and even his own mental impressions and convictions, are unreliable, one thing is and must be unquestionably true, that is, he certainly thinks that these things are
thus and thus, they seem to him so and so; and from this it
follows that he himself exists; for even if the thing thought
be called in question, it is impossible to deny that there is
a thinker; the very doubt implies a doubter.  Hence the
famous proposition, the starting point and first principle of
the Cartesian philosophy, viz., COGITO, ERGO SUM.
It is, however, not of himself as a natural or bodily substance, but only as a thinker, that he is thus made certain; in
other words, of the spiritual existence, the soul in distinction
from the body. But among his thoughts he finds one unlike others —the thought, that is, of an absolutely perfect
and infinite being. Whence comes that thought, and what
of it? Not from himself, surely, for there is nothing in




RENE  DESCARTES.                    237
himself corresponding to such an idea, and the greater
cannot proceed from the less, nor something from nothing.
There must be some reality, some being containing in
himself all those perfections of which his own inferior mind
is able to form the idea; else he would never have had the
idea of such a being more perfect than himself. That
being, perfect and infinite, is God.
These two things established, these two grand cornerstones fairly laid-his own existence as a spiritual being,
and the existence of an infinite and perfect Intelligence,
from whom his own spiritual being and power of thought
proceed-the way is ready to build on this foundation the
solid structure of human knowledge; and on this basis, in
the Cartesian philosophy, everything is made to rest. All
certainty depends on these two grand principles: There
is a me; a thinking, feeling, spiritually active, in other
words, conscious being; there is also a Being, infinite
and perfect, as I am not, the source of the me and of all
its powers, who, as perfect, cannot be himself a deceiver,
nor have made me to be always deceived. The veracity of
our faculties is thus established, and the way is open to a
certain knowledge of whatever lies within the grasp or compass of those faculties. Such is substantially, and in brief,
the famous method of Descartes.
The same plan is substantially followed in the "1 Meditationsj' the direct object of which work is to elaborate more
fully and carefully the argument for the existence of the
soul as a spiritual and immortal reality, and of God as the
infinite and absolutely perfect being.
As before, he begins with doubting.  Knowledge comes
through the channel of the senses, and these have often
deceived him.  He seems to himself to be at the present
moment seated before the fire, in his dressing robe, with
papers in his hands, yet how often has he in sleep really
thought he was thus seated and occupied, when really
he was in his bed. Since he has so often been mistaken




238             RENE DESCARTES.
as to the reality of such impressions, how is he to know
what to depend upon? Is there, then, nothing certain? The exact sciences must surely be exceptions, for
whether he be awake or asleep it is equally certain that 3
and 2 make 5, and that the square has only four sides.
But what if, according to an idea he has long entertained,
some being were his creator, and in making him to be what
be is, what if this creator had so constituted him that he
should always come to a false conclusion whenever he adds
3 and 2, or numbers the sides of a square? Is he too good
for that? Then why does he permit him ever to be
deceived, as he often is? Suppose, then, that there is in
fact no such thing as light, sound, extension, figure, etc.,
but all such impressions are only a deception and illusion
practised upon men by some deceitful and powerful beinggranting all this, still one thing is certain, there is and
must be such a being as himself; for whether he really sees,
hears, touches the external object, or not, it certainly seems
to him that he does, he thinks he does; and this necessarily
involves the existence of the nature or being that so thinks.
He then proceeds, as before, to establish the certainty
of the divine existence. Upon analyzing and classifying the
various ideas which he finds in his mind, he perceives one,
the objective reality of which is so far superior to anything
in himself, that he clearly cannot be the source of it, it
cannot have originated in his own mind-and that is the
idea of a being infinite, eternal, all-powerful, all-knowing,
all-creating. These qualities are so excellent, so far beyond
anything which he finds in himself, that it seems impossible that the idea of such a being could have originated with
himself; for how could the finite originate the infinite? It
is not simply the negative of the finite, for he has in some
sense a clearer and more positive conception of the infinite
than of the finite. How does he know the finite and
imperfect, and that he himself is so, except as he has in
the mind the idea of a being more perfect than himself?




REINE DESCARTES.                   239
It is from this idea of the infinite then, that the idea of the
finite is derived, and not the reverse. Whence, then, this
idea, and how comes the mind to form it? Not through
the senses, for there is no external manifestation of any
object corresponding to this idea; nor is it wrought in the
mind's own laboratory, a fiction of the brain, for he cannot
in his own thoughts add anything to, or subtract anything
from it. It is then, a fixed, immutable idea. It must have'
been created with the mind itself, " the mark of the worknman impressed on his work."  There is a fine passage
occurring at the close of this demonstration of the being of
a God, which brings out the religious spirit of the man in
distinction from the mere philosopher, "But before I press
on to the consideration of other truths, I wish here to pause
a little, while in the contemplation of God himself, to think
over leisurely with myself his marvellous attributes, and to
consider, admire, adore, the incomparable beauty of this
immense luminary, so far as the force of my mind, which
is dazzled thereby, may be able to bear it. For as faith
assures us that the sovereign felicity of another life consists
only in the contemplation of the Divine majesty, so from
the like contemplation now, though far less perfect, we
perceive ourselves deriving the greatest pleasure of which
we are capable in this life.
In the meditation which follows, Descartes gives still
another form of argument for the divine existence, derived
from the same source, the nature of the idea which the
human mind forms of the divine being. He finds that he
cannot separate the idea of actual existence from the idea
which he forms of God; cannot think of him as not
existing; can no more separate in thought the actual existence from the essence of the divine being, than he can
separate in thought from the essence of a triangle the fact
that its three angles are equal to two right angles, or
from the idea of a mountain the idea of a corresponding
valley. Not that the conception of a triangle, or of a moun



240             RIEN t DESCARTES.
tain and valley, necessarily involves the existence of these
objects-that is not the argument, as Morell seems to suppose.  Descartes distinctly disclaims this idea. "From the
fact that I cannot think of a mountain without a valley,
it does not follow that anywhere a mountain and a valley
exist, but only that mountain and valley, whether they
exist or not, are not able to be dissociated from each other;
and so from the fact that I cannot think of God except as
existing, it follows that existence is inseparable from God,
and thence that he really exists;... for it is not in
my power to think of God without existence, that is to say,
of the most perfect being without the chief and highest perfection of all." The only question respecting the validity
of this reasoning is, does it necessarily follow that God exists,
because we cannot conceive of him as non-existent? Granting the premises that whatever pertains necessarily to the
idea, pertains also to the corresponding reality, if there be
one, it is certain that there is in any given case a reality
corresponding to our conceptions? The most perfect being
conceivable would be one possessing a certain attribute, a
or x; I cannot conceive of the being as without that attribute; but is there such a being? This previous question
remains unanswered, as it seems to me.  Some of the most
acute minds, however, have conceded the validity of the
above argument.
Whatever may be thought of the methods of reasoning
now presented, certain it is that the. author makes high
claim for them. In his prefatory epistle he says: "I
dare even propose them for most certain and most evident
propositions. I will add, even, that they are such that I do
not suppose any way lies open to the human mind by
which better ones can ever be found."  He believes them
" to equal, or even surpass in certainty the demonstrations
of geometry." He is well aware, however, that they are
of such a nature as to be understood and appreciated by
but few; and for this reason he wrote the Meditations in




RENE DESCARTES.                   241
Latin, and not in French and in a form to be generally
read, lest feeble minds might think it was meant for them.
He counsels no one to read the work who, is not willing to
meditate seriously and intently with him, and who cannot
detach the mind from all the associations of sense; and
the number of such persons he knows to be very small
indeed.
Of the system as developed in the works now analyzed,
the following are evidently the characteristic features:
1. The starting point of the whole system, the basis
of all belief and certainty, is doubt. Doubt everything. It
is only when, in this way, you at last reach something
which cannot be doubted, that you strike the real and
only solid foundations of rational belief.
2. The mind itself is the field of observation. The
appeal is much to consciousness throughout. This is the
stand point, the meridian line in all the observations.
This is where the anchor first holds as we drive before the
storm on the sea of doubt and uncertainty, " Cogito, ergo
sum." Even the knowledge of God, on which all other
knowledge depends, is sought and found in the soul itself.
Instead of going out of himself to find God, Descartes
descends into himself and brings up God out of the depths
of his own existence; finds there the maker's name
stamped on his innermost works.
3. This fact once established, that there is an infinite
and perfect being, and the certainty of our knowledge, the
veracity of our faculties, is guaranteed; for an infinite
and perfect being cannot be false, wolld not so constitute
his creatures that they should be always deceived. We
may therefore rely upon the testimony of our senses and
the veracity of our faculties generally, and so we reach a
sure and permanent basis of all knowledge.
11




242           iRENXE DESCARTES.
~ 4.-THE EFFECT.
What impress was left by this man and his system on his
own and the succeeding ages? A question not easy to answer. This, however, seems to be plain. To this man belongs the honor, now generally conceded to him by discerning minds, of being the founder of modern philosophy.
To the Method and the Meditations of Descartes, as the
starting point, may be traced back both the Scotch and the
German philosophy. It was he who led the way. It was
he who first ventured to strike out a new path in philosophy. Bacon had done this in physics. Descartes did
the same in metaphysics. Bacon went forth into the outer
world, observed, explored, classified. Descartes, with equal
penetration, passed at once into the inner world, that little
but wonderful kingdom, the soul of man, a world which
Bacon seems never really to have explored, and began his investigations there. He was the first to discover and plant
himself firmly on the true foundation of metaphysical
science, the principle that the human consciousness is the
true starting of all investigation, and an analysis of the facts
of consciousness the only true method of scientific inquiry.
No philosopher before Descartes had built a system on these
principles, or explicitly announced them as such; but once
announced they commended themselves to every thinker
and put a new phase not upon psychology alone, but upon
all science.
The tendency of the Baconian philosophy was doubtless
to materialism. It built up a whole fabric of science on
the observation of external things. It overlooked the internal. It ran out into the sensationalism of Hobbes and Locke,
and finally into the downright materialism of the school of
Hartley and Priestley in England, and Condillac in France.
The tendency of Cartesianism, on the other hand, was
plainly to idealism, as subsequently developed in Spinoza
and Malebranche. The outer world was nothing until the




RENE DESCARTES.                    243
inner world had first been explored as the basis on which all
knowledge of the outer might rest. It exalted the idea of the
infinite so far above the finite, as to throw the latter quite
out of sight. God, the eternal, the infinite, the supreme,
arose ever before it as the only object worthy of human
thought, and on this wonderful vision it fixed its eye, until,
dimned by that brightness, it could see nothing else. Even
eternal and necessary truths resolved themselves ultimately
into the will of God.  God was all and in all.  The result
in those who came after, and carried out the inherent tendencies of the system, was pantheism.
No small part of the life and writings of Descartes was
devoted to natural science. If in this he was prone to go
beyond the facts into the region of theory and speculation,
in his anxiety to reach some explanation, some law regulating the observed facts, and if subsequent discoveries have
proved his theories, however brilliant, not always correct,
his system, however grand and imposing, not always the true
philosophy of nature, it must still be conceded that he was
greatly in advance of his age, even in those matters where
to us he seems ehiefly to have erred, and that no man did
more by his investigations and reflections to promote the
progress of physical science and to hasten its subsequently
more complete development, than Rene Descartes. One
would entirely mistake, who should think of him as devoting
his life and studies to metaphysical pursuits.  With him
the metaphysics were merely the foundation on which to
construct a system  of physics; and in this he builded
better than he knew, for while in the progress and subsequent development of science, the superstructure which
Descartes erected no longer remains, the foundation stands
the only true and solid basis of a sound philosophy. Nor
are the studies of Descartes of little value in natural science, as Morell seems to suppose. No one has investigated
more diligently, or stated more correctly the general phenomelna of nature than Descartes.




244             RENE' DESCARTES.
The nature and properties of light, the nature, laws,
and movements of the atmosphere, were well understood by
him, and for a century at least these branches of science
remained essentially where he left them. It was to the
observations of Descartes that Pascal was indebted for the
idea of the experiment by which he demonstrated what
Galileo and Torricelli had taught respecting the weight of
the atmosphere. It was Descartes who first correctly and
fully explained the law by which the rainbow flings its
arch over the troubled sky and presides in beauty over the
retreating march of the tempest.  He carried the science
of mechanics to a perfection it had not before attained.
He took up the telescope where Galileo had left it, developed the theory and perfected the mechanism of the
instrument, and made of it a new thing. A treatise on
music, composed at the age of twenty-two, passed after his
death into many languages.  With a view to understand
the structure of the human frame, he devoted himself for
some years to the study of anatomy and chemistry; and the
work published after his death, which embodied the result
of these labors, ranks among his best productions.
It was in mathematics, however, that Descartes made
the greatest advance, and stood preeminent, the foremost
man of his time. He first greatly simplified the science of
algebra, reducing the number of signs, and introducing
the method of representing by letters the forms of quantities; and having perfected this instrument, applied the
algebraic process to geometry, which no one had dreamed
of uniting with it, and thus gave more progress to that
science than had been made in it for centuries. The analysis of Descartes, it has been justly said, has been the
instrument of all the great discoveries of the Moderns.
From this brief survey it will appear how wide was
the field of Descartes' investigations, and how little he
deserves to be regarded as merely a metaphysician. One
can pardon the enthusiasm of his countryman and eulogist,




RENE  DESCARTES.                  245
Thomas, when he affirms that " it was the fortune of Descartes to be able to approach no science which did not
immediately assume a new aspect."
Like most discoverers of truth, however, Descartes was
too far in advance of his age to be fully appreciated by it.
Commencing with most sciences, as geometry for example,
where others had left off, there were few who could follow
him in his rapid march. In one of his letters, so full of
childlike simplicity, we find him  computing how many
geometricians in Europe will be likely to understand him,
viz., three or four in France, two in Holland, and two in
Spain. Descartes has been often compared with Bacon.
"'If," says Thomas, "we seek among the great men of
the Moderns some with whom to compare him, we find
three, Bacon, Leibnitz, and Newton. Bacon ran over the
whole surface of human knowledge, sat in judgment on
past ages, and ran on into the future; but he indicated
more great things than he executed. He raised the scaffold of an immense edifice, and left to others the work of
putting together the edifice itself. Leibnitz was whatever
he chose to be. He carried into philosophy a great loftiness of mind; but his metaphysical systems seem designed
to astonish and crush men down, rather than enlighten
them." Newton, he goes on to say, following as he did
Galileo, Kepler, Huygens, Bacon, and Descartes, profited
by the labors of others, aud owes to them in part what
he became. Descartes " deserves to be placed beside Newton, for he created a part of Newton, while he was created
only by himself."  "Time has destroyed the opinions of
Descartes, but his glory remains. He is like those kings
dethroned, who, among the ruins even of their empire,
seem born to command the world.",
The works on which I have chiefly relied in the preparation of the above, are the collected works of Descartes,
in Latin, published in Amsterdam in 1656, and the French
edition of his works, edited by Cousin, and published in
Paris in 1824.




246                  SPINOZA.
CHAPTER IV.
SPINOZA.
IN 1632, there was born in Amsterdam a Jew, one
Spinoza, whose writings and whose name have been now for
two centuries the admiration of half the reflecting world
and the terror of the other half; whose influence has been
felt over all Europe, and feared farther than it has been felt;
who has been branded, now as an atheist, and now as a pantheist, and not unfrequently as both; whose calm, fearless
mind shrunk from no difficulties and no consequences, but
moved straight and steadily onward with its inexorable
logic, its geometrical precision, its terrible self-reliance, to
the investigation of the profoundest problems of philosophy and to conclusions from which a mind less honest and
fearless, and less conscious of its own integrity and its own
strength, would have shrunk back at once and forever. It
is pleasant to be reminded that this strange and profound
thinker was once a boy like the rest of the world, in those
busy Dutch streets of the olden times, watching the shipswondering at many things.
He was a feeble and sickly lad; but for this all the
more thoughtful and studious. The energy which nature intended at that early period of life to be expended in muscular
activity and athletic sports, sought in him another direction,
mounted to the brain, quickened the intellect, and instead
of passing off in the more usual form of leap-frog and
other boyish amusements, set the lad upon thinking, observing, reflecting, questioning, and opened to him that broad
and wonderful field of thought-the mysteries and problems
of his own conscious being.
The parents of Spinoza were humble and honest people,
merchants of Amsterdam, whither they had fled from the




SPINOZA.                    247
persecutions encountered by the Jews in Spain. The boy
was at first destined to a commercial life, but such was his
unusual fondness for study, and the remarkable development of his intellect, that his parents altered their purpose,
and determined to give him a rabbinical education. Accordingly the Old Testament and the Talmud became his
principal studies, and such was his proficiency in these as
to excite the highest hopes of the great rabbi, Saul Lervi
Morteira, his instructor.  But alas, a cloud oft obscures
the brightest morning. It was soon discovered, most unfortunately, that this promising lad was not a little disposed
to think for himself-possessed one of those inquiring,
penetrating, restless minds, so much the terror of mere
parchment and ritual expounders, which are never content
with mere facts and statements, but are ever prying into
the reasons, and demanding the why and wherefore of
things. The great rabbi had trouble -enough with his
hopeful pupil. Difficulties were started, questions were
put, from which all good rabbis, great and small, piously
shrunk back. What does the boy mean? Will he not
believe the Talmud and the tradition? What right has he
to ask questions, and to have thoughts and opinions of his
own in such matters? They threaten the youth. He coolly
defies their rage.  He shall be excommunicated.  Very
well. Excommmunicate if you like. I anticipate your
kind intentions by voluntarily withdrawing from your
community; and so, with bitter sarcasm, he turns on his
heel and walks out of their ranks to return no more.
Foiled in this attempt, they offer him a pension of a thousand florins, to be silent and retain some nominal connection
with their body. He is indignant at the bribe. His life
is next attempted. An assassin aims at his breast a deadly
blow, but misses his mark. Nothing remains but to execute
the sentence of excommunication. The day arrives. A
vast concourse assembles. Black candles are lighted-the
books of the Law are opened. The chanter sounds aloud,




248                  SPINOZA.
in solemn tones, the fearful curse, and is answered back by
the notes of the trumpet. The black candles are reversed,
and melt drop by drop into a tub of blood. The fearful and
final anathema is pronounced, the lights are plunged into
the blood, and in that sudden and solemn darkness the
assembly, filled with fear and sorrow, shout Amen. And
so poor Spinoza gets his first degree-the only one they
ever gave him.
Having now fairly finished his Talmudic education,
Spinoza, cast upon his own resources, finds a friend and
patron, Van den Ende, a physician in Amsterdam and
teacher of philology, from whose fair and accomplished
daughter, Spinoza takes lessons in Latin and in love. He
seems to have succeeded better in the former branch of
study than the latter. The lady prefers a young Hamburg merchant to a penniless excommunicated Jew; and
Spinoza, disappointed in love, betakes himself more vigorously to his Latin. It was a happy day for him when the
writings of Descartes fell into his hands. He read them
with avidity. They were precisely that food and sustenance
for the eager mind reaching after truth, which he had
long needed. Here he found instruction, light, rest. He
stood now upon a sure basis, and felt that he could mark
out for himself, at last, a definite object and pursuit in life.
He is poor but independent.  He knows a trade, and can
support himself by his own labor; and content with little,
master of his own time and pursuits, can devote himself to
reflection and study. And this he does. By polishing
glasses for optical instruments, which he does with a skill
that attracts the notice of Leibnitz, he earns a competence,
and still reserves his best moments for philosophy. How
moderate were his wants, and how simple his style of fare,
may be judged from the fact that a dish of soup, which
cost three half pence, and a pot of beer, costing three farthings more, sufficed often for the day's provisions. As to
clothing, he said it was not good sense to put a precious




SPIN OZ.                   249
envelope on things of little or no value. Yet this same
man, supporting himself by his own labor, and living upon
four pence a day that he might gain the more time for
study, is charged, among other things, with Epicureanism.
If this is Epicureanism, may the disciples of that school
never be wanting. So little desire for gold had Spinoza, that
one of his friends, one day, having offered him a present of
2,000 florins, he resolutely refused it, on the ground that so
much wealth would divert him from his studies. He prevented this same friend, the generous and wealthy De Vries,
from leaving him a handsome legacy in his will-actually
made him alter the will already drawn up, and finally consented to receive from the heirs, a pension of 300 florins
only, instead of 500 which they urged upon him. The
talents of Spinoza, and his growing reputation, alarmed his
enemies, who finally stirred up the magistrates to banish
him, in a sort, from Amsterdam, as a dangerous person to
the peace and public morals. So upon exile, half voluntary, half compulsory, he leaves his native city, and retiring to Rhynsburg, and afterward to the Hague, devotes himself with new assiduity and zeal to his favorite studies.
So wholly absorbed was he in these pursuits, and so fond of
solitude, that sometimes for months together he hardly
quitted his cabinet. Here he had all he desired: profound
peace, long leisure, the few books that he valued-and they
were very few, for, like all other truly great and original
minds, he read little and thought much-and a few friends
who listened to him; here he studied, he thought, he
philosophized, to his heart's content. It was in this retreat
that he published his first work, an exposition of Descartes'
philosophy, which by its clearness and masterly comprehension of the system of that great man, at once attracted
great attention.  The Prince of Conde invites him now to
France, the retreat of letters and science at this time;
but having no disposition to dedicate his next work to
Louis XIV., which would in that case be expected of him,
11*




250                  SPIN O ZA.
he declines the offer, and prefers to keep on living in solitude at a few pence a day. The Elector Palatine also
invites him to Heidelberg, to the chair of philosophy; but
this, too, he declines, on the ground that the state religion
might cramp somewhat his liberty of independent thought,
and also on the ground that the duties of instruction
would necessarily demand time which he could ill spare
from his studies.
His death occurred in 1677, at the age of forty-four.
Feeble in constitution, and never, in the course of life,
enjoying good health, his system was doubtless enfeebled by
his absorbing devotion to study (continued from ten at night
till three in the morning), his solitary mode of life, his
abstemiousness, his too arduous labors.  "He was a calm,
brave man," says one of his biographers.  "He could confront disease and death as he had confronted poverty and
persecution. Bravery of the highest kind distinguished
him through life, and was not likely to fail him on the
quitting it, and yet beneath that calm, cold stoicism, there
was a childlike gayety springing from a warm and sympathizing heart.  His character was made up of generous simplicity and heroic forbearance."
" His humor and his manners," says Damiron, "were
in perfect harmony with his vocation. He was neither
melancholy nor gay, but calm, mild and moderate; affable,
and compassionate, and, what is perhaps more remarkable,
full of tolerance and respect for the belief of others."
"His figure," says another, "has an air of recollection
and meditation; his eye announces an immovable courage,
his mouth betrays an agreeable modesty, a slight tinge of
sadness seems to cast a shadow over all his traits."  Such
was Spinoza in habits, character, and life.
The principal works of Spinoza are the " Principles of the
Philosophy of Descartes," published 1664, and the " Cogitata
Metaphysica," in the same year, and the " Theologie Politique," six years after. It was not until after his death, how



SP IN OZA.                    51
ever, that his most important treatises were published, viz.,
the Ethics, the Politics, and the treatise on the improvement
of the understanding (" De Emendatione Intellectus)."  It
is in these posthumous works that his system can best be
learned, for in these only is his doctrine fully developed.
His earlier treatises were designed rather to prepare the way
for his own peculiar doctrines, than as a full expression
of them.
The style of Spinoza is peculiarly concise, severe, logical; setting forth in the plainest manner, with fewest
words, and little ornament or elegance, just the simple
thought that was to be expressed-that and nothing more;
but that in a way not to be mistaken. As a reasoner and
metaphysician he is marked by the boldness with which he
states, and.follows out to their legitimate conclusions, whatever
positions he assumes, never shrinking from any unpleasant
or even apparently absurd consequences. He handles his
themes with the air and bearing of a master, who thoroughly
understands himself and the instrument on which he plays;
and touches the keys, not with a trembling and hesitating
hand, but with a positiveness and boldness and certainty, and
yet with a precision which awaken the admiration of the
observer. He never seems to ask himself, Is such a conclusion
reasonable? but simply, Does it justly and necessarily follow
from my premises? He marks out his path; fixes the direction and aim of his movements, and having decided upon
this, steadily pursues that path, and that direction, and that
object, come what will. If a precipice lies in his way, he
walks deliberately on and deliberately over, with the most
resolute determination, the most utter disregard of results.
This process, though admirable in many respects, is
not always and altogether safe for a finite and limited mind.
One ought to have a clearer and more complete survey
of the whole field of thought at the outset, than any finite
mind can ever have, in order rightly to choose a path and
direction that shall in no event be deviated from in the




252                   SPIN O Z A.
least degree.  Omniscience might work in that way.  Yet,
to omniscience what need of reasoning at all? Spinoza was
led to this method of reasoning by his mathematical propensities. Accustomed to start in geometry with principles
whose truth is beyond question, and then to follow out
step by step a process of reasoning based upon those principles, to a conclusion perfectly inevitable and certain, he
demanded a like method and certainty in all reasoning on
abstract truth; was not satisfied with anything less; applied to metaphysics a method strictly applicable only to
mathematics, and felt as little responsibility for the conclusions thus reached as for the result of a demonstration in
Euclid.  It was this that led him astray in his reasonings.
He forgot that with respect to ideas of time, space, spirit,
good, evil, and other abstract and purely metaphysical
ideas, it is impossible either to lay down at the outset premises that shall be as certain and definite, or to reason as
positively and as surely from those premises as we can about
the points, and lines, and ratios of mathematical science.
This, if I mistake, not, is the key of his entire mistake,
the grand secret of his total aberration.
Another peculiarity of his method is, that he invariably
pursues the a priori process, begins with ontology, with
being in general, and reasons downward to particulars. The
" Cogitata Metaphysica," e. g., is divided into two parts,
the first of which treats of being, the second of God and
the soul.  Under the first he discusses existence, essence,
the real, the necessary, the contingent, time and duration,
the one, the true, etc. From these purely ontological heights
he descends to treat, in the second part, of the nature of
God; and so, by this high avenue of approach, he comes at
length to consider the human soul. Spinoza was throughout, in all his tendencies and all his writings, a pure
ontologist.
But it is time to lay before you more exactly the outlines of his system. In general it may be said that Spinoza




SPIN  OZA.                    253
starts from the position and ground principles of Descartes,
and rigorously carries out those principles to their extreme.
He is a Cartesian, differing only in minor points as he proceeds, and in the conclusions at which he arrives by logically carrying out the main principles of the system. Dugald Stuart is hardly correct in affirming that Spinoza agreed
with Descartes in little else than his physical principles,
and that no two philosophers ever differed more widely in
their metaphysical and theological tenets.  In their philosophy they mainly agreed. In their results and conclusions they differed, and for the reason stated.  The system
of Spinoza may perhaps best be viewed as developed in the
"Ethics," his most elaborate and complete work. This is in
five parts: of which the first treats of God, the second of
the soul, the third of the affections, the fourth and fifth of
servitude and liberty.  The arrangement and treatment
are strictly mathematical. It begins with definitions and
axioms. Then follow propositions based upon these. Damiron says of this treatise that, with the exception of the
prefaces and Scolia, in which the author resigns himself to
the use of common speech, there is from beginning to end
but one massive and compact argument, in which there is
not a thought, not a phrase, not a word, which is not
closely connected with the whole on which it depends.
Among the definitions with which the work opens, the
following are the more important. Substance is defined
to be that which is, in itself, and is conceived by itself.
Attribute  is that which  is conceived of substance as
constituting its essence.  Mode is an accident or affection
of substance. God is the being absolutely infinite, or the
substance consisting of infinite attributes, each expressing
his infinite and eternal essence. A thing is free which
exists by the sole necessity of its nature, and by itself alone
is determined to action.
To these definitions he strictly adheres in his whole
treatise. Several axioms follow these definitions.  Among




254                  SPINOZA.
which these: 1. Everything which is, is in itself, or in
some other thing. 2. That which cannot be conceived
through another, per aliud, must he conceived per se.
3. From a given determinate cause, the effect necessarily
follows; and, vice versa, no determinate cause, no effect.
4. The knowledge of an effect depends on the knowledge
of the cause, and includes it. 5. Things having nothing in
common with each other cannot be understood by means
of each other, i. e., the conception of one does not include
that of the other. 6. A true idea must agree with its
original nature. 7. Whatever can be clearly conceived as
non-existing does not in its essence involve existence.
From these follow certain propositions. 1. Substance
is prior in nature to its accidents. 2. Two substances having different attributes have nothing in common with each
other. This follows from the definition of substance as a
thing conceived in and through itself. 3. Of things which
have nothing in common, one cannot be the cause of the
other. The demonstration is, that having nothing in common they cannot (Axiom 5th) be conceived by means of
each other, and so (accordingly to Axiom 4th) one cannot
be the cause of the other.
PROP. IV. Two or more distinct things can be distinguished only by the diversity of their attributes or of their
modes. V. It is impossible that there should be two or more
substances of the same nature or of the same attribute.
For they could not be distinguished from each other.
Hence VI. One substance cannot be created by another substance; since there cannot be two substances with the same
attributes, and so having nothing in common one cannot
(Prop. 3d) be the cause of the other. It follows from this,
by corollary, that substance cannot be created by anything
else, since there is nothing in nature but substance and its
modes. Hence VII. It pertains to the nature of substance
to exist; or it is the cause of itself. VIII. All substance is
necessarily infinite; for if finite it must be so (Definition




SPIN OZA.                    255
2d) by virtue of another substance of the same attributewhich is impossible (Prop. 5th). The result of this chain
of reasoning is this.  There is only one substance, and that
is infinite. God is that infinite substance. Whatever exists,
exists in him. He is the one being of which all things
are but the manifestations; he the sole substance; everything else a mode of that substance. He is the efficient
universal cause of all things, not indeed transitively but
immanently, and his attributes are eternal and infinite.
They are two in number: extension and thought. These
two attributes he regards as the one objective, the other
subjective; extension is visible thought. Thought is invisible extension. God is the identity of the two, that is,
the substance in which both unite; the root from which
both spring-as man is the identity or ground of union of
soul and body. Everything is a mode of God's extension;
every thought, wish, feeling, a mode of his thought. God
is the only existence, though there are many existing things;
the only substance, though many powers-the one and all.
Such, in outline, is his system.
It will be perceived that these conclusions follow inevitably from the definitions and axioms laid down at the outset, and as these are essentially Cartesian, it is impossible
for a disciple of that school, however he may shrink from
the conclusions, to escape them. Once within the current
and vortex of this irresistible geometrical reasoning and
there is no escape. Tissot hesitates not to say that this
system is one of the strongest and most admirable conceptions of the human mind, viewed merely as a system of
ontological reasoning, a hypothetical system, towering aloft
with a majestic grandeur.  He thinks it impossible for the
ancient metaphysics to overthrow this system.  It can be
done, he thinks, only by admitting, with Kant, that the
ontological conceptions of pure reason, the categories of
substance, mode, cause, effect, etc., have no real and objective value apart from the sphere of experience. However




256 5                S P I XO Z A.
that may be, it is doubtless true, as Tissot admits, that
nothing is more easily overthrown than a system logically
and closely reasoned out from given principles, provided
you can attack and show the falsity of those principles.
And this is precisely what can be done in the present case.
The system is entirely built on principles that will not stand
the test of critical examination.  We have but to attack
these, and the building falls. Examine any one of the fundamental positions of this curious, and in many respects,
wonderful fabric of human reason, you will perceive its
falsity.  Substance, says Spinoza, is that which is, in, and
by, itself. True, we say, of some substance, but not all;
of uncreated substance, and that only; true only of Deity.
Spinoza in this postulate begs the whole question, assumes
that there are not, and cannot be, any other than self-existent substances. Neither is it true that substance is infinite, indivisible, unique.  This again is applicable only to
that class of substances which is self-existent-to the Deity.
We deny that this class or definition exhausts the idea of
substance.
It is not true that things can be distinguished only by
the diversity of their attributes. We distinguish them in
other ways; by circumstances extrinsic and accidental to
the things themselves; by place; by number; nay, by the
different degrees in which the same attributes may be possessed by each. Hence it is not true that there cannot be
two substances possessing the same attribute, on the ground
of its being impossible to distinguish them, for no such
impossibility exists.  And if there may be two substances
of the same attribute, then it is not true that one substance
may not be the cause of another; for the two have something in common.  There may be, then, a diversity of substances, created and uncreated, finite and infinite. God is
not, in a word, the unique and only substance. The system falls the moment you attack the definition of substance
on which the whole is built.




sPITOZA.                       257
It is hardly necessary to remark that Spinoza is a fatalist. The will of Deity is the mainspring of all motion and
volition; literally, and not metaphorically, we do live and
move and have our being in him. Our thoughts and
passions are only the movements of the eternal mind.
That mind acts according to the laws of its own nature;
acts, without constraint; is the only free cause. But
in what sense free? Only with the liberty of necessity,
not of choice. All things, he says, flow on necessarily;
always, by the same necessity, follow; just as from  the
nature of the triangle it follows, from eternity to eternity,
that the three angles are equal to two right angles: wherefore the omnipotence of God was, in act, from eternity, and
will to eternity remain in the same actuality. Nothing is
contingent, he holds, since everything is determined, to act
and to be, by the necessity of its nature. This is fatalism
surely; but, as Damiron well remarks, it is fatalism arising
from excess of theism, rather than want of it.
Was Spinoza then an atheist? Never a man further
from it. How is he an atheist, who sees everywhere and
everything God and God only. It is not without reason
that Schleiermacher calls him  the God-intoxicated man.
Was he a pantheist?  Most surely, in one sense of that
term. There are two sorts of pantheism, it has been well
said. The one brings God down to nature, and annihilates
him in it; sees no other God, no higher being, than the
universe. This is true and properpantheism. The other,
which passes for the same thing but is widely diverse from
it, carries nature up to God, and loses sight of it, annihilates it in him.  This was Spinoza's pantheism.  In this
sense alone was he a pantheist.
Cousin pays the following very just, though glowing
tribute to this philosopher:
"Far from being an atheist, of which he is accused,
Spinoza possesses so strongly the sentiment of God that he
loses the sentiment of man. This temporary and limited




258                  SPIN  OZ A.
existence, everything that is finite, seems to him unworthy
of the name of existence, and for him there is no true being
but the eternal being. This book, bristling as it is, in the
manner of the times, with geometrical formulae, so dry and
so repulsive in its style, is at foundation a mystic hymn, a
transport, a yearning of the soul toward him who alone
can legitimately say: I am that I am.
"His life was the symbol of his system. Adoring the
eternal, ever in the presence of the infinite, he disdained
this passing world; he knew neither pleasure, nor action,
nor glory, for he did not suspect his own. Young, he
desired to know love; but he knew it not, because he did
not inspire it. Poor and suffering, his life was spent in
waiting for and meditating upon death. He lived in a
suburb of the city, where, gaining as a polisher of glass,
the little bread and milk necessary for his subsistence;
hated, repudiated by the men of his communion, suspected
by all others; detested by all the clergy of Europe, whom
he wished to subject to the state; escaping persecutions and
outrages only by concealment; humble and silent; of a gentleness and patience that were proof to everything; passing
along in this world without wishing to stop in it, never
dreaming of producing any effect upon it or of leaving any
trace upon it-Spinoza was an Indian mouni, a Persian
soufi, an enthusiastic monk; the author whom this pretended atheist most resembles, is the unknown author of
the'Imitation of Jesus Christ"' (Cousin, "Fragments
Philosophiques, article Spinoza ").




ALEB R A N CHE.                 259
CHAPTER V.
MALEBRANCHE.
CONTEMPORARY with Spinoza, and at the head in some
respects of the literati of France, yet very little known as
an author, and still less as a man, is Nicholas Malebranche.
Born at Paris 1638; a weak and sickly child, afflicted with
curvature of the spine; on this account, like Spinoza, less
attracted to the pursuits and pleasures of the external
world, he was all the more a philosopher; of good
family, of hereditary wealth and rank, one of his uncles
having been viceroy of Canada, he was carefully educated
under the eye of the mother, who seems to have had some
considerable share in forming his youthful tastes for the
investigation of profound and hidden truths. Studied philosophy at the College de la Marche, and theology at the
Sorbonne. Destined to an ecclesiastical life, he refused
a canonicate at Notre Dame, and connected himself with
the Oratoire, a religious order distinguished for its devotion
to St. Augustine and its attachment to Descartes. The
masters under whom he was at first placed in this order
sought to interest him in history and philosophy, but to no
purpose, his mind found nothing congenial in these pursuits.
One day, however, as he was passing down the rue St.
Jacques, a bookseller put into his hands Descartes' treatise
on man. He had heard much said of Descartes, but had
never read him. With what charm, with what mental agitation and transport, does the young ecclesiastic peruse these
pages. It was not the Discourse on Method, it was not
the Meditations, it was not even the Philosophy, but only the
Physiology of that great author, says the writer to whom I
am indebted for this incident; but it was his spirit, his
reasoning, his manner of procedure, his way of philosophiz



260              X ALEBRANCH E.
ing; and scarcely had Malebranche opened the book before he
was captivated and profoundly moved, so much so that he
was obliged to pause in his reading on account of the
palpitation of the heart which was induced by his emotion.
This was the beginning of his true career as a philosopher.
He found in Descartes that which met the profound want
of his intellectual nature; that which he had never met
before.  From  this moment his career as a thinker was
decided. Without cessation or relaxation or any turning
aside to other pursuits, he devotes himself thenceforward
to one grand pursuit, the only one that seemed to him to
be worthy the name of true science.
The age was favorable for this man and his pursuits.
Descartes was in the ascendant. One who should profoundly comprehend and clearly unfold his system, would
be sure of approbation and success. In literature the
great roll of illustrious authorship was nearly complete in
France. Pascal, Bossuet, and F6nelon, had written prose.
Corneille, Moliere, Racine, La Fontaine, and Boileau, had
handled the lyre. In style, the most perfect models were
before our young aspirant, nor did he fall behind these
models. Combining in himself the peculiar qualities of
Pascal, Bossuet and F6nelon, the liveliness and force of the
first, the loftiness and grand simplicity of the second, the
peculiar grace of the last, his style is in many respects
superior to that of any one of these singly, and it is not
without reason that he is styled the Plato of Cartesianism.
His thoughts are always lofty, his observations acute, his
method luminous, his style attractive, his spirit earnest,
truthful and sincere."
His first work, the " Search for Truth " (" Recherche de
Verite "), was published in 1674, and met with the most
flattering success. Subsequently, he published, chiefly by
way of defending the principles of that treatise, and showing their consistency with the dogmas of the church, the
"Christian Conversations," and "Christian Meditations,"




MALE B RA NCH E.                 261
and the treatise on " Nature and Grace."  It was on a copy
of this, which was sent him by the author, that Bossuet
wrote the words of St. Augustine —Pulchra; nova; falsa.
In 1684, appeared his " Treatise on Morals," and in the
next year the "Reflections Theologic and Philosophic."
In 1688, his work on metaphysics appeared. Beside
these, he published, at various times, several minor works.
Beside these publications, he wrote much in the way of
correspondence, in an age when men conversed much, and
corresponded little.  His letters, on important subjects,
and addressed chiefly to distinguished persons, amount to
more than 500. In addition to these he devoted much
thought to physics and mathematics, and there are in the
possession of the Academy of Sciences, many parcels of
papers by him on this class of subjects.  He was chiefly
devoted to speculative studies.  History, and the studies of
mere erudition had no charm for him. He read little, and
erased from his writings all that which, however valuable
in other respects, advanced no information. " An insect,"
says Fontenelle, " interested him more than all Greek and
Roman history, and he had as little regard for that species
of philosophy which consists only in learning the views of
different philosophers."
Had he read more, and been better acquainted with the
history of philosophy, we cannot help thinking he would
have philosophized better.
In his mind and in his works, religion is ever in the
first place; phi]osophy is her handmaid.  The two are
closely and inseparably united, in his view, and ought
never to be put asunder. " Religion is the true philosophy.; not that of pagans indeed, nor of those who discourse
before the truth has discoursed to them."
Reason is not however to be subjected to faith. The
reason of which be speaks is "infallible, immutable, incorruptible; ought ever to be mistress.  God himself follows her. Evidence, intelligence, is better than faith, for
-~ 1-^-~-7 — ~~-^lV-v~) Z n., forWI.  LIVVI 1 V




262              MALEBRAWCHE.
faith will pass away, but intelligence will eternally abide;
faith is a great good, but it is because she conducts to intelligence."  In this he differs toto cwlo from Spinoza, who
divorces completely religion from philosophy, assigning to
each a distinct and separate sphere. In the one, we see the
mystic; in the other the rationalist.
His death occurred October 13, 1715-hastened, it is
said, by an interview and somewhat animated discussion
with Berkeley, who, passing through Paris, called on him
a few days previous to his decease.
Such was Malebranche, as a man and as regards the
leading events of his life; one of the three great names
that have adorned at once the Cartesian philosophy and
the seventeenth century —trio illustrious: Spinoza, Malebranche, Leibnitz.
Let us first take a bird's-eye view of his philosophy as a
whole; and then examine with more care its separate features, as we shall find them developed in his principal works.
The general outline of his system may be thus given.
He was a Cartesian in his principles and tendencies. The
characteristic feature of his philosophy is the consistent
carrying out and making prominent what in Descartes
had lurked as only a tendency, a germ not fully developed,
viz., the merging and losing sight of the finite in the
infinite, of the human soul in God; of all second causes
in the great first cause, in the infinite; the making God to
be everything, and man nothing.
In carrying out this view he makes but two kinds of
existence in the world: body and spirit; the qualities of
the former, extension and mobility; of the latter understanding and will. Neither body nor spirit can act of
itself, however, without the immediate will and power of
the great first cause; neither matter on mind, nor mind on
matter. Hence as the ideas of all things exist in God, we
see all things in him, in him live, move, have our being.
What then, the use of matter at all? To this he can give




MALEBRA  C HE.                    263
no answer, but that it has pleased God to make a material
world, and this he knows from revelation only. Gen. i. is
all that stands between him and blank, complete idealism.
Such in mere outline is his system. Let us look at it
more closely as developed in his principal works, "The
Inquiry after Truth " and the "Ethics."
The design of the former work is to point out the errors
derived from the senses, imagination, understanding, propensities, and passions, and also the causes and remedies of
the same.
It is divided into six books. The first points out the
errors of sense, and in so doing strikes at the root of the
evidence for a material world. It begins by an analysis or
classification of the powers of the mind. The soul is indivisible, yet of two parts: one passive, the mind or understanding; the other, passive and active both at once, i. e.,
the will. The understanding has. for its modifications, or
faculties as we should say, sense, imagination, and pure
intellect. The will has, for its modifications, the inclinations and passions. Such is his general map of the country
to be explored.
Le speaks next of the nature of error. It consists of
false judgment, of which the cause is the will; the occasion, the understanding; and the prime reason, the fall
of man. The remedy accordingly is, not to yield assent,
except to propositions so evidently true that we cannot
reasonably do otherwise; and also careful abstinence, penitence, self-denial as to pleasures of sense.
He specifies as errors of sense, our mistaking certain sensations as those of color, savor, etc., for qualities of bodies,
whereas they are only impressions or sensations of our own,
whence he concludes it may be so with our notions of figure
and motion, since there is no necessary connection between
the idea in the mind and the existence of the thing represented by that idea. The reason why men do not at once
perceive that those are mere modifications of the soul, is




264               MALE B RA N CCHE.
that they have not a clear idea of the soul. There are several things to be distinguished in sensation: 1, action of
external objects on the body; 2, passion of the organ affected; 3, passion of the soul consequent on that of the organ;
4, judgment that what the soul perceives is out of itself and
in the organ. It is because of not distinguishing these
several things, that we fall into so many errors as to sensible qualities.
Next, as to errors of imagination.  He defines imagination to be, at bottom, only a feeble and languishing sensation; with this difference, however-sensation acts from
without inward, imagination from  within  outward-to
produce the excitement of the nerves. " Imagination is that
power which the soul has of forming images of objects, by
producing a change in the fibres of that part of the brain
which may be called the principal; and to imagine is to
judge that the thing thus imaged or imagined is not within but without'; or that the object which is in view is an
absent object." The cause of the nervous excitement
aforesaid is the flow of animal spirits.
The errors of the imagination consist in bestowing on
the imagined objects a reality and a place in time and space,
which do not belong to them. Men of study and erudition, he says, are peculiarly liable to errors of the imagination. They are liable to confound novelty with error, to
think that all new things are false, and to mistake antiquity
for truth, as if all ancient things were true things. They
are liable also to the opposite error-a passion for novelty,
a desire to be inventors of new systems; flattering themselves that in saying what has never been said, they shall not
want admirers.
The author in the next book treats of errors of the
understanding.  The mind, or pure intellect, has for its
essence, thought; andfor the character of that essence, limnitation.  It is a thought limited.  Whence follows a twofold consequence. 1. It cannot perfectly know the infi



MALEBLANCHE.                      265
nite.  2. It cannot even know many things at once.  If,
not aware of this, mistaking its own capacity and sphere
it thinks to comprehend the infinite, or to embrace that
which surpasses it, it falls into error and confusion.
In this connection he takes occasion to define and
describe what he calls ideas.  "I believe," he says, "all
the world agrees that we perceive not external objects in
themselves.  We see the sun, the stars, and a great variety
of objects without us, and it is not to be supposed that the
soul leaves the body and goes, so to speak, promenading
through the skies to contemplate there all these objects.
It sees them not in and by themselves, and the immediate
object of our mind, when it sees the sun, for example, is
not the sun itself, but something which is intimately
united to our soul; and it is this which I call idea. So by
idea I understand here nothing else than that which is the
immediate object, or the nearest thing to the mind when it
perceives some object, that is to say, that which touches
and modifies the mind in the perception which it has of
an object."
Whence come these ideas? From the mind itself, by
its own power? Or, if not by its own power, at least by
virtue of its qualities, which are likewise the very qualities
of things, and which to see in it, will be to see the things
themselves? Or come they from objects, as species, which
detach themselves, and reach the mind through the
channel of sense? Are they produced in the mind by
Deity, in the beginning, and once for all; or else each time
that it thinks of the objects? Or, finally, united to a being
all perfect and containing in himself all intelligible perfections, the models of all beings, are they simply manifest and present to the mind as the representation in God,
of all that which it is possible to kinwv? The last supposition, he concludes to be the true solution of the problem;
and for these reasons: It is necessary to conclude that
God has in his own mind these ideas of all existences; else
12




266               MA L EBRA  CH E.
he could not create those existences. But God is intimately united to our spirits by his presence.  He is the
place of spirits, just as, in one sense, space is the place of
bodies. Hence the possibility of seeing in God all the
works of God, provided he chooses to discover them to us.
He does choose to do so, and for these reasons: 1. He
does all things in the simplest possible manner, and the
simplest way in this case is to make us see in him all things
by means of the ideas which represent them. 2. Because
this places created minds in entire dependence on his power.
The conclusion is that we see, in fact, nothing but God,
or that which is in God, and that, if we saw not God in
some way we should not see anything.  He is the intelligible world, or the place of spirits, just as the material world
is the place of bodies; it is from his power that they receive all their modifications, and in his wisdom that they
find all their ideas; and as his power and his wisdom
are only himself, we believe with Saint Paul that he is not
far from every one of us, and that in him we live and move
and have our being.  Such is the celebrated theory of
vision in God. It is a sufficient spell with which to dissolve
and sweep away this magnificent cloud palace of the fancy,
to deny that there is any such thing as an idea, in the sense
now given; that our ideas are in fact anything but modifications of our own minds; that they represent objects at all,
in fact. Our choice is between this and that thoroughgoing
idealism which resolves all things into God, with Spinoza
and Malebranche, or into nothing, with Hume and Hegel.
Malebranche next discusses the inclinations, or, as he
calls them, the natural movements of the mind.  These
are to mind what motion is to material things-imparting
variety and life.  These inclinations are only continual
impressions of God on us, and correspond of course to the
ends which he has in view in all his actions.  These ends
are: first, himself; secondly, the preservation and care of his
creatures.  To these ends our inclinations also relate; and




M3 ALEBRAN CH E.                  267
thus deduced, we have first, the love of good in general, or
of God; whence spring two other inclinations: the love of
self, and the love of others. The love of self, again, is
twofold: the love of being or of greatness, i. e., virtue,
knowledge, wealth, honor, reputation; and then the love
of wvell-being, or pleasure.  The latter is a good, notwithstanding the stoical views to the contrary; at least
partakes of the character of a good. All these, however,
are frequent sources of error to the human mind, as he
proceeds to show.  Next he treats of the passions and
errors thence arising.  Passions differ from inclinations in
this, he holds: the latter to the soul as their object, the
former to the body. Passions are impressions of God on
us, which dispose us to love our body and seek its welfare.
Inclinations are impressions leading to the love, not of
body but of soul, as God, ourselves, our neighbors, etc.,
In all our passions there is a certain judgment of the
relation of objects to us, accompanied with a certain movement of soul corresponding thereto, as joy, sadness, desire.
He notices particularly, in this connection, the characteristic
feature of all our passions, viz., a certain satisfaction which
we take in being thus affected: the consent of the mind to,
and. its delight in being thus affected, even when the
passions are in themselves not of an agreeable nature.
Even in the emotion of grief or of anger we take pleasure.
The errors to which passion leads are next pointed out:
all summed up in this general one —they lead not to our
true good, but to that of the body merely; but the body is
not us; its good is not our true good-that is God only,
and union with God, which is truth.
In the last book, the author treats of method, and
gives various rules and observations on right reasoning.
lie takes the ground that all the forces of nature are only
the will of God in operation, and that what we call natural
causes are not in fact true causes at all, but only, as he
elsewhere expresses the same thing, occasional ones-causes




268               M ALEB RAN CH RE.
only in name; I" all that can be said is that they have the
power to do what God does by means of them, or rather
that they are for him only the occasions of producing
effects in consequence of laws which he has made for the
sake of executing his designs in a uniform and constant
manner."  "There is no relation of causality between a
body and a mind, much less between a mind and a body;
there is none indeed between one body and another, or
one mind and another. Neither body nor mind, then, are
causes of anything-they are only the occasions. Everything which happens must have a cause, however. What
can it be but God? " * (This is the very root and substance
of the school of modern theology, named from Emmons).
Such is the outline and general contents of this celebrated treatise, which contains, perhaps, the fullest development of the philosophy of Malebranche.
It will not be necessary, after this somewhat full analysis,
to go with any minuteness'into the examination of other
works of the author.  Sufficient to say that, as regards moral
philosophy, in common with all Cartesians, he makes the
will synonymous with desire or love; to will is to love, and
even liberty itself is but a form of love.  His treatise on
ethics consists of two parts: the one treats of virtue, the
other of duty. Virtue is the love of order. There is but
one order, and so but one virtue, or love of order. Order
is the relation of ideas among themselves, and as God is the
seat and substance of ideas and their relation, the love of
order is the love of God, and of those whom God would
have us love, i. e., our fellow-men.  But this love must be
free. dominant, habitual.  Virtue is thus at once science
and obedience.
He accounts for the existence of evil in the universe
as follows: " God desires positively the perfection of his
work, and wishes only indirectly the imperfection that pre* These extracts are from another work, the "Christian Meditations," but the same views aremaintained in the'" Inquiry after Truth. "




MALEB RANCHE.                     269
sents itself; he does the good and permits the evil, because
it is for the sake of the good that he has established natural
laws, and it is, on the contrary, only in consequence of these
natural laws that evil comes. He does the good, because
he wishes his work should be perfect; he does the evil, not
because positively and directly he wishes to do it, but
because he wishes that his mannmer of acting should be
simple and regular; " closely resembling the modern theory
of evil as incidental to the best possible system; indeed is
it not, substantially, the very same theory? " Malebranche, "
says Mackintosh, " is perhaps the first philosopher who has
precisely laid down, and rigidly adhered to the great principle, that virtue consists in pure intentions and dispositions
of mind, without which, actions, however conformable to
rules, are not truly moral; a truth of the highest importance, which, in the theological form, may be said to have
been the main principle of the first Protestant reformers.
The ground of piety, according to him, is the conformity
of the attributes of God to those moral qualities which we
irresistibly love and reverence.  "Sovereign princes," says
he. " have no right to use their authority without reason.
Even God has no such miserable right" (Hist. Eth. Phil.
p. 128). This of course presupposes the existence of moral
distinctions, and makes those distinctions, in fact, independent of Deity.  We are bound to love God, because his
character conforms to such and such moral qualities of
which we form a conception, and which we admire. Were
he otherwise, we were not bound to love him.  There are
such things as right and justice and goodness, and there
are ideas of them in our minds.  God conforms to these
ideas, possesses those attributes, therefore we are bound to
love him.
Such, in brief, the system of Malebranche.  How much
to choose between it and Spinoza's, as a system? Not m-uch,
as Cousin says.  By the doctrine of occasional causes, Malebranche takes away the efficacy of the human will, and




270                 L E I B:L  I T Z.
destroys human liberty and personality; while by his theory
of ideas and vision in God, he destroys all evidence of the
existence, all possibility of the independent reality of external things; thus both the soul and the mind are absorbed
in God. What is this but the pantheism and absolute unity
of Spinoza?
CHAPTER VI.
LEIBNITZ.
ONs the third of July, 1646, was born at Leipsic one of
the most remarkable men of the seventeenth century-one
of those great minds that seem destined by Providence to
take in at one glance all that has been previously made
known to man, to comprehend within the limits of one little
life the collective wisdom of past centuries, and not content with that, having quickly reached the bound and
farthest limit of human wisdom yet attained, to overleap
that line and push onward into regions hitherto unexplored
and dwell among yet undiscovered truths. Such minds
there are, one or two such in a century perhaps; two such,
at least, in the century named-Newton was one, such
another was Newton's great rival and contemporary, Leibnitz. Of the two, Newton's was perhaps the stronger
mind, Leibnitz's the more active and ready. Newton was
the more cool, cautious, patient thinker. Leibnitz the
more ardent explorer, the more general, comprehensive
scholar, the greater genius; Newton adhered more closely
to the one pursuit in which he was destined to make the
most brilliant discoveries. Leibnitz, conscious of no special
superiority in any one department of science, and confined
to no one either by nature or choice, ranged at will the
whole field of human knowledge, gathered rare flowers
wherever he wandered, and enriched with new discoveries




LEIBNITZ.                    271
whatever region he explored. Like Newton master of
mathematical science, and like him far in advance of all
other men in it, unlike him he was master also of law and
jurisprudence, as far outstripping the ablest proficients in
these sciences as he outstripped the ablest mathematicians
of Europe; unlike him he gave himself also to history, and
enriched that science with some of the most profound and
erudite treatises of which that age could boast; unlike
him he was master also of philosophy in the true sense of
that term, and created an era in the philosophical speculations of more than one country in Europe. Nor was he
less a theologian than a philosopher, and in whatever
department of human knowledge we follow him, whether
as mathematician, jurist, historian, philosopher, or theologian, we find him in each and all proficient, a master,
enlarging the borders and widening the fields of whatever
science he investigates; so that of him it may with truth
be said, whatever he touched he adorned.  Nor was Europe
unaware of his greatness-or ungrateful for his services.
He was loaded with honors and rewards, pensions and
decorations. Foreign courts and princes vied with each
other to do him homage.  In the earlier part of his literary career, while yet not so widely known to fame, he
attracted the notice of Baron Von Boineburg-by whom he
was recommended to the Elector of Mayence, and by
whose favor he was appointed Electoral Counsellor and
Chancellor of Justice. Afterward he found a friend and
patron in the Duke of Brunswick, who bestowed on him a
pension, with leave of foreign residence. After the death
of that nobleman, he was appointed historiographer to the
family and spent some years in collecting materials abroad,
for that work. The Elector of Brandenburg, afterward
Frederick I. of Prussia, seeks his advice and aid in establishing the Royal Academy of Sciences at Berlin, and
appoints him its first president. From the Emperor
Charles VI. he receives the dignities of Aulic Counsellor




272                  LEI BJ3 ITTZ.
and of Baron, with a pension of 2,000 florins. Even the
Czar Peter of Russia avails himself of the advice of so
wise a man respecting the improvement of his vast empire,
and in return confers on him a pension of 1,000 roubles.
Evidently then, we are not to think of this Leibnitz as one
of those retired and quiet men who in obscurity and poverty work out, unknown to fanle while living and honored
only when dead, the great problems of philosophy. He
stands in a very different relation to the men and events of
this busy world. Seldom indeed has man of letters and
science been more honored or more widely known while living
than Leibnitz. The reason of the phenomenon is, he was
a man of universal genius, of varied and vast attainmentsa speculator and philosopher, but not a speculative philosopher merely; a thinker and theorist, but not a theorist merely; not an impracticable man, but a man in contact with
other men, with the age —a man whose attainments, vast as
they were, were all available and of use to mankind, of use
in action and for the present time, and therefore nations
and kings gladly availed themselves of his labors.
In reading, Leibnitz devoured everything — nothing
came amiss, nothing escaped him. His mental activity was
almost without a parallel.  He spent days and nights in
succession in the most severe mental exertions, interrupted
with only now and then an hour or two of sleep, which
he frequently took in his chair. Nor was his memory
inferior to his mental activity.  What he once fairly grasped
was thenceforth his, and forever his.  Time rolled its successive waves upon the firm shore of that tenacious mind,
not as with other men to weaken and wash out little by
little the acquisitions of former years, but rather to deepen
and consolidate the impression already made upon it. In
his old age we hear him, in the intervals of toil, repeating
whole books of Virgil. His career as an author commenced
in early life, and continued till the late evening of his
days. He had already published a mathematical treatise,




LEIB NITZ.                    273
a dissertation on philosophy, and several legal treatises, at
the age of twenty. At sixty-four he gives to the world his
celebrated work on theology. Five years after, at the age
of sixty-nine, he publishes his essay on the Human Understanding.  These last were the fruits of his latest and most
mature thoughts.  He dies the year following (November
14, 1716), at the age of seventy. A life of such severe and
continued mental labor, embracing fifty years of active
authorship, is quite unusual, and constitutes not the least
remarkable feature in the history of this rare man. In
his habits he was frugal and temperate; in appearance a
thin, spare man, of medium height, with an habitual stoop
of the shoulders, of firm health, of pleasing countenance
and animated, lively manner of address, simple and easy
in his manners.  His hair, in early life black, was soon
turned white by toil, but his eyes continued strong and
capable of service to the last.  His style of living was
simple in the extreme, and his enemies charged him with
avarice. Of his domestic affairs he was totally negligent,
and was never married.  His monument-in form a Grecian temple-bears the simple inscription,  Ossa Leibnitii.
Such was the man-what now his philosophy? A follower in general, as you know, of Descartes, yet not a
blind follower of any system  or any master.  A Cartesian
in the main, and as regards the school in which he received
his training and first impulse; a Cartesian as to  his
general principles; yet it were hard to say, so fully did he
breathe his own spirit into that system  and so widely
modify it, whether he were more indebted to Cartesianism
or Cartesianism  to him.  Withal, unlike the founder of
that system, he was almost as much a Platonist as Cartesian. Of Grecian philosophy, and specially of the wisdom
of Plato, he drank early and copious draughts, nor did his
study and his admiration of that philosophy fall off as
he advanced in years. He was a Cartesian, yet he possessod one advantage which Descartes did not-that of
12'




274                  LEIBNITZ.
coming after Descartes, of coming forward at a period when
the system of that great master had attained its development, and had produced its legitimate fruits; when its
ultimate tendencies, as shown in Spinoza and Malebranche,
were obvious; when its renowned antagonists, and especially
Locke, were vigorously assailing it in its weakest points
and striving to build the edifice of speculative truth on
another foundation. Hence we are not surprised to learn that
a mind so sagacious and comprehensive as Leibnitz received
the system of Descartes only with essential modification, and
remodelled after the designs of his own creative genius.
We have no systematic development of the philosophy
of Leibnitz —no complete exposition of his system; yet
in his occasional treatises lie the germs of much of the
future philosophy of Germany and indeed of Europe and
the age.  "The mind of Leibnitz," says Morell, "was cast
in a gigantic mould, and formed by nature to tower above
the rest of the world around him. By virtue of this it was,
that like all great minds he cast his shadow before him,
and gave more pregnant suggestions in some of his cursory
writings than most other men could do in the combined
and systematic labor of their whole life."
At the basis of the Leibnitzian philosophy, we find this
general fundamental principle: that, in philosophy, as in
other sciences, there are certain grand first truths, necessary truths, not to be learned from experience, but grounded
in the soul itself, and resting on principles and proofs quite
independent of the testimony of sense. Upon this foundation rests whatever is peculiar to his system. Herein of
course lies the fundamental difference between him and
Locke. There is nothing in the understanding which was
not first in the sense, says Locke. Nothing but the understanding itself, says Leibnitz, the very power and faculty
of forming ideas; this surely is not derived from sense and
experience, this, at least, though not ideas themselves,
must be innate, and thence spring those necessary truths,




LEIBNITZ.                      275
those laws of the understanding, that are the primary
sources and elements of human knowledge.
Hence he stands midway between Locke and Descartes,
rejecting the innate ideas of the latter, and rejecting also
the sensational origin of all our ideas as maintained by the
former. This is the ground subsequently maintained and
systematically defended by Kant and his followers in
Germany, by Cousin and the eclectic idealists in France,
and now very generally regarded as the true ground with
respect to the origin of our knowledge; viz., that, while
much of our knowledge is doubtless derived from sense,
while ideas are not, strictly speaking, innate, nevertheless
there are certain necessary first truths, or laws of thought
and of the human mind, not derived from  experience, but
bedded in the framework of the soul itself, integral in its
nature and constitution, needing only the occasion afforded
by sense, needing only opportunity and circumstance, to call
them forth and to develop them in the consciousness.
Such are the ideas of time and space, e. g., as shown by
Cousin. Such are also, in fact, the first principles, or
necessary truths, of Reid and Stuart.
All philosophical truth, Leibnitz maintained, must be
deduced by analysis from the primary truths involved in
these necessary laws of the human understanding. The ideas
derived from the senses cannot serve as the starting point
and basis in such investigations, for the ideas thus derived
are confused, indistinct, uncertain. In this he agrees with
the old Grecian rationalists, the Eleatics, and also with Plato.
But how are we to distinguish the true and primitive
ideas from the false and sensuous? What tests or criteria
of truth? Not the Cartesian one of clearness, for that is
inadequate.  Instead of that, Leibnitz proposes as criteria
the two great principles on which, as he says, all our conclusions rest: that of contradiction, by which, as Aristotle
also held, we judge that to be false which involves contiradictory statements; and that of the sufficient reason,




~2 76                 LEIBNITZ.
which teaches that no assertion is true if no sufficient
reason can be given why it is true. The former is a test
of absolute and necessary truth, as, e. g., the mathematical
conceptions, which, to be true, need only come within the
range of possibilities. The latter principle is the test
of actual or real truths relating to contingent existence.
The absolute final cause or reason of all truth is God.
In another respect, Leibnitz stands apart from the Cartesian ranks. We have seen that it was the tendency of
that school, in its exaltation of the infinite, the great first
cause, to lose sight of all inferior and secondary causes-of
all activity in nature-in fine, as seen in Spinoza and Malebranche, to resolve all things into Deity, and lose sight of
nature itself in one great object of thought, of whose grand
existence all phenomena were but modes.  Leibnitz perceived this tendency and set himself to counteract it, to
bring back to its true place in the system the idea of activity in nature. " The capital error of the Cartesians," he
says, " is that they have placed the whole essence of matter
in extension and impenetrability, imagining that bodies
can be in absolute repose; we shall show that one substance cannot receive from any other the power of acting,
but that the whole force is preexistent in itself."  This,
as Morell justly remarks, is the key to all that is peculiar
in the system of Leibnitz.
In particular it explains, as it seems to me, the monadology of his system, so often ridiculed, so seldom understood.  How shall we account for the phenomena of nature
that are continually passing around us, inquires this close
observer; not by the principle of extension. That would
give us matter without change or alteration, no movement,
no development, such as we see constantly in nature.
There must be some fundamental attribute of matter, giving rise to all these changes-an inherent power in substance itself; how else can you account for the phenomena
in question? unless indeed you take the ground that they




LEIBN ITZ.                    277
are immediately and  directly produced by the divine
power.  If there is, then, as it would seem, some inherent force, or activity, or power, in matter, where does it
reside? Not in compound substances or masses, for these
are infinitely divisible, and every essential attribute is
independent of such combinations. Beneath these compound masses, some uncompound, simple substances must
exist as the ground of the compound-exist though not
recognized by sense.  In the process of the infinite division
of the composite mass, we reach eventually a point where
every material property vanishes; we get down to zero,
the limit of extension, and there remains only the simple
idea of power or force as the basis of all existence. This
substance simple and uncompound, underlying all compound masses, this simple element of force, the basis of
existence, is what Leibnitz terms monad.
The monad being immaterial, unextended, indivisible,
is subject of course to no external or foreign influence,
and whatever changes take place in it, take place in consequence of an inherent energy in the monad itself, by
which it has the power to modify and develop itself. The
monad is indissoluble, and therefore imperishable.  Each
monad differs in its qualities from all others, for no two
things are ever exactly alike. He specifies four distinct
classes: i, Those which compose material objects —not
self-conscious, manifesting only physical qualities; 2, Those
which form the souls of beasts, having an indistinct consciousness; 3, Those which compose the souls of men,
having a clear and distinct consciousness; and finally,
4, God the original, absolute, eternal monad, the Monas
Monadum, the origin of all knowledge and all being. All
finite beings are aggregates of monads. Different monads
have no direct influence on each other. But yet the
internal changes of each monad are such as to agree with
the corresponding changes in the monads with which it is
immediately connected. This is effected by the Divine




278                  LEIB NITZ.
wisdom and power in the first constitution of the several
monads, and the arrangement by which this agreement
is effected he denotes by the term preestablished harmony.
He is led to this doctrine in this way. It was an old
maxim of the philosophers that like only can act on like,
i. e., that things wholly unlike in their nature can exert
no reciprocal influence on each other. But the monads of
body and those of mind are wholly unlike. Mind and
matter, then, can have no influence on each other. How
then do they have any union or co-action? This is
brought about by the divine power and skill in so constituting and arranging them that they shall correspond and work
together in complete unison. This harmony is preestablished-hence the term, all things are pre-formed, and from
eternity. He who produces them perceives in them, as
resulting from their nature, all their future movements.
Hence the harmony of all things, of the past and the
future, of the divine decree and human conduct.
It is evident that from this system there proceeds, as by
natural and inevitable consequence, the doctrine of philosoyhical necessity in all its purity and depth.  The only
kind of liberty consistent with this preestablished constitution and harmony of all things, is liberty to do that
which actually is done-that, and nothing else. The only
point remaining worthy of special notice, in the philosophy of Leibnitz is his celebrated doctrine of optimism,
which is developed in his Theodicea, or treatise on theology.
The object of this treatise more especially is, to defend
the wisdom  of the Creator against the charges brought
against it on the score of the existence of evil in the universe. The position assumed is, that of all possible worlds
an infinite number of which are possible, God has actually chosen the very best. Everything which is, however
imperfect, in itself considered, is still, all things considered,
and in its relation to all things, the very best possible.
Hence the name, optimism, given to this doctrine and the




LE I BN I TZ.                279
system framed upon it. According to this system the
existence of evil is no argument against the supreme wisdom and benevolence, for metaphysical evil-from  which
natural and moral evil, or suffering and sin, necessarily
result-is only the necessary limitation, or imperfection,
inherent in, and pertaining to the nature of things. Moral
evil is based on the premise of human freedom, or the
choice we have of one among many acts, all of which are
physically possible. The future is indeed determined, and
all the actions of men; yet man is ignorant of that future
and of that determination, and acts only according to
reason and preference. From various causes he choses oft
that which is ill-hence moral evil, or sin; yet in the end
even this shall prove for the best as regards the whole, and
every being, however imperfect, and every act and event,
however evil in itself, shall contribute as a necessary part
to the perfection of the whole.
The close correspondence of this system with the theological tenet, that sin is the necessary means of the
greatest good, and also with the theology of a more infallible standard, which asserts that all things work together
for good to them that love God, is too obvious to require
statement.
The system of Leibnitz as now explained, was somewhat modified subsequently by its most distinguished
adherent and disciple, Christian Wolf, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. He supplied what was
previously wanting, a clear, connected, methodical form,
modifying somewhat the doctrine of monads, drawing a
broader line of distinction between matter and mind, and
limiting the preestablished harmony to the mutual relations
of soul and body, rather than to monads in general, and
applying to the whole a strictly mathematical method, he
first gave the whole system a complete scientific form.
The whole province of philosophy with him consists of
two parts, theoretical and practical.  The former comprises




280                  I o 1  B3E S.
logic proper, and metaphysics, which latter includes ontology,
psychology, cosmology, and natural theology.  Practical
philosophy comprises ethics, the law of nature, and politics.
Thus improved, the system found its way into most of the
universities of Europe and held sway predominant for the
first half of the eighteenth century.
CHAPTER VII.
HOBBES.
THE manifest tendency of the Baconian doctrines was
to give undue prominence to natural philosophy and to
physical science generally, greatly at the expense of mental
and moral philosophy, which, whether by design or not, yet
in fact and almost inevitably, were thrown into the background. Nothing in human knowledge was held of much
importance or considered as fully reliable which was not
based on processes and investigations purely experimental.
The empirical element preponderated over every other,
and the ultimate tendency and final result was of course decidedly in the direction of a wide-sweeping and thorough sensationalism. The practical lesson learned by the wisdom of
the age from this master teacher was to fall back ultimately,
and as the only safe method, upon the testimony and experience of the senses as the main if not the only sound and sure
basis of knowledge. The master left the age and his disciples
little more than a new and a true method. It was for them to
apply it and discover results. Many arose to do this in the department of natural and physical research. One man alone, a
warm admirer of the Baconian doctrines, appeared, to apply
the empirical method to the investigation of mental and moral
science. This man was Thomas Iobbes, the philosopher
of Malmesbury, one of the most distinguished writers of the
seventeenth century.  He was born April 5, 1588, in the




ROBBE S.                    281
borough of AMalmesbury.  After studying at Oxford, and
making the tour of France and Italy in company with the
son of Lord Hardwicke, he spent several years in the family
of that nobleman as secretary. Here he formed the acquaintance of Lord Bacon, Lord Herbert, and Ben Jonson, and
subsequently at Paris and Pisa, during a tour to the continent, he became acquainted with Gassendi and Galileo.
Returning to England he fixed his residence at Chatsworth.
The prospect of political troubles soon drove him to Paris,
where he resided during the wars of the revolution, and
where he published most of his works.  He was employed
to teach Prince Charles (Charles II.) the elements of mathematical science. Returning to England he was kindly
received by the Devonshire family, with whom he passed
the remainder of his life, employed mostly in writing upon
philosophical and political subjects. A treatise, in 1650, on
Human Nature, and another, in 1658, on Man, in which he
treats of the moral and intellectual faculties, are his principal philosophical writings. But the work on which his fame
chiefly rests is the Leviathan, 1651, in which he treats of
the matter, form, and power of a commonwealth, ecclesiastical and civil, which work greatly alarmed the ecclesiastics,
and excited no little ferment in England.  It was severely
censured in Parliament sixteen years after its publication;
so great was the disapprobation with which it was generally regarded.
His other literary labors were a translation of the Iliad
and Odyssey, which passed through three editions in ten
years, and a History of the Civil Wars, which did not appear
till after his death. After the restoration, Hobbes was
received with favor by the King, who gave him a pension
of 100 pounds per annum from his privy purse. He
died, December 4, 1679, at Hardwicke, a seat of the Earl
of Devonshire, at the age of 91.*
* See amusing account of his personal habits, especially his smoking-Sydney Smith's Sketches of Moral Philosophy, pp. 365-366.




28f2                  HOE o B E S.
Perhaps no writer, unless it be Spinoza, has been more
generally caluminated than the philosopher of Malmesbury.
By some he is regarded as a dangerous man; by others as
a shallow and superficial man. His influence has never
been great, owing to the fear which has been entertained
of his doctrines. Yet that very fear is a tribute to his
strength, and proclaims him anything but a weak and
shallow  writer.  "Impartial minds," says Lewes, "will
always rank Hobbes among the greatest writers England
has produced; and by writers we do not simply mean
masters of language but masters of thought. He is profound and he is clear, weighty, and sparkling. His style, as
mere style, is in its way as fine as anything in English; it
has the clearness as well as the solidity and brilliancy of
crystal" (Hist. Phil. ii. 495).
He is, in a word, one of those cool, collected, resolute
thinkers, who in their search after truth are startled by no
consequences, turned back by no results, but keep on in
close pursuit of the game with all the tenacity and perseverance of the hound upon the track of the stately deer. The
world at large is too lazy to keep up with such runners, too
timid to follow at such a rate, a leisurely walk or jogtrot is the most it can venture, and it must be a tame and
slow-footed animal that shall allow itself to be fairly overtaken in such a race.
We by no means intend by this, however, to approve
the recklessness of such a writer as Hobbes, or to vindicate
his conclusions.
The main features of his philosophy may be thus
sketched. Bacon had relied upon experience as the main
source of knowledge. Upon this ground Hobbes takes his
stand, and so develops the principle as to make sensation
the real basis of all knowledge and all thought. Hence
the material tendency of his philosophy. By sensation
we perceive only what is material, and as sensation is the
source of all our knowledge, hence matter is the only




HOBBES.                     283
reality, and what we perceive or think, we perceive as
existing-what exists to us-is part of the material universe.
Our sensation is the standard and criterion of all truth
and reality. We have then to do simply with bodies in our
search after the truth; we can know nothing else. This is
the substance of philosophy, its aim and province, to teach
the doctrine and phenomena of bodies, regarded as to their
existence and their changes. Under the term bodies, however, he includes mind or soul. He divides all bodies into
natural and political; including under the former the physical and mathematical sciences, psychology, logic, etc. Our
ideas or thoughts, he holds to be each a " representation or
appearance of some quality or other accident of a body
without us, which is commonly called an object, which
object worketh on the eyes, ears, and other parts of a man's
body, and by diversity of working produceth diversity of
appearances. The original of them all is that which we
call sense. For there is no conception in a man's mind,
which hath not at first totally or by parts been begotten
upon the organs of sense. The rest are derived from
that original."
According to this view of things, the mind seems to be
wholly natural in its nature; and the phenomena of consciousness are the natural and immediate result of our
physical organization.  "All the qualities called sensible,"
he says, " are in the object that causeth them but so many
several motions of the matter by which it presseth on our
organs diversely. ]Neither in us that are pressed are they any
else but diverse motions. Every operation of the mind is
but a transformed sensation, and sensation itself is simply
the effect of material objects around us pressing on the
organs of sense and on that material organization within,
viz., the mind.
Hobbes divides the faculties of the mind into two
classes; cognitive, imaginative, or conceptive; and motive.
There are in our minds continually, "certain images or




284                  EHO B B E S.
conceptions of the things without."  We call this imagery
or representation "our conception, imagination, ideas,"
of the external things.  The faculty or power by which
we can form this conception or knowledge, is what he
means by the conception or conceptive faculty.
While sense, however, furnishes our conceptions, those
conceptions, or sensations, do not correspond to any external qualities of bodies; on the contrary, the sensible qualities of bodies are but modifications of our own sentient
being. This was also the doctrine of Descartes.
The imagination, according to Hobbes, is the result of the
gradual ceasing of that motwon or movement, by which sensation is produced; in consequence of which diminished movement the impression becomes fainter and fainter.  " Imagination, therefore, is nothing but decaying sense." Byimagination he means simply the faculty of forming images-the
primitive sense of the term.  He likens this decaying sense
to the gradual going down of the waves after a storm.  The
cause of this decay or diminution of the sensible impression,
is not the absolute decay of the motion made in sense,
but the impulse of some succeeding and stronger motion, by
which the former is obscured, as the stars go out in appearance, when the stun rises. Memory and imagination are the
same things essentially under different names; memory
denoting, not the thing itself, the decaying sense which he
turns imagination, but rather the character of it, as something fading and past.
Hobbes gets a glimpse, though indistinct, of the great
law of association of ideas: "When a man thinketh on any
subject, his next thought is not altogether so casual as it
seems to be. Not every thought to every thought succeeds
indifferently." The reason why one follows another he
says is this: All our ideas or images are motions in us,
relics of those made in sense, and the motions that followed
each other in sense follow each other in imagination or
thought also, so that when the former come again to mind




HO B B E S.                  285
or occur, the latter follow  them, just as water upon a
plain table is drawn which way any one part of it is
guided by the finger." This train or succession of thoughts
he divides into two sorts: that which is spontaneous, unguided, as in men untrained to reflection; and that which
is the result of, or modified by our voluntary effort.
We cannot imagine the infinite, says Hobbes, cannot
conceive it; can imagine or conceive only what is within
the sphere of sense. Of the infinite we can form an idea
only by faith.
Language is, with Hobbes, a very important thing.
Without it society would have been impossible, and the
simplest mathematical truths indiscoverable.  Our original
knowledge is from  sensation, but we use words to denote
the things thus known, and these words we form into propositions.  Understanding is the faculty that perceives the
relation between words and things, and affords us thus
another and secondary sort of knowledge. Truth and falsehood are only the agreement or disagreement of words
among themselves.
Reasoning is merely a numerical calculation, involving
and consisting in the processes of addition and subtraction,
words being the figures used. Error in reasoning arises
only from using the wrong words or figures, or a want of
proper definition of terms.
The ethics of Hobbes correspond to his psychology.
As thought is only transformed sensation, so good and evil
are only other expressions for pleasure and pain. Nothing
is in itself either good or evil simply and absolutely, but
only as they affect us. Our duties practically, then, are
simply to avoid the disagreeable, and seek the pleasurable,
and as we cannot be otherwise affected than we are by the
agreeable and the disagreeable, our volitions or desires
are consequently determined by motives external, so that
we are creatures of irresistible necessity.  The  active
powers and faculties of the soul are simply our desires or




28 6                   HOBBES.
wants.  The will is the ultimate or final desire.  The end
of all our desires and wants is pleasure. This is, then, the
true destiny of man, his law of action, the chief of all his
rights and all his duties.
From this results his theory of civil polity. As good
and evil are simply pleasure and pain, and nature teaches
to desire the one and shun the other, man is by nature
inclined, and instructed, to do whatever will secure and
promote the greatest degree of personal enjoyment, irrespective of his fellow men.  Whatever tends to this is
reasonable and lawful. Right is the liberty of employing
our natural powers agreeably to reason, and reason teaches
to do whatever can be done to promote our own enjoyment.
In other words, might makes right. But this would bring
man constantly into collision with his fellows-for they are
all equal; have equally the same law of self-preservation
and self-enjoyment. Hence war is the natural state of
man, each against his fellow. This, however, is found to be
not for the highest welfare of all concerned. It is the end
of repose and security and tranquil enjoyment. Self-defence is continually necessary against the encroachments
of the more powerful. Hence to secure the highest attainable good, men league together for mutual defence and
security —and so originates the civil compact, in which the
individual merges some private rights in the public organization, and resigns part of his natural power or right into
the hands of others. Thus begins society as organizedthe state; the tribe; the city-in a word, governmnent.
It would follow from this, that if any one is powerful
enough he may do what he likes, and it is all right.
Cousin very well objects that allforce claims pretence
of justice and piety. But why so if mere force is of itself
sufficient to justify?  He farther argues against this
scheme that whatever may have been the primitive state of
man we are not of necessity to take that as the criterion
and standard of judgment in such cases.  A state of bar



H OB B ES.                   287
barism may have been the primitive state of man, and out
of this may have sprung the beginning of human government. But it is not therefore the true foundation and reason and basis on which law and society are built, nor the,
standard by which we are to measure them.
As the design of human government, according to
iHobbes, is to keep in check the lawless and aggressive desires of the individual, otherwise destructive of the interests
of his fellows, so that government is the best, answers best
the end of government, which keeps man most completely
in check-in other words, which is strongest.  Such is an
absolute monarchy,-the perfection of all government; and
law, morals, and religion ought to be subject to its undisputed and irresistible sway.
We can hardly wonder that such a system met with
strong opposition and awakened no inconsiderable alarm.
Mr. Hallam thus sums up his estimate of the philosophy
now detailed: " The political system of Hobbes, like his
moral system, of which in fact it is only a portion, sears
up the heart.  It takes away the sense of wrong that has
consoled the wise and good in their dangers, the proud
appefal of innocence under oppression, like that of Prometheus to the elements, uttered to the witnessing world, to
coming ages, to the just ears of heaven. It confounds the
principles of moral approbation, the notions of good and ill
desert, in a servile idolatry of the monstrous Leviathan it
creates, and after sacrificing all right at the altar of power,
denies to the Omnipotent the prerogative of dictating the
laws of his own worship " (Literatuco of Europe, vol. iii. p.
176). Such is Hobbesism. Would Bacon have sanctioned
it? By no means. Yet, as Morell justly observes, the germ
of it is in the Baconian philosophy.




288                   LOC   E.
CHAPTER VIII.
LOCKE.
THE opinions of Hobbes excited no little alarm in England and awoke no little controversy. Some sought to
oppose those doctrines in one way and some in another,
but everywhere they were the object of attention and discussion. The most distinguished opponents of that system
were Lord Herbert, Richard Cumberland, bishop of Peterborough, and Ralph Cudworth, the well known author of
thie " Intellectual System of the Universe," a true Platonist
in philosophy. While this discussion and conflict were
going on, a company of Oxford students met one day at
the rooms of one John Locke, of the university. They
discussed and wrangled, but to little purpose as regards
the elucidation of truth, and the problems which they
sought to solve. It occurred to one of them that that were
pursuing a wrong method, and that, instead of analyzing
things themselves, it were better to begin the search with
investigating the mind itself, to know what it car and
what it cannot comprehend. From that occurrence dates,
the first idea and origin of a work which has awakened
more thought, and received more attention probably, than
any metaphysical treatise, since the days of Aristotle, viz.,
the "Essay on the Human Understanding."  Its author
was by no means, however, a mere metaphysican. He
carried his philosophical genius and acumen into the
science of government, political economy, and religion.
His name and authority, as Cousin has well said, fill the
eighteenth century.
John Locke was born at Wrington, not far from
Bristol, August 29, 1632. His father took part in the
political disturbances of 1640, and served as captain in the




LOK CE.                    289
Parliamentary army under Colonel Popham. To this
officer young Locke was indebted for an introduction to
the College of Westminster, -at London, where he stayed
till he was nineteen or twenty, and then went to Oxford.
It is not improbable that these early family associations
had something to do with that devotion to civil and religious liberty which breathes in all the writings and pervaded the spirit of John Locke.  Oxford was then, as
now, attached to the past; worshipped antiquity, gave
itself to the scholastic philosophy; had little sympathy
with the age and the busy world. Locke, whose cast of
mind was eminently practical, had little sympathy with
that spirit and that philosophy, and consequently paid
little attention to those studies that were chiefly in vogue
there, but sought a more congenial pursuit in the study of
medicine and the classics. Feeble health prevented him
from the practice of medicine, nor, indeed did he ever
take the title, yet he seems to have attained some distinction in it as a science. The culture of this science, and of
the kindred natural sciences, seems to have developed in
him a habit and love of close observation, which were in
truth the best foundation and training, for those still
higher pursuits in which he was chiefly to distinguish
himself. He continued at Oxford, it would seem, till
1664, when he accompanied William Swan, as secretary,
to the court of Berlin. Returning at the end of a year to
Oxford, he met for the first time with one who was to
exert an important influence on his future fortunes,
Anthony Ashley Cooper, first Earl of Shaftesbury. This
nobleman was in ill-health, and meeting with Locke as a
medical adviser, discovered in him  more than ordinary
abilities, and formed a strong personal attachment to him.
The skill of Locke detected the true nature of his disease,
and aided him to regain health. The two remained firm
friends ever after.  Shaftesbury was not ungrateful.  The
fortunes of his friend were linked thenceforth with his own.
13




290                   LOCgIE.
Nor is it a little to the credit of this ambitious and brilliant man, that in his subsequent political career he
remained faithful to his earlier friendship, and that he
continued not only to treat Locke with due regard, but
that he held so high a place in the esteem and regard of so
good and truth-loving a man as John Locke. It was
Shaftesbury who first discovered the ability and worth of
Locke, drew him forth from his retirement in Oxford, and
introduced him to the brilliant circles of literary society in
London-to such men as Lord Halifax, the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Northumberland, the Earl of Pembroke, and others. In 1668, Locke was chosen a member
of the Royal Society of Sciences. When Shaftesbury became High Chancellor in 1672, he gave Locke an honorable and important office, that of secretary of presentation
to benefices. One year, however, sees them both out of
office, both in again in 1679, only to see them out again
shortly after. Shaftesbury is now banished from England,
and dies in Holland, in 1683, whither his faithful friend
had followed him. No man had done more than Shaftesbury to bring back Charles II. to the throne, yet he incurred the displeasure of that fickle and ungrateful
monarch, and so fully did Locke share that displeasure,
that in his retreat in Holland, Charles cuts him off from
the list of members of Oxford, and even demands his
person as implicated in the Monmouth conspiracy. It was
only through the kindness of friends that Locke escaped
being given up as a malefactor. It was in Holland that
he wrote his first philosophical treatises and finished his
greatest work-the Essay on the Human Understanding,
although it was not published till after his return to England.  The revolution of 1688, which brought in a different dynasty, enabled Locke to return to London, where
he was received with every mark of favor. William gave
him his confidence, and in turn Locke wrote much and
did much to strengthen the hands of the governing power.




LOCKE.                     291
He was appointed to a responsible and lucrative office, but
was obliged by failing health to resign.  He retired to
private life and seclusion, passed his remaining years in
peaceful retirement in Oates, at the house of his friend
Lady Masham, daughter of Dr. Cudworth, where he died,
October 28S, 1704, aged 72.
In private life and personal character Locke was justly
esteemed by all as a man of accomplished manners, strict
and unbending integrity, a faithful friend, an upright and
amiable man. As an author his fame is coextensive with
the English language. No writer on philosophical subjects has probably exerted so wide and lasting an influence
on the thinking mind, not of England only but of all
Europe.  His  name is justly regarded as one of the
brightest ornaments of English literature and science, and
of the seventeenth century. His system has been severely
assailed; it has become fashionable within the present
century to speak lightly and with disparagement of his
philosophy; his influence is by no means what it once
was; but it will be long ere those who know anything of
the history of philosophy, or have any respect for the opinions and great minds of the past, will pronounce with other
than profound respect the name of John Locke.
The plan of the Essay on the Human Understanding
seems to have been conceived as early as 1670, but it was
not until his exile in Holland that he found leisure to write
out and complete the work, and it was not published until
1690, after his return. It was written consequently, not
in consecutive efforts, but, as he says, "by incoherent
parcels, and after long intervals of neglect resumed again as
my humor or occasions permitted, and at last in retirement
where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was
brought into that order thou now seest it."  He further
informs us that when he first put pen to paper, he thought
all he should have to say on this subject would have been
contained in one sheet, but that the further he went the




292                    Lo C KE,
larger prospect he had, new discoveries still leading him
on till his work "grew insensibly to the bulk it now
appears in" (Epistle to the Reader. Essay, vol. i. p. 23).
This fact will account, perhaps, for the somewhat disconnected character of the several parts of the work; for some
inconsistencies which appear in it; for the variation in the
use of terms and the different significations with which
the same terms are variously employed in different parts
of the treatise. He not only wrote at different times, but
his views doubtless changed in many respects as he went
on. He learned as he wrote. His system did not lie complete in his mind's eye when he first began.  Hence he is
far from precision and unvarying exactness in the use of
terms or even complete consistency.  Stewart conjectures
with some reason that the fourth and last book was
the first in order of composition, as it contains the leading
thoughts of the work, as they first presented themselves
probably to the author's mind when he began to reflect on
the subject, while it refers but seldom to the preceding
parts of the Essay. The third book, on language, its
nature, use and abuse, seems to have been an afterthought.
The chapter on association of ideas and that on Enthusiasm, were not added, indeed, until the fourth edition.
The first and second books are of a more abstract nature,
and probably, as Stewart suggests, opened gradually on the
author's mind as he advanced in his work and in years.
Of these books Stewart says that while they are inferior in
point of general utility to the two last, 1" I do not hesitate
to consider them as the richest contribution of well observed
and well-described facts which was ever bequeathed to this
branch of science by a single individual; and as the indisputable (though not always acknowleged) source of some
of the most refined conclusions with respect to the intellectual phenomena which have been since brought to light by
succeeding inquirers."
The same author very justly remarks with respect to




LOCKE.                      293
the style of the essay, " that it resembles that of a welleducated and well-informed man of the world, rather than
a recluse student who had made an object of the art of
composition," and he thinks this circumstance may have
contributed not only to the popularity of the work, but to
the design he had in view, of turning public attention to
this class of subjects.  Shaftesbury, who severely criticises
the system, says notwithstanding, that no one has done
more toward the recalling of philosophy from barbarity into
use and practice of the world, and into the company of the
better and politer sort, who might well be ashamed of it
in its other dress. No one has opened a better and clearer
way to reasoning."
It was not so much the clearness and elegance of the
style, however, as it was the author's well-known character
and celebrity as a firm and tried and earnest advocate of
civil and religious liberty, that contributed to the general
interest with which the work was received on its first
publication.  Four editions were printed in ten years,
and in a subsequent impression the author refers to the
sixth edition, so that the work passed through seven editions at least in the fourteen years preceding his death.
The thirteenth edition had been issued as early as 1748.
Soon after its first publication the work was translated
into French, and though Descartes was preeminent
in France and Holland, and Leibnitz in Germany, still
Locke found not a few to appreciate and admire him,
and his work gradually gained great influence on the
continent. In his own country, while Oxford denied him
a place on the roll of her members, and his book a place
in her halls, Cambridge on the other hand bestowed on
him an admiration little short of idolatry. The result
of this rapid and wide circulation soon showed itself in
the remarkable change which manifested itself in the
philosophic writing and thinking of England, and to
a great degree of the continent. It led men to make use




294                    LOCKE.
of their own reason to a degree they had never before
done.  Indeed this is the characteristic featuire of the
essay, in the opinion of Mr. Stewart, and to this general
effect of his writings in leading men to think and reason
for themselves, he supposes the essay is chiefly indebted
for its immense influence on the philosophy of the eighteenth century.
But it is time to inquire what was the philosophy of
Locke. If we were to look for some one principle that
should be regarded as the foundation of his system, doubtless it would be this, that it is useless to inquire into the
great and hidden problems of philosophy, before we have
first explored the human mind itself, and learned its nature,
capacity, and powers; that psychology must first be understood before ontology; that the proper method and true
instruments of investigation in this science, are observation
and consciousness; the basis of all our knowledge respecting it, experience.  In this brief outline of the system, this
ground-plan of it, we recognize at once the Baconian spirit
and method, substituting experiment and observation in
place of speculation and conjecture and theory.
Locke's great object and merit, as Tennemann remarks,
was " the investigation of the origin, reality, limits and uses
of knowledge." The ultimate source of all our knowledge is
experience, which, however, is twofold in its channelssensation and reflection. The latter term he uses to denote
the perception of the operations of our minds, and speaks
of it in one place as a kind of internal sense. Hence his
system, built as it would seem to be, on sensation in great
ameasure, is usually denominated-with what propriety we
&hall presently inquire-sensational or (in the philosophic
sense of the term) sensual. Our ideas are of two kinds:
simple, such as solidity, space, extension, figure, number, motion, existence, time, power, etc.; and  comJpomnd, deduced from  the simple ones by some mental
process, as comparison, abstraction, etc.  Such are our




LOCK E.                     295
ideas of accident, substance, relation, etc. (Book ii. chap. 2).
The doctrine of innate ideas, as held by Descartes and
others, he rejects.  Of our simple ideas, some represent
primary qualities, as extension, solidity, figure, number,.
etc. some secondary, as color, sound, scent, etc. (chap. viii.
~~7, 9, 10).
The ideas of primary qualities are resemblances of what
really exist in bodies, but the ideas we have of secondary
qualities have no such resemblance.  "There is nothing
like our ideas existing in the bodies themselves," but " only
a power to produce those sensations in us " (Book ii. chap.
viii. ~15). Our knowledge, so far as regards this part of it,
is wholly subjective.  There is no conceivable connection
between these qualities of bodies, and the effects produced
on us by them; they have no affinity at all with those
ideas they produce in us. We know them only by experience, and can reason about them only as incomprehensible
effects produced by the Creator. (As regards both primary
and secondary qualities, however, and all other objects of
knowledge, all that we immediately know, all that we can in
fact know or contemplate, is not things themselves, but only
our own ideas.  These are the real objects of our knowledge).
There are two or three points requiring more careful
investigation in connection with this system as now briefly
sketched.  One is the use which Locke makes of the term
reflection, what he means by it and whether or not it really
introduces an element or source of knowledge altogether
distinct from sensation. Another is as to the sense in which
he uses the term idea, whether to denote something distinct from the mind in operation, or not.
Another question of importance relates to the correctness of his views of the origin of our ideas, whether they
are all capable of being traced to sensation or not, or even
to sensation and reflection; more than that, whether the
question of -the origin of our ideas is a right and proper
question to be entertained in psychology.




296                    LO CK E.
All these are disputed points, on most of them the dispute has been warm and long protracted, and according to
the view taken of them is the view one takes of Locke's
system as a whole. As to the first question, Locke's use of
the term reflection. It is contended by many of his critics,
especially Cousin, that Locke really reduces all our knowledge to sensation, that reflection, as he uses the term, introduces no new element of knowledge, that it changes
not the character of the objects on which it is employed,
that, after all, we have to do on this system only with
sensible phenomena.  They charge him, accordingly, with
overlooking a very important class of our conceptions,
those of reason, or rather with omitting entirely that
important function, and asigning its office to reflection.
This is the view generally taken of Locke by continental
writers. They persist in regarding him a mere sensationalist, and class him in the same category with Hobbes and
Gassendi, who had preceded, and with Condillac, Diderot,
and Condorcet, who, professing to be his disciples and followers, carried out his principles to the extreme of materialism. The position of Locke is doubtless unfortunate in
placing hin thus on either side in immediate contiguity
with avowed sensationalists, especially as on one side they
profess to derive their views and principles from him.
That he himself held these views or would allow himself to
be. classed with that school-notwithstanding the high
authority of Leibnitz and Cousin, and the Germans, and
even of those French metaphysicians who avow themselves
as his disciples while they teach materialism —is, after all,
very doubtful.  Mr. Stewart, in his first dissertation, has
been at considerable pains to show that this view is quite
incorrect, that Locke is by no means a sensationalist.
Lewes, himself a sensationalist but an admirer of Locke,
also takes this view. But let us inquire of Locke himself.
"The other fountain," he says, "from  which experience
furnisheth the understanding with ideas, is the perception




LOCKE.                      297
of the operations of our own minds within us; as it is employed about the ideas it has got; which operations, when
the soul comes to reflect on and consider, do furnish the
understanding with another set of ideas, which could not
be had from things without; and such are perception,
thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing,
and all the different actings of our own minds, which we,
being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do from
these receive into our understandings ideas as distinct as
we do from bodies affecting our senses. This source of
ideas every man has wholly in himself, and though it be not
sense, as having nothing to do with external objects, yet it
is very like it, and might properly enough be called
internal sense.  But as I call the other sensation so I call
this reflection, the ideas it affords being such only as the
mind gets by reflecting on its own operations within itself"
(Book ii. ch. i. ~4). Plainly enough, then, Locke does
mean to make our knowledge of twofold origin.  He does
not intend to trace it all to sensation.  Plainly enough also,
by reflection he means the attentive consideration of what
passes in our own minds, of our own mental operationsin other words, consciousness.  But now  the question
arises, whether reflection, as thus defined, does, after all,
furnish us a new source of ideas, whether, as regards the
nmaterial of thought, it really adds anything to what sensation furnishes, or simply busies itself with observing what
the mind is about as it works over and makes use of these
materials. This is the main question. It is very well
stated and very closely pressed by Morell and Cousin.
They argue with considerable clearness and force that,
according to this view, the operations of the mind, which
it is the province of reflection to observe, being employed
only about sensible things, do not and cannot of themselves
add anything to the materials on which they operate, so
that the senses, after all, are the sole'inlet of our ideas,
and ultimate source of all our knowledge.  Yes, Locke
13*




298                    LOCKE.
would say, they are so, as regards all our knowledge of the
sensible world, but not of all our knowledge, for we know
some things that are not sensible, we know mind. Those
operations, as Locke analyzes them, about which reflection
is conversant, are perception, retention, discernment, comparison, composition, abstraction, all of which evidently
employ themselves with such ideas as are already in the
mind, such materials of thought as they find ready at hand,
which materials he is ready to admit are furnished by sensation. It does not follow, however, that by reflection,
after all, we come into possession of no new material of
thought other than what is furnished by the senses, for
manifestly we do gain this knowledge at least, the simple
consciousness that we have such and such faculties, i. e., the
knowledge of the ME, in distinction from  the NOT MS,, and
this, certainly a most important addition to our stores of
knowledge, this knowledge of the mind's own faculties
seems to me all that Locke intended to bring in under the
term  reflection.  Is he then a pure sensationalist?  Certainly not. The external world is not the only thing we
know, not the only source and origin of ideas to us.
What else do we know? We know our own mental faculties.  How do we know these? By observation of their
operations, i. e., by reflection.
There is the great sensible world without, matter, that
we know by sensation. There is the little conscious world
within-mind-that we know by reflection.  These two are
the sources of our knowledge. So he says himself, " External
objects furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities;
and the mind furnishes the understanding with ideas of its
own operations." Nothing can be plainer. Of these two, indeed, he contends, that we know the latter much better than
the former, mind better than body, more clearly, exactly,
certainly, definitely; no materialist. Locke admits, however,
that ideas of sensation are those first awakened in the mind;




LO C K E.                  299
that reflection comes in at a later period, which of course
all must admit.
We pass now to the inquiry, in what sense does Locke
use the term idea. Reid attributes to him the long-received
opinion that ideas are a sort of independent and real existences, something intermediate between the mind and
external objects, something distinct from the mind itself,
not a modification of the mind, not the mind thus and thus
affected, or thus and thus acting or thinking, but a tertium
quid, representing to the mind whatever extrinsic to itself
becomes the object of its knowledge, the doctrine, in a word,
of the ancient peripatetics, and of all subsequent philosophy
down to the time of Reid himself. Brown denies that
Locke, or in fact any modern philosopher, held any such
view, and denies to Reid the credit of overthrowing this
doctrine.  But Brown is unquestionably in the wrong,
and entirely so, in this. Beyond all doubt Locke was a
representationist in his theory of knowledge, a hypothetical
realist, not a natural realist. Ideas with him represent to
us the real existence without. It is only by means of them
that we know  anything out of ourselves. Beside the
perceiving mind and the thing perceived there is the
intervening idea, as the medium of communication between
the two: or rather the idea is itself the thing really perceived, all that we immediately know, the real object of
our knowledge.  " It is evident," he says, " that the mind
knows not things immediately, but by the intervention of
the ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, is real
only so far as there is a conformity between our ideas and
the reality of things" (Book iv. chapter 4, ~3). But how
do we know whether there is such a conformity? A most
important question. The answer Locke gives to this question is this: Our ideas are such as nature and the Creator
ordained; they represent things to us just as the Creator
intended they should, hence they " are not fictions of our
fancies, but the natural and regular productions of things




300                   Lo o  K Ea
without us really operating upon us; and so carry with
them all the conformity which is intended, or which our
state requires, for they represent things to us under those
appearances, which they are fitted to produce in us."
This is a short solution of the problem. It resolves the
evidence of the existence of a material world into the
assumed premise that God would not constitute us with
faculties fitted only to deceive, precisely the Cartesian
ground. In fact in his whole philosophy, as Dugald Stewart has fully shown, Locke is much more a Cartesian than a
Hobbesist; much more a Cartesian indeed, than he doubtless supposed himself to be. However that may be, in the
present case, Locke's answer is no solution at all of the
great problem. It simply cuts the Gordian knot, as Lewes
says. It unravels no difficulty. In fact his doctrine, as
now stated, contains the germ of all the idealism and scepticism of Hume and Berkeley-as we shall by and by have
occasion to see. All that we know is our own ideas, nor
have we any proof that there is anything external and
real to correspond to these ideas. Thus was the text furnished by Locke from which the idealism and scepticism of
the succeeding century preached ore rotundo  its most
obnoxious but inevitable conclusions.
But it is of still more moment to inquire, Was Locke
right in ascribing the origin of all our ideas to sensation
and reflection alone?  Have we no ideas which cannot
be thus resolved? Are our ideas of time, space, infinity,
identity, power, substance, etc., capable of being thus
disposed of? This is the grand question in dispute
between the idealist and the sensationalist, the German
and the English schools. The idea of space, Locke derives
from sight and touch (Book ii. chap. 13, ~2). It is an
inference from the idea of body. The idea of time he
derives "from  reflection on the train of our own ideas,"
the result of our own consciousness of existence (Book ii.
chap. 14, ~2, ~3). The idea of Infinity he derives from




LOK E.                      301
-the continual addition of finites, " a supposed endless
progression" (Book ii. chap. 17, ~~3, 5, 8, 9), the negation of the finite. The idea is not positive but negative (chap. xviii. ~13).  Identity consists in consciousness
(Book ii. chap. 27, ~9). The idea of power he derives
from the observation of our own motive faculty, and the
effect of natural bodies on each other (Book ii. chap. 7,
~8); and also from reflection on our own mental changes
and impressions (chap. 21, ~1). The idea of substance
(Book ii. ch. 23, ~2), is merely that of a cluster of sensations supposed to adhere in some imaginary substratum.
Things are good or evil only with reference to pleasure or
pain (Book ii. ch. 20, ~2).  Our ideas of virtue and vice
are the result, not the basis, of ideas of reward and punishmeht, (Book i. ch. 3. ~6). Now against all this we
enter, not our question, our doubt merely, but, with Cousin,
Morell,' and others, our decided protest. Can we conceive
of body without space?  Of the succession of thought
without time? Of our own operations as our own without
identity?  Of quality as pertaining to no substance? If
not, then to derive the latter class of ideas from the former
is absurd; we might with equal propriety derive the former
from the latter-body from space, etc.
The error of Locke in this has been well pointed out
by Morell and Cousin, and prior still by Kant.  The origin
of a thing may denote either its occasion or its producing
cause.  Locke confounds the two things-sensation may
be the occasion, it may not be the cause of the ideas above
named. A spark may be the occasion of the explosion of
gunpowder. The chemical nature and inherent properties
of the powder may be the real cause of the explosion, which
needed but the occasion to develop itself in  operation,
which, however, but.for the occasion would never have
shown its power. So sensation may be the occasion needed
and given, upon which certain faculties of the mind shall
come into operation, which but for the occasion would




302                     LO CK E.
have slumbered forever. Yet not sensation but those
faculties, that inherent constitution and nature of the
mind, are the true cause of the action.  Now the ideas
themselves may not be innate, doubtless are not, but the
faculties or principles or laws of the mind which, on the
given occasion, give rise to those ideas, these are innate,
and are the true source of the ideas.
" The spirit of man," says Morell, " just like the seed,
has its inherent energy within itself. The grain of wheat
has in it, potentially, the ear that is to wave in the next
summer's sun, and the acorn, in its little circumference,
encloses the oak that is to bear the blast of ages. In the
same manner does the mind at birth contain potentially
all the elements of the future man, neither more nor less.
But as the seed must come in contact with the soil to
call its hidden powers into development, so must the mind
come into contact with the world of experience, in order
that its energies may unfold themselves, and produce their
own proper fruits" (Hist. Phil. p. 86). This is doubtless
the true doctrine. Would Locke have dissented from it?
probably not.  But it was a distinction which he seems to
have overlooked when he undertook to derive all our ideas
from experience, and made that the source and origin of
all.  There are certain ideas which can by no means be thus
reduced within the domain of sensible experience. Our ideas
of space-time, and cause, and substance; of infinity and
personal identity; of right and wrong, and perhaps some
thers, are of this class. They spring up in the mind by virtue of the mind's own inherent power, its native constitution, the laws of its being, so soon as the fitting occasion is
furnished by experience. We may call these inherent laws of
the mind principles of common sense with Reid, fundamental laws with Stewart, principles of intuitive belief with
Brown, or with Kant the necessary forms of the understanding-whatever we call them,. they and not sensation or
experience are the real cause and origin of a large and very




L 0 CKE.                    303
important class of our ideas. There is a scientific method
of stating this subject adopted by Cousin, which is clear
and precise. The origin of any idea he calls the LOGICAL
condition of its existence; its occasion the CHRONOLOGICAL
(Hist. de la Phil. Legon 17).  Of any two ideas, that is the
logical condition of the other, which virtually includes or
involves the other. The chronological is that we first become
conscious of. Logically, e. g. the idea of space is the condition of that of body, since we cannot conceive of body
but as in space; chronologically it may be otherwise, the
idea of body may be even the first to occur to the mind,
on occasion of sensible experience.  Logically, all our
abstract ideas are primary ones and involve those of sensation and experience; chronologically the ideas of sensation
and experience are contemporary with the former, if not
in order of time prior to them.  It would be, then, scientifically more correct to say that the idea of space is the
origin of that of body, than the reverse, since the former
logically includes the latter.
It has been very generally supposed that Locke's system
of philosophy was subversive of all moral distinctions. If
the mind of man is a mere tabula rasa at birth, has no
innate ideas, no innate laws of thought, then virtue and
vice, good and evil, are mere arbitrary distinctions, it is
said,-creations of human law. Shaftesbury accuses him
of throwing all law and virtue out of the world and making the very ideas of these unnatural and without foundation in our minds.  Dr. Beattie urges a similar complaint.
Both, however, acquit him  from  any such intention.
Fortunately there are passages in which Locke unequivocally avows his firm belief in the natural and immutable
foundation of moral distinctions, of virtue and vice, of the
idea of a God. "'I would not be mistaken," he says, "as
if because I deny an innate law I thought there were none
but positive laws.  There is a great, deal of difference
between an innate law and a law  of nature; between




304                    LOCKE.
something imprinted on our minds in their original, and
something that we, being ignorant of, may attain to the
knowledge of by the use and due application of our natural
faculties, (Book i. ch. 3. ~ 13). In another place, he
speaks of the extreme danger of principles " taken up without due question or examination; especially if they be such
as influence men's lives and give a basis to all their
actions.  He that, with Archelaus, shall lay it down as a
principle that right and wrong, honest and dishonest, are
defined only by laws and not by nature, will have other
measures of moral rectitude and pravity, than those who
take it for granted that we are under obligations antecedent to all human constitutions."  We cannot, then,
admit the justice of the charge so frequently brought
against Locke, at least as regards his real opinions and his
sincere intentions.  Whether the tendency, however, of
his philosophical system on the whole is favorable or not
to sound views of truth may admit of question. It is
a significant fact that the great majority of Locke's avowed
disciples and followers have advocated essentially the
views of Hobbes and Gassendi, as Stewart himself reluctantly admits, and that from the principles of his
philosophy subsequently Hume and Berkeley derived the
materials for the strongest and most impregnable system
of scepticism  ever constructed by man.  "It must be
confessed," says Morell, "that notwithstanding all the
admirable lessons which his writings contain, they manifested a decided leaning towards sensationalism, and
included, although unknown to himself, germs which
after a time bore the fruits of utilitarianism in morals, of
materialism in metaphysics, and of scepticism in religion"
(Hist. Phil. p. 95). We are not surprised, on the whole,
at the popularity of his writings in France-at their
enthusiastic reception by Voltaire and the Encyclopedists.
Yet from all this Locke would have shrunk with horror.
He was a genuine lover of virtue, truth and morality.  His




SUCCESSORS OF LOCKE.                  305
character is of the noble, lofty sort. He was born a sage.
His disinterested patriotism, his love of liberty, his personal
integrity and unbending rectitude, his zeal for the advancement of true religion and manly piety, his liberality and
tolerance, his ready forgiveness of injuries, his moderation
and calmness of temper, are equalled only by the strength
and acuteness of his intellect. No name is more worthy of
honor, no tomb in Westminster Abbey will inspire in your
bosom profounder emotion than the simple monument of
John Locke in the plain country church which shelters his
honored dust.
CHAPTER IX.
SUCCESSORS OF LOCKE IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE.
IT has been already remarked that very many of the
professed disciples of Locke were decided materialists, and
while calling themselves by his name were really indebted
not to him but to Hobbes and Gassendi for their principles.
In order to trace the progress of philosophy from this
period onward in Europe, it becomes necessary to dwell a
little upon this point, and mark out more definitely the
positions and doctrines of some of the more celebrated successors of Locke. Of the Deistical school of English writers
which flourished at this period the main and avowed philosophy was in its essential principles a system of materialism, based upon the conclusions of Locke. Collins built
on this foundation a stern and gloomy doctrine of necessity.
Mandeville struck boldly at the root of all morality and virtue with the doctrine borrowed from Locke, that there are
no innate principles of human action. These dangerous
publications called out the strength of such controversialists
as Stillingfleet, Shaftesbury, Norris and, par eminence,
Clark. Into the merits of this grand controversy, wherein




306          SUCCESSORS OF LOC KE
not so much philosophy as theology was the goddess of the
strife, we cannot enter.
In the domain of speculative philosophy, Hartley
stands prominent as a sensationalist, deriving his principles from the system of Locke. He was, like Locke, a
physician, educated at Cambridge, and was led by the
nature of his profession to give a decidedly physiological
cast to his psychological investigations.  He undertook
to account for the phenomena of sensation, which Locke
had wisely left unattempted, by the theory of vibrations.
His fame rests however chiefly on his doctrine of association, a term first used by Locke, but employed in a new
and much wider sense by Hartley to denote, as stated by
Morell, "any combination of thought and feeling which is
capable of becoming habitual by means of repetition."  The
theory is that the vibrations produced along the nerves by
the action of external objects, when oft repeated, have a
tendency to reproduce or repeat themselves spontaneously,
even in the absence of the external object. These repetitions are ideas, relics of former sensations, and by mutual
association they recall each other. Sensations, ideas, and
muscular movements are all thus affected by the law of
association.  Our emotions, passions, natural and religious affections, are all traced to and included under sensation. As all our ideas and emotions are controlled
according to the laws of association, man is a passive being,
will is a nonentity, necessity rules all things.  Though not
himself a materialist, the system of course was decidedly of
that tendency. Priestly carried out the principles of EHartley, which he adopted and maintained with enthusiasm,
to their natural result-bold materialism.  Thought and
sensation are with him, essentially the same thing. Darwin carries out the scheme still further and banishes the
idea of spirit from the universe, leaving only the powers
of nature in place of God. This is the goal of sensationalism in this direction-bold atheism. In the sensational




IN  ENGLAND  AND FRANCE.                 307
school of England there are other names of celebrity. Tooke
the grammarian, Bentham the moralist and politician,
Paley, the pleasing, accomplished, superficial moralist and
theologian, are all of this school, building, each in his way
and his department, with the essential principles of the
great master of English philosophy.
More noted as metaphysicians were the French disciples
of the school of Locke. Chief of these Condillac, next
Condorciet.  These writers were thorough and decided
sensationalists; philosophers both of no mean reputation or
merit. Losing sight of the second source of knowledge as
laid down by Locke, they make all our ideas transformed
sensations, and profess to follow Locke in so' doing. The
source of most of our mental faculties is found in language,
the parent and origin of our distinctive intellectual powers.
A statue is represented, or a perfectly organized human
being enclosed in marble, which little by little comes to
consciousness and sensation; first an idea is perceived, then
sensation and attention are developed, next other sensations; these are remembered, compared, etc., thus step by
step the whole machinery of mind comes into play, and all
as the result of sensation and experience alone. Condillac
is one of the chief philosophers of France of that century.
Condorcet, epicurean in his philosophy, advocates strongly
the perfectibility of the race by means of educational
development. Diderot, D'Alembert, Voltaire, the whole
school of Encyclopedists, following in the track of this system, carrying out with more or less consistency its principles, close this period of philosophy.




308                 BERKELEY.
CHAPTER X.
BERKELEY.
THE idealism  of Descartes, carried out in Spinoza,
Malebranche and Leibnitz, as also the materialism of Hobbes
and the sensationalism of Locke, carried out in Condillac
and Condorcet in France, as well as by Hartley, Priestly,
Collins and Mandeville in England, we have already traced.
As the result of these opposing tendencies, but more especially of the latter, by way of natural reaction, there sprang
up in England in the early part of the 18th century, a
school destined to exert no slight influence on the thinking
mind of Europe, and to claim a considerable notice in the
history of modern philosophy. Alarmed at the materialistic and atheistic tendencies of the prevalent sensationalism,
this school, by a process so natural to the human mind,
revolted to the opposite extreme of absolute idealism, and
carried that theory to its farthest results. The consequence
was the blank denial of material existence and finally even
of the mind itself.
The first distinguished advocate of the views to which
we refer was George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne; born
12th of March 1684 in Killerin, county of Kilkenny, Ireland, educated at Trinity college, Dublin, of which he
became a fellow in 1707; his first work, entitled a New
Theory of Vision, appeared two years after, 1709, while the
author was yet only twenty-five, and at once attracted great
attention.  This introduced him to the notice of distinguished and literary men.  He was appointed chaplain and
secretary to the earl of Peterborough, Ambassador to
Sicily, and subsequently travelled over a considerable part
of Europe. In 1724 he was raised to the deanery of Derry.
About this time he became greatly interested in a project




BERKELEY.                    309
for the conversion of the North American Indians and the
establishment of a college in the Bermuda Islands, and
succeeded in interesting many others in his enterprise,
among them persons of the first rank. Resigning his living
of eleven hundred pounds a year, he embarks with his
young wife, his library and his property, on this romantic
expedition, and sets sail for Rhode Island. Parliament
had promised him a stipend of one hundred pounds a year,
but this promise was not fulfilled, and after seven years of
fruitless endeavor, having spent the most of his personal
property, he is obliged to relinquish the undertaking and
return to England. He was appointed Bishop of Cloyne
in 1734. In 1752 he removed to Oxford, where he died
the year after, 1753, at the age of sixty-nine. His character seems to have commanded universal respect and admiration. The satirist, Pope, expressed only the common
opinion of his countrymen in the line ascribing "To
Berkeley every virtue under heaven." He enjoyed the
regard of Swift and Addison, and the fastidious Atterbury
said of him, "So much learning, so much knowledge, so
much innocence and such humility, I did not think had
been the portion of any but angels till I saw this gentleman."
The principal philosophical works of Berkeley, beside
that already named, were the Treatise on the Principles of
Human Knowledge, (London 1710,) and the Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, (London 1713,) subsequently to his return from America, he also published a
work entitled Alciphron, or the Minute Philosopher,
(London 1732). It is in the dialogues that the peculiar
philosophy of the author is most fully developed. And
what was that philosophy, and how came Berkeley by those
views?
As I have already intimated, the chief peculiarity of his
system is its bold denial of the reality of material existence, and to this position he was led by observing, with




310                  BERKELEY.
regret and alarm, the dangerous extreme to which the later
disciples of Locke were pushing the principles of the sensational and material school. By a natural recoil he shrank
from that result, and sought a secure retreat for truth and
philosophy in opinions, the farthest removed from those of
the prevalent and so dangerous doctrines. In common
with Descartes and all preceding philosophers,; Locke had
taken the ground that the mind knows and is conversant
with only its own ideas.:  These and not things external to
itself are the proper and immediate, and only trzue objects of
its knowledge, a principle that reigned unquestioned in philosophy, from Plato down to Reid. It knows itself-its
own sensations, impressions, ideas,-farther than that, as to
any external cause of those sensations or impressions, it only
infers, but not strictly knows.  This is called by Hamilton
the representative theory of perception, and those who hold
it are termed representationists, in distinction from natural
realism, or the doctrine of the immediate perception of external objects themselves.  Here the acute eye and quick
discernment of Berkeley discovered a way of escape from the
all-surrounding forces of inexorable materialism.  Ha,
exclaims the shrewd Irishman in the close corner, we
know nothing but our own ideas and sensations then!
Nothing else, properly speaking, reply his antagonists.
Pray how then do you know that there is anything else
beside and beyond our ideas, any such thing as you call the
material world, at all. Sensationalism is posed, can only
answer, Why, strictly speaking, we do not know it, but
only infer it.
Ha! ha! then I think I will just deny that little inference of yours, and walk out of my close corner, and now
gentlemen, catch me if you can. The gentlemen aforesaid
have been in hot pursuit of the Irish bishop to this day,
but have not yet laid hands on him, nor ever will. The
Irish bishop will be caught, if at all, only by the tactics
of a very different school.  Grant him his premise, his




B ERK ELEY.                   311
starting point, and no mortal man can ever overtake him.
If your knowledge of an external world is only representative-only an inference,-then if any man chooses to sayI deny that inference to be either necessary or just; I demand the proof of anything really existing beyond and out
of my own mental operations and impressions-you can
never hinder him, he has the start of you, and though he
go no faster than a tortoise, you are not the Achilles to
overtake him.. Only the natural realist can do that. Now
this was precisely the case with the Bishop of Cloyne and
the sensationalists of that age. These were representationalists, and on that account totally unable to refute the
point blank scepticism of Berkeley.
Nor was Berkeley a mere metaphysical juggler and gladiator in all this, throwing up daggers and catching in his
teeth just for the sport of it. He was a sincere, earnest,
patient seeker after truth. In the philosophy of Locke he
felt certain there was some latent error. There must be
something wrong in the philosophy of sensationalism, since
it led to such results. Carefully running his keen eye
along the system, he discovered, as he thought, the lurking-place of that latent error-discovered the false quantity
that had so deranged the whole calculation;-discovered
that the passage from psychology to ontology, from the
world within to the world without, from mere thought and
sensation to external realities, as the cause and occasion of
the same, had always been, and in all systems taken for
granted, merely assumed, never demonstrated to be either
necessary or possible. What if I make my attack just here,
says Berkeley, what if I call in question the possibility of any'
such passage from the inner to the outer world; what if I
deny altogether any such process and conclusion-what
becomes of materialism-who can drive me from such a
position? He saw his advantage, and discovered as he
supposed, not merely the weak point in the opposite phi
losophy, but the stronghold and vantage ground of truth.




312                 B E RK  E L EY.
There he intrenched himself, and there his flag floated in
triumph till the philosophy of common sense put to rout
both him and his antagonists, by showing that both materialist and idealist were involved in one common error and
mistake-that ideas were not in fact the sole immediate
objects of knowledge.
Berkeley, in denying the reality of anything external to
the mind itself, labors much to show that he is not in conflict with the common sense and commonly received opinions of mankind. An able writer in Blackwood's Magazine,
(June, 1842) takes high ground in his defence upon this
point, and still more recently, a writer whom we have frequently cited, Lewes, in his chapter* on Berkeley, goes
fully over to this view of the case, contending that all
Berkeley really denied was the existence of that unknown
substratum  termed matter, which philosophers had conceived as the basis underlying all sensible qualities — a
mere philosophical abstraction —a metaphysical entity, and
nothing more, while the qualities themselves, the things
seen, felt, handled, perceived, he admits to have a real
existence.  To this effect he quotes Berkeley, saying: "I
do not argue against the existence of any one thing that we
can apprehend either by sensation or reflection. That the
things I see with my eyes, and touch with my hands do
exist, really exist, I make not the least question. The only
thing whose existence I deny is that which philosophers call
matter or corporeal substance."  " That what I see, hear,
and feel, doth exist, i. e. is perceived by me, (mark these
last words) I no more doubt than I do of my own being."
It is perfectly idle now to cite passages from Berkeley to
show that he was merely at war with metaphysical abstractions and not with the common sense of mankind; that he
denied not the real existence of the sensible world as it lies
around and without us, but only a philosophical conception.
When he says in his own behalf, and his apologists say for
* History of Philosophy. Modern Philosophy, Epoch, iv. ch. 1.




BER K ELEY.                    313
him, that he fully admits the existence of what he sees,
hears, and feels, the question is what sort of an existence
he means to allow these things —an existence where? as
what? in the mind merely or out of it? as mere modes of
the thinking mind or as independent existences? To this
question Berkeley makes but one answer.  They exist, that
is, are perceived by hintm, exist as ideas exist in the mind,
have real existence as all our thoughts and conceptions
have, but only as modes of our own mental being. I fully
admit the existence of what I see, hear, feel, etc., says B.
But Mr. Berkeley, do you mean to say that these sensible
appearances are anything more than phenomena, that they
exist anywhere out of the mind that thinks and perceives
them? Oh. Not at all.'It is indeed an opinion strangely
prevailing among men that houses, mountains, rivers, in a
word, all sensible objects have an existence natural and real,
distinct from their being perceived by the understanding."
" The table I write on, I say, exists, i. e., I see and feel it,
and if I were out of my study I should say it existed, meaning thereby that if I was in my study I might perceive it,
or that some other spirit actually does perceive it. As to
what is said about the existence of unthinking things, without any relation to their being perceived, that is to me
perfectly unintelligible.  Their esse is percipi, nor is it
possible they should have any existence out of the minds of
thinking being s which perceive them."  Nothing can be
plainer than this doctrine, unless it be the following
account of precisely the same doctrine. "In a word all the
choir of heaven and furniture of earth, all those bodies
which compose the mighty frame of the world, have not
any subsistence without a mind; their esse is to be perceived
or known, and consequently so long as they are not actually
perceived by me, or do not exist in my mind, or that of any
other created spirit, they must either have no existence at
all or else subsist in the mind of some eternal spirit."
Berkeley, then, was, out and out, an idealist.  He'4




314                   H UI E.
admits the reality of things, but only as phenomena,-only
as ideas in and impressions on the mind, —no other reality
or existence have sensible objects. The distinction between
primary and secondary qualities he breaks down and shows
that both are merely sensations in us. But how are these
phenomena, these sensations produced? Not by the existence of what philosophers call matter, but by the direct
agency of Deity, acting upon us through laws of nature by
Him established, thus giving permanency and constancy to
our sensible impressions.
Such is the substance of Berkeley's system. On the
ground of the then prevalent philosophy, we fully admit
that it was unanswerable. No theory of representative
knowledge can stand its onset. Realism alone can cope
with it.
CHAPTER XI.
HUME.
WITH the autobiography of this celebrated man, as
prefixed to the History of England, it may be presumed
that every one tolerably familiar with English literature is
already acquainted. No one, I am sure, has ever read that
little memoir without admiring its simplicity and beauty,
and without feeling an interest in the writer. There is no
need, then, in this connection to do more than simply
advert to the leading events of his life, before we pass to
consider his philosophy.
David Hume was born at Edinburgh, April 26, 1711.
His father dying while he was yet in early life, the care of
his education devolved wholly on his mother, who seems to
have been a woman of more than ordinary ability. He was
destined for the law, but so strong was his passion for
literature, that he neglected his professional studies, and




flUME.                     315
finally retired to France, where he spent three years in
privacy, wholly devoted to his favorite pursuits. In 1737
lie went to London and published his " Treatise on Human
Nature," which met with no attention or success whatever.
In 1742 he published, at Edinburgh, his "Essays Moral
and Political," which attracted more attention.  In 1746 he
offered himself as candidate for the professorship of Moral
Philosophy at Edinburgh, but was defeated by the vote of
the Presbytery on account of his known scepticism. That
year he accompanied General Sinclair, as his secretary in
his expedition against the French coast, and the year
following on a military embassy to Vienna and Turin.
During his absence he recast his treatise on Human Nature
and published it under the title of "an Inquiry concerning
the Human Understanding," but with no better success.
His "' Principles of Morals" shared the same fate, but his
"'Political Discourses" were better received. In 1752 he
wvas appointed librarian to the Faculty of Advocates at
Edinburgh.  Here he conceived the idea of writing
history. His first publication in this line, embracing the
history of the House of Stuart, was received, he says,
with one cry of reproach, disapprobation and even detestation. It was universally decried and neglected. Hume's
equanimity and perseverance, however, prevailed at last.
lie kept on writing, and England kept on reading and
abusing, until he fairly won the victory and achieved for
himself a place among the standard authors of English
Literature.  Subsequently, he attended Lord Hertford as
ambassador to Paris, where he was received with open
arms as a man of letters and philosophy.
He remained there as Charge d' Affaires for some time
-after Lord Hertford's departure, and on returning to England became, in 1767, under secretary of state, under Conway, which post he held till 1769. He then retired to
Edinburgh on a fortune of one thousand pounds per annum,
and died in 1776, August 25, in his sixty-fifth year.




316                   HUME.
It has been well said that the influence of HIume as a
philosopher has been as much owing to the general alarm
excited by his doctrines, as to the ingenuity with which
they were maintained. It is to be remembered, however,
that Hume is merely a sceptic, not a dogmatist. IHe takes
as his premises, the current philosophy of the time, and
simply shows that on the basis of that philosophy such and
such things must be true.  He places that philosophy
thereby in a sad dilemma, it is true, lands it in inevitable
scepticism. But he surely is not to blame for that. What
were the premises furnished by the prevalent philosophy of
the age? Locke had shown that all our knowledge was
dependent on experience, and that we know nothing
immediately but our own ideas. Berkeley had shown that
we have no experience of an external world independent
of perception, that we perceive in reality only our own
ideas, and that these ideas give us no information, no experience of that world, nor can do so, in a word, that we have
no experience of anything beyond certain sensible qualities,
which are in fact only impressions or ideas made upon our
senses, that the substratum, which we call matter and in
which we suppose those qualities to inhere, is only a figment of the imagination. Hume found philosophy thus
far on her way to scepticism; the path before her was a
plain and obvious one; there was no mistaking it, no turning aside. She must either retrace her course, and starting anew, pursue quite another route, or keep on over
the precipice. Hume thought she might as well keep on,
now she had come so far, and, taking the reins where
Berkeley dropped them, like a bold and reckless charioteer,
dashed on and over into the bottomless abyss of utter
scepticism. He did not choose the road; is not responsible for its having been chosen and so far pursued; is not
responsible for the final overturn, any further than that he
fearlessly and consistently forced the result which he saw
to be inevitable.




rUM E.                     317
Believing with Locke that our ideas are the only objects
of knowledge, and with Berkeley that our ideas give us no
reason to conclude the existence of anything beyond and out
of ourselves, he saw that there was but one step more want;ing to carry out the system and make it complete, and that
step must be taken. If there is no evidence, said he, of
any occult substratum  called matter, as its basis of the
qualities that strike our sense, what hinders me front
denying also that occult substratum called mind, in which
our thoughts and impressions are commonly supposed to
inhere? If all that I know is simply my ideas themselves,
then what becomes not only of matter as a basis of sensible
qualities, but of mind as basis of mental phenomena? suppose I deny the latter altogether? Philosophy stands
aghast at the dilemma, but perceives no way of escape.
There is the precipice and over she must go, and over she
goes, all the world of course cursing the charioteer, as being
the sole author and cause of the mischief.  Dr. Brown
himself could have done no better, however,-admits that
the reasoning by which this conclusion is reached is unanswerable.  And so indeed it is for all who, with Brown and
Locke and the earlier philosophers, admit that ideas are
the only immediate objects of our knowledge. Drive in at
that gate and there is no escaping the precipice.  Nor does
it make the least difference, as Sir W. Hamilton has well
shown, whether you regard ideas, with Plato and Descartes,
as something other than simple modes of the mind itself,
or whether, with Brown and others, you regard them as
mere modifications of mind, in either case the result is
inevitable.  All evidence is gone of anything as reality to
correspond to these our ideas, and if any man, choosing to
be consistent, denies that reality, no answer remains nor
is possible.  Neither Hume nor Berkeley, it is to be
remembered, denied the subjective reality of sensible impressions, but only their objective reality. Their appearance as phenomena both fully admitted, but refused to




318       THE  SCOTCH  PH ILOSO PHU.
admit anything more than that. Both declare that the
common belief in these phenomena as real existences is not
only universal but inevitable; that we are so constituted
that we must proceed upon that principle. Hume expressly declares that neither he nor any other man ever
rested in the positive disbelief of material and mental existence. But at the same time he can give no reason for
that belief, though he finds himself compelled to act upon
it,-nay perceives that it is altogether without a reason.
This is the amount of his scepticism. Manifestly we have
reached the end of philosophy in this direction. Nothing
remains but to seek for it a new and entirely different route.
CHAPTER XII.
THE SCOTCH PHILOSOPHY. DR. THOMAS REID.
THE greatest errors are not unfrequently of the greatest
use and service to poor mankind. Indeed it not unfrequently happens that next to a great truth the most useful
thing in the world is a great error; since it prepares the
way for and gives rise to great truths. So it has been in
physical science; so in speculative philosophy. Of all the
great and profoundly reflecting minds whose opinions we
have hitherto sketched in the progress of these lectures,
no one had with greater boldness and logical consistency
followed out to extreme and dangerous conclusions, premises and principles, then almost universally received in
philosophy, and thus demonstrated the inherent falsity of
those principles, than David Hume. Men started as from
a dream, when they perceived whither their own cherished
philosophy was leading them. They looked about for some
way of escape from conclusions so formidable. Everybody
fell to combating Hume.  Theologians, young and old,
metaphysicians, men of all professions and of none, pressed




THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.                319
into the lists to break a lance with this Goliath of scepticism; the welkin rang with the sound of their blows, as one
after another each new champion tried his weapons on the
steel-plate armor of the redoubtable sceptic. Ere long it
was discovered that Hume's coat of mail was perfectly proof
against all such assaults, that the difficulty and error lay
back of the conclusions, among the premises which he
assumed and the philosophy which others had furnished to
his use; that if these conclusions were to be successfully
assailed they must begin by assailing the premises and
principles on which the conclusions were built, must begin
in fact, not with David Hume, but withI John Locke, and
the preceding philosophers.  The only way was to retrace
the steps and seek for a sure and safe path in some other
direction. Such a movement, accordingly, now commenced.
Simultaneously in Scotland and in Germany, cormmenced
such a movement.  Two distinguished men, patient, profound, truth-loving, earnest men, much unlike each other,
quite unknown at the outset to each other, but animated
by one common impulse, set about the work of constructing anew, and on an entirely different basis, the philosophy
of the human mind.  That German was Immanuel Kant;
that Scotchman, Thomas Reid. A brief sketch of the life
of the latter will form a fitting introduction to the remarks
we have to offer upon his philosophy.
Thomas Reid was born on the 26th of April, 1710, at
Strachan, a country parish in Scotland, about twenty miles
from Aberdeen. His father was for fifty years clergyman
of this parish; a man of piety, benevolence, unostentatious
learning and love of letters, purity and simplicity of manners, virtues inherited from a long line of ancestors, most
of whom, like himself, had been ministers of the church
of Scotland. For several generations had his ancestors distinguished themselves by a marked fondness for the cultivation of letters, and a propensity to the learned professions.
One of them was surgeon to King Charles I., another, dis



320        THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.
tinguished as a philosopher and a poet, after extensive
travel, became secretary to King James in the Greek and
Latin tongues. By the maternal side, also, the ancestry of
Dr. Reid were somewhat distinguished by the same tastes
and pursuits.
His mother was of the family of Gregorys, noted as
mathematicians, one of them the inventor of the reflecting
telescope; one of her brothers was professor of astronomy
at Oxford, and an intimate friend of Sir Isaac Newton;
another was professor of mathematics at St. Andrews, and
another still at Edinburgh. Thus descended from families
of such hereditary worth and genius, it would have been
a natural and pardonable ambition that should have
prompted Reid to show himself worthy of his ancestry.
After two years at the parish school, he was sent to Aberdeen for classical study, and at the age of twelve or thirteen entered Marischal college, where he studied philosophy
for three years under Dr. George Turnbull. The sessions
of the college at that time were short, however, and the
instruction superficial, says Mr. Stewart.  His residence
at the university was prolonged, it would seem, beyond the
usual period, by his appointment as librarian, which
afforded him the opportunity he desired for quiet study.
While thus employed, he formed an acquaintance with Mr.
John Stewart, afterward professor of mathematics. The
two friends, in company, prosecuted with great ardor this
their favorite study, and read together with no little
delight the Principia of Newton for the first time.  In
1736, Reid resigned his office, and in company with his
friend visited England, forming the acquaintance of literary men in Oxford, Cambridge and London. In 1737, he
was presented to the living of New Machar, in Scotland.
His parishioners, prejudiced and irritated by the system
of patronage, received him not very cordially, stoutly
resisted his coming in fact, and even fought to drive him
away. He incurred not merely violent opposition, but




THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.                 321
personal danger. This prejudice, however, was soon subdued by his winning manners, his mildness, benevolence
and patient, faithful attention to his duties, so that when
he was called, some years after, to another situation, the
same persons who had so stoutly resisted his first ministrations followed him with their prayers and their tears
and their earnest blessings. At New Machar, Reid employed his retired and leisure hours in intense and diligent
study, particularly in relation to the laws of perception
and the fundamental principles of human knowledge.
In 1752, he was elected professor of philosophy in
Kings college, Aberdeen. Here he devoted himself with
ardor to the pursuits which were to occupy the remainder
of his life and energies. A literary society was soon formed
where a number of kindred spirits met weekly for literary
and philosophic discussions and criticisms.  From  this
source emanated at nearly the same time the writings of
Reid, Gregory, Campbell, Beattie, Gerard.
The Inquiry into the Human Mind was published in
1764, but the plan was formed and the subject had been
deeply studied years before. It was the publication of
Mr. Hume's treatise on Human Nature that first led him to
the investigations which resulted in this work. He had in
his youth admitted without examination, the established
opinions on which that scepticism was built; indeed, had
embraced, as he informs us, the whole Berkeleyan system,
till finding other consequences to flow from  it that gave
him more uneasiness than the want of a material world, he
began to inquire what evidence there was for the doctrine
that all the objects of our knowledge are ideas in our own
minds.  That we know only our own thoughts, that all our
knowledge is subjective, is, as we have seen, the basis of
the idealism of Berkeley and the scepticism of Hume.
But it was a principle that had come down unsuspected
and unchallenged from a remote and venerable antiquity,
and had received the imprimature of Descartes, Leibnitz
14*




322       TIHE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.
and Locke. But, thanks to Mr. Hume, the time had now
come when either this fundamental principle of so many
different and diverse systems must be given up, or philosophy itself must be abandoned as hopeless.  Patiently
and with sincere love of truth, Reid set about the work of
thoroughly exploring and constructing anew the foundations of science. For more than forty years, he diligently
pursued his toil, and the Essays on the Intellectual Powers
published in 1785, and on the Active Powers, in 1788, were
the ripe and finished results of these years of thought.
Anxious not to misunderstand or misrepresent his
opponent, before the publication of his first philosophical
treatise, the Inquiry, he submitted portions of it, from
time to time, through the medium of a mutual friend, Dr.
Blair, to the inspection of Hume himself. Had all controversies been thus candidly conducted, how much bitter
and bellicose writing had been spared. Mr. Hume seems
not, at first, to have relished the idea of another antagonist.
"I wish," says he, "that the parsons would confine themselves to their old occupation of worrying one another, and
leave philosophers to argue with temper, moderation, and
good manners."  After the perusal of the manuscript,
however, he seems to have formed quite a different opinion,
as the following letter to the author indicates:
"By Dr. Blair's means, I have been favored with the
perusal of your performance, which I have read with great
pleasure and attention. It is certainly very rare that a
piece so deeply philosophical is wrote with so much spirit,
and affords so much entertainment to the reader." After
adverting to some obscurities, which he attributes to the
circumstance that he had seen the work only in detached
parts, he continues, "for I must do you the justice to own
that, when I enter into your ideas, no man appears to express himself with greater perspicuity than you do, a
talent which, above all others, is requisite in that species of
literature which you have cultivated." Professing to for



T HE  SCOTC I- PHILOSOP IY.             323
bear criticism till the whole work is before him, he adds,
" I shall only say, that if you have been able to clear up
these abstruse and important subjects, instead of being
mortified, I shall be so vain as to pretend to a share of the
praise; and shall think that my errors by having at least
some coherence, have led you to make a more strict review
of my principles, which were the common ones, and to
perceive their futility.  As I was desirous to be of some use
to you I kept a watchful eye, all along, over your style;
but it is really so correct, and so good English, that I
found not anything worth the remarking."
The candor and generosity of this communication are
at once remarkable and rare, and go far to raise Mr.
Hume in our estimation. I cannot forbear to subjoin in
this connection a part at least of Reid's reply to this letter.
After due and handsome acknowledgment of the courtesy
and kindness of his antagonist, he says, "whether I have
any success in this attempt or not, I shall always avow myself your disciple in metaphysics.  I have learned more
from your writings in this kind, than from all others put
together. Your system appears to me not only coherent in
all its parts, but likewise justly deduced from principles
commonly received among philosophers-principles which
I never thought of calling in question, until the conclusions you drew from them in the treatise on Human Nature
made me suspect them. If these principles are solid, your
system must stand;... I agree with you, therefore,
that if this system shall ever be demolished, you have a
just claim to a great share of the praise, both because you
have made it a distinct and determined mark to be aimed
at, and have furnished proper artillery for the purpose."
In a note on this passage, Hamilton observes,' "Kant
makes a similar acknowledgment."  "By Hume," he says,
"I was first startled out of my dogmatic slumber." Thus
Hume is author, in a sort, of all our subsequent philosophy.




324       THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHIY.
For out of Reid and Kant, mediately or immediately, all
our subsequent philosophy is evolved.
The work of Dr. Reid was well received, at first of
course chiefly by the few who were prepared to appreciate
it. Venerable professors, who had spent their lives in
teaching views and theories which this work wholly subverts, gave it a cordial reception.
In 1763, Dr. Reid was elected to the professorship of
moral philosophy in the University of Glasgow, where he
found a large number of choice and congenial spirits. His
course of instruction here employed five hours every week,
for six months in the year. His elocution was not attractive. He read exclusively from his written manuscript,
nor was his manner of reading impressive, but the clearness
of his style, the importance of his themes, and the great
respect which his character commanded, procured him
numerous and attentive listeners.  Mr. Stewart admits
that his course was wanting in comprehensive and systematic order and arrangement.
Anxious to perfect his great work, he resigned his post,
while yet in vigor of body and mind, withdrew from
public labors, and at the age of seventy and upwalrds,
devoted himself to the completion of his principal works,
the Essays on the intellectual and moral powers of man.
He died October, 1796, in his eighty-sixth year.
DOCTRINES OF REID.
Mr. Stewart is of opinion that the distinguishing feature
of Dr. Reid's philosophy is the steady adherence with
which in all his inquiries, he follows the Baconian method;
that to recommend this plan to others was his constant aim
and favorite topic in his conversation with his friends and
pupils. Dr. Reid himself, in a letter to Dr. Gregory, says
of Bacon, I am very apt to measure a man's understanding by the opinions he forms of that author.
" We are not surprised, accordingly, to find him aban



THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.               325
doning the high ta priori road, as it has been called, and
confining himself in his philosophical writings to the simple
facts and evident phenomena of observation and experience
respecting the laws and operations of the human mind.
We are not surprised to find him attaching great importance to those first principles and maxims, which lie at the
foundation of belief, and which it is of the highest moment
to ascertain and establish. His efforts in this direction
have given a name, in fact, not to his system alone, but to
the philosophy of that entire school of which he stands the
undoubted head and founder, the philosophy of common
sense. The name is perhaps not happily chosen, the thing
signified by the name is worthy to be made the foundation
of a philosophic system. If the Baconian method, so called,
is of any value in the acquisition of truth, if it admits of
application to the philosophy of the mind, as well as to
that of the material world, then is credit due to Reid as
the first distinctly to apply, and successfully and systematically to carry out, this method of investigation in the
department of psychology. This is beyond question the
characteristic feature of his philosophy, cool, cautious, distrustful, even to a fault perhaps, of theories and hypotheses,
seeking only for facts, trusting only to careful observation
of, and careful reflection on the palpable and obvious phenomena of the human mind as reported by consciousness and
the experience of mankind, it seeks by a careful induction
of these facts to arrive at certain general conclusions, and
with these it is content and rests satisfied, not seeking to
penetrate farther and conjecture the unknown and the
unknowable.
It has been objected that to combat the sceptic with
appeals to common sense, is to degrade philosophy by reducing the problems of speculative thought to the tribunal
and judgment of the vulgar and uneducated mass, utterly
incompetent to decide such questions. This is not so. The
appeal is not made to the vulgar against the learned, or to




326       THE  SCOTC.H  PHILOSOPHY.
the common prejudices of unthinking men, against the
doubts of the speculative reasoner. The tribunal to which
the appeal is made is a different and far higher one than
this.  There are in the constitution of human nature certain ground-principles of all belief and all action, on which
we always, and all proceed in the uniform conduct of life,
and without which all the intercourse of society, all the
transactions of business, all reasoning, all forethought, all
judgment of past or future, would be at an end,-principles
which require no proof,-which admit of none, in fact,universally received, universally acted on by men,-common at once to the philosopher and the illiterate. These
are the fundamental maxims or principles to which, under
the name, not altogether felicitous, of maxims of common
sense, the appeal is made by Reid, and on which as a secure
basis he erects his philosophical system. It is to be regretted, as Mr. Stewart himself seems disposed to admit,
that Dr. Reid had not more fully elaborated this part of his
system; and shown with more completeness and distinctness, what is this common sense of mankind, its nature, its
claims to be regarded as the foundation of all philosophic
investigation and speculation, the number and nature of
those distinctive principles which find a legitimate place in
this ground-work of all knowledge. This he should have
done. And the want of this we regard, with Tissot and
others, as a serious defect in his philosophy, regarded as a
complete system.
It is hardly necessary to state in detail the distinctive
and several parts of Reid's philosophy.
A few general observations and criticisms are all that is
demanded.
Aside from the consideration of the method pursued in
this science, and which he was the first to pursue, if not to
point out, the chief merit claimed by Dr. Reid, and by his
friends in his behalf, as a contribution to the science of the
human mind, is that of having completely refuted and




THE SCOTCH  PtHILOSOPHY.              327
overthrown the old and widely-prevalent theory of ideas,
according to which theory the mind perceives not external
things themselves and immediately, but only certain ideas
or images in the mind itself, more or less resembling external things. This, as we have seen, was the open door
through which idealism and scepticism walked in, as exhibited by Hume and Berkeley. Yet it was a door which
such men as Newton and Locke and Leibnitz and Descartes,
to go no further back, had, without suspicion, passed, and
left it as they found it, open for all future comers. It was
no small merit to discover the entire groundlessness and
fallacy of this assumption, and boldly to discard it, and
completely overthrow it, and put it out of the way and
path of philosophy for all future time. That which we see
and know is not something in our own minds, image, idea,
or whatever you may please to call it, but the very things
themselves.  Our knowledge of things external is not, as
all the world has been told, has believed for ages, simply a
conjectural, mediate, and representative knowledge, but real,
immediate and intuitive.  Such was the bold announcement with which Dr. Reid startled the repose of the speculative and reflecting world. The merit of this discovery
and refutation has been indeed denied him, and that by
one who should have known better, Dr. Thomas Brown,
whose philosophy has been justly termed an open revolt
against that of Dr. Reid, and who seems anxious to strip
his distinguished countryman of an honor which justly
belongs to him, by maintaining that no philosopher of note
for many years had held any such doctrine as that which
Reid assails,-that it was in fact, a mere man of straw, that
the words, idea, image, etc., were merely figurative and
metaphorical terms, which Dr. Reid mistook for literal expressions and magnified into a philosophical heresy. As
this is a somewhat serious charge, and one which, if true,
quite takes away the foundation not only of Reid's claim as
a discoverer, but of his entire philosophy regarded as a dis



328        THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.
tinctive system, it deserves serious investigation.  No
man in Europe was so well:able to weigh or pass judgment
on a question of this kind, as Sir W. Hamilton.  Never was
judgment in such a case more carefully, more clearly, more
fully and decidedly given; never question and questioner
more completely and fully put to silence. The result is
thus expressed.* " With all our admiration of Brown's general talent, we do not hesitate to assert, that in the points
at issue between the two philosophers, to say nothing of
others, he has completely misapprehended Reid's philosophy, even in its fundamental position..... Dr. Brown is
not only wrong in regard to Reid's own doctrine, he is
wrong, even admitting his interpretation of that philosopher
to be true, in charging him with a series of wonderful misconceptions in regard to the opinions universally prevalent,
touching the nature of ideas... If Reid be not always
correct, his antagonist has failed in convicting him even of
a single inaccuracy."  He then proceeds to consider the
charge in detail.  "It is always unlucky to stumble on the
threshold. The paragraph in which Dr. Brown opens his
attack on Reid, contains more mistakes than sentences;
and the etymological discussion it involves supposes as
true, what is not simply false but diametrically opposite to
the truth.  Among other errors, in the first place, the term
idea was never employed in any system previous to the age
of Descartes, to denote'little images derived from objects
without;' in the second, it was never used in any philosophy, prior to the same period, to signify the immediate
object of perception."  Hamilton proceeds to specify, in all,
six errors of a similar nature in this one passage of Brown,
respecting the history of the word idea. In a note he adds
that, previous to the age of Descartes, as a philosophic term
it was employed exclusively in a Platonic meaning and
" this meaning was precisely the reverse of that attributed to
the word by Dr. Brown, —the idea was not an object of per* See Edinburgh Review, Oct. 1830.




THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.                 329
ception,-the idea was not derived from without," that
neither in the schools, nor after the revival of letters, was
the word used as a psychological term, by the Aristotelians
or others, but had only a theological signification, that it
came into use as a psychological term to denote the immediate objects of thought, and of consciousness in general,
only when Descartes and his followers thus employed it.
"Dr. Brown," he continues, "only fails in illustrating
against Reid the various meanings in which the old writers
employed the term idea, by the little fact that the old
writers never employed the term idea at all."  Having disposed thus of Brown's statements respecting the use of the
term by ancient authors, Hamilton proceeds to show that
he is equally incorrect in his statements respecting its use
by modern writers, especially by those whom Reid has cited
and criticised.  Brown denies that they do use the term
idea in the sense Reid attributes to them.  Hamilton takes
up those authors one by one, Descartes, Arnauld, Locke,
etc., and shows that they do each and all employ the word
idea, either as distinct from or identical with the act of the
mind itself, to denote the immediate object of thought,
representative of external objects, and that so far from their
doctrine being identical with that of Reid, as Brown has
asserted, it is directly at variance with and fundamentally
opposite to it.
While Hamilton, however, would concede to our author
the full merit of overthrowing the theory of ideas then
current, he admits, and justly as we think, the existence
of certain inconsistencies and  defects which  mar the
symmetry and completeness of his system. It was an error
to make consciousness, as he does, a distinct faculty of the
mind, since it is implied in every mental operation and is
essential to every faculty, and cannot therefore be itself a
faculty, coordinate with memory, imagination, etc. It
was an error in him to restrict the sphere of consciousness,
as he does, solely to the operations of the mind, exclusive




330        TEE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.
of their objects-to perception, e. g. and not to the object
perceived —to memory, but not to the object rememberedsince, as Hamilton shows, we cannot be conscious of an
act of knowledge, without being conscious of its objectcannot be conscious, e.g. of the perception of a rose-i.e.
cannot know that we have said perception and of said object
and no other, unless we know also the object itself, that it
is, and what it, is; so that virtually our consciousness and
our perception are one and not to be 2psychologically though
they may be logically distinguished.  He errs, also, in
making memory to be an immediate knowledge of the fact,
which is impossible, since that only is known immediately
which is known in itself and as it is, but the past can be
known only as it was, not as it is. Memory, therefore,
like imagination, is a representative faculty.
Reid's acquaintance with the history of philosophy
seems to have been very imperfect.  This even his warmest
friends and admirers cordially admit. In consequence his
historical sketches are the least valuable and reliable portion of his works; he not seldom mistakes the real opinions
and doctrines of other authors, at least as regards the nicer
points of distinction. This is particularly true in his historical sketch of the doctrine of perception, in which he
fails to distinguish between the views of those who, with
Leibnitz, Arnauld, Malebranche and the later Germans,
regard ideas as mere modifications of the mind itself, and
those who held the cruder doctrine of ideas as something
distinct from the percipient mind. And this leads me to
notice what must be regarded as the most serious defect in
Reid's systemn. He nowhere draws with sufficient clearness,
definiteness and precision the dividing line between the
true and false doctrines of perception-between the high
and only tenable position of natural realism, and the prior
form of idealism, egoistical representationism, which, while
it has nothing to do with ideas as ionages, still holds that
ideas in the modern sense, as notions or conceptions, states




THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPtHY.               331
of the mind, are the immediate and sole objects of our
knowledge.  This distinction did not probably occur to
him. Nay, it is even a matter of some doubt whether he
were not himself of the latter class-an egoistical representationist; though we think Hamilton has shown that
the drift and general tenor of his system proves the contrary.  Still it can be made out only by inference.  He
nowhere clearly and fully defines his position as to this
point, and it is a fundamental one in his system. He
nowhere says directly and explicitly, that we do in perception know immediately aught beyond our own mental
states and operations. The passage from the subjective to
the objective is not clearly pointed out anywhere in his
works. This is unfortunate. In a system designed to
rebut idealism it is absolutely essential that the opposite
doctrine of realism should be sharply and clearly defined
and freed from all confusion and ambiguity. It matters
little, as Morell and Hamilton have clearly shown, whether
in Reid's sense of the term, one regard the idea as an image
of external things, a representation floating before the mind,
but not of it, or whether we regard it as merely a modification of the mind itself; so long as this idea, in either case,
is all that we perceive and know. What evidence have we
of anything external to correspond to this idea in the mind?
not the least; we concede to idealism  all it asks.  The
main hold of that system, its strong and impregnable fortress, is just this position-all our knowledge is subjective,
that the ego has no immediate knowledge of the non-ego as
existing, but knows it only as represented to the ego-only
as a modification of the self-conscious ego. We have no
knowledge of anything out of our own consciousness, no
cognizance of any really objective reality; we know, are conscious of certain modes or affections of our own minds, certain mental phenomena, and that is all. The supposition of
a really existing external world to produce these mental
phenomena in us, is purely gratuitous unless it can be




332       THE  SCOTCH  PHILOSOPHY.
shown that they can be produced in no other way-and this
cannot be shown-nay, it is evident that in many cases our
mental impressions are produced in other ways, self-produced as in dreams, delirium, etc.
The only way to meet this is to take the high ground
of natural realism, that our knowledge is not wholly subjective, that in perception we are cognizant not merely of
our own mental phenomena or the modification of our
own minds, but also, and that immediately, of the phenzomena of matter in relation to our minds as percipient-that
there is a duality known and recognized in every act of
perception, that every act of perception involves, as has been
said, the union of the subjective and the objective. This
is the only answer to the idealism of Hume, Berkeley, et
id omne genus, and we are confident it is the only true
statement of the facts in the case. It is certainly to be
regretted that Reid, in laying the foundation of a new
school of philosophy, should not have placed it fully and
fairly and firmly upon this immovable rock of truth.
I cannot better close this discussion than by citing the
words of Morell, who has well stated the case. "The
position that we must assume, if we would complete what
Reid so nobly commenced, is that the very essence of per.
ception consists in a felt relation between mind and matter; that, instead of being wholly the act of the mind, it is
the union of the subjective and the objective necessarily
arising from man's constitution as a being composed ol
soul and body. If you look to the acts of the will, you
feel them to be purely personal or subjective; if you look
to an act of the reason, you feel that it refers simply to
abstract truth, which the mind of itself could work out;
but if you analyze a perception, you at once detect in it
another element, which does not depend upon the will or
the reason, but upon some other existence out of and
distinct from ourselves; so that perception, instead of
being an operation of the mind, as Reid regarded it, is in




sUaCCESSORS OF REID.                333
fact an intuitive, felt relation between self and nature,
between the me and the not mne. The one of these related
terms is, in truth, as much given in every act of percepition as the other, neither can we abstract either the subject or the object without destroying the very essence of:the thing itself."  (list. Phil. pp. 185, 186.)
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SUCCESSORS OF REID.
~ I.-DUGALD STEWART.
MR. STEWART was the son of Dr. Mathew Stewart, professor of mathematics in the University of Edinburgh.
Hence the allusion of Burns when he speaks of the "philosophic sire and son."  Born 1753. He received his edubation at the University, to which he was admitted at the
kge of thirteen. There he enjoyed the tuition of Drs. Blair
nd Ferguson.  He also heard the lectures of Dr. Reid at
Glasgow. At the age of eighteen such was his progress,
hat he was associated with his father as assistant lecturer
n mathematics, which place he filled until the death of the
atter. In 1783 he visited the continent in company with
he Marquis of Lothian. When Dr. Ferguson went to
~orth America as secretary to the commissioners sent to
onclude a peace with this country, Mr. Stewart during his
bsence occupied the chair of Moral Philosophy, and on the
esignation of Dr. Ferguson he was appointed to fill the
racancy, a chair which he was destined to adorn for a
uarter of a century with more than common reputation
nd brilliancy.  His Elements of the Philosophy of the
numan Mind was published in 1792, followed by Outlines
f Moral Philosophy for the use of students, in 1793. He
lso published an account of the life and writings of Dr.




334          SUCCESSORS OF RE ID.
Adam Smith, of Dr. Reid, and of Dr. Robertson. In 1810,
he was induced by delicate health, and a desire to devote
himself entirely to study and the preparation of his works,
to resign his office and retire from  the labors of public
instruction.  He found a retreat at Kinneil house, about
twenty miles from Edinburgh, where he continued till his
death, June 11, 1828. The fruits of this leisure were the
volume of Philosophical Essays, (1810), the Dissertation on
the Progress of Metaphysical and Ethical Philosophy prefixed to the Encyclopedia Britannica, a truly elegant piece
of philosophic writing, a second volume of the Philosophy
of the Human Mind, 1813, with a continuation in 1827,
and his work on the Philosophy of the Active and Moral
Powers, 2 vols. 8vo., 1828, a work almost posthumous, and
composed under circumstances which impart to it the
deepest interest, as being the finale of a long and brilliant
literary life. He died at the age of seventy-five.
It is hardly necessary for me to say that he adopted in
the main the system of Reid, introducing such modifications as seemed needed to render the system more complete,
and substituting, in some cases, a more appropriate phraseology, polishing and finishing with the skillful eye and
hand of a critic, what the master had left in the rough, but
neither adding to nor departing from the philosophy of
that master in anything essential.  In erudition  and
acquaintance with the history of philosophy, especially, he
was far superior to Reid; in profoundness and originality
of mind, he was perhaps inferior to the latter. He is not
so much the inventor as the elaborator of a system, not so
much a philosopher as an ingenious, erudite and elegant
critic on philosophy.  Yet his improvements are by no
means to be overlooked. His substitution of the terms,
fundamental laws of thiought, in place of the inadequate
and unfortunate expressions of Reid-common sense and
instinct-is in itself of the highest service to that system,
and goes far to remove many of the objections brought




SUCCESSORS  OF REID.                335
against it. Nor did he perform a slight service to philosophy in elevating the power of attention to the rank of a
distinct and coordinate faculty of the mind, and especially;
in developing, with a wise and masterly skill, the law of
association in its relation to the various operations of the
mind, and to the practical offices of life. The system as it
came from his hand, possessed not only more symmetry
and completeness, and a more scientific exactness, than
Reid had given it, but withal a nice application to the
manifold phases and movements of the mind as seen in
action and developed in art-of manl as in society; it was
the philosophy not of mind in the abstract, but of the living, stirring world. A fine illustration of this occurs in the
chapter on Association as applied to various fine arts, and
especially as illustrative of the phenomena of reasoning,
a peculiarly finished and nice specimen of the critical and
elegant in philosophy.
No one has done better justice to Mr. Stewart's general
merits as a philosopher, or formed, on the whole, a more
correct estimate of his character and worth, than Mr.
Mackintosh in his History of Ethical Philosophy.  "Perhaps few men ever lived," says that accomplished author,
" who poured into the breasts of youth a more fervid and
yet reasonable love of liberty, of truth, and of virtue.
How many are still alive, in different countries, and in
every rank to which education reaches, who, if they accurately examined their own minds and lives, would ascribe
much of whatever goodness and happiness they possess, to
the early impressions of his gentle and persuasive eloquence!
He lived to see his disciples distinguished among the lights
and ornaments of the council and the senate. He had the
consolation to be sure that no words of his promoted the
growth of an impure taste, of an exclusive prejudice, of a
malevolent passion. Without derogating from his writings, it may be said that his disciples were among his best
works."  As to the qualities of his style the same author




336          SUCCESSORS  OF REID.
remarks, " Probably no modern ever exceeded him in that
species of eloquence which springs from  sensibility to
literary beauty and moral excellence; which neither obscures science by prodigal ornament, nor *disturbs the
serenity of patient attention; but, though it rather calms
and soothes the feelings, yet exalts the genius, and insensibly inspires a reasonable enthusiasm for whatever is good
and fair."'"Few writers rise with more grace from a plain
groundwork, to the passages which require greater animation or embellishment..... Among the secret arts by
which he diffuses elegance over his diction, may be remarked the skill, which, by deepening or brightening a
shade in a secondary term, by opening partial or preparatory glimpses of a thought to be afterwards unfolded
unobservedly, heightens the import of a word, and gives it
a new meaning without any offense against old use." A
peculiar susceptibility and delicacy of touch produced
forms of expression in themselves extremely beautiful, but
of which the habitual use is not easily reconcilable with
the condensation desirable in works necessarily so extensive. If, however, it must be owned that the caution
incident to his temper, his feelings, his philosophy, and his
station, has somewhat lengthened his composition, it is not
less true, that some of the same circumstances have contributed towards those peculiar beauties which place him
at the head of the most adorned writers on philosophy in
our language."... "His writings are a proof that the
mild sentiments have their eloquence as well as the vehement passions. It would be difficult to name works in
which so much refined philosophy is joined with so fine a
fancy, so much elegant literature with such a delicate perception of the distinguishing excellencies of great writers,
land with an estimate, in general so just, of the services
rendered to knowledge by a succession of philosophers.
They are pervaded by a philosophic benevolence, which
keeps up the ardor of his genius without disturbing the




SUCCESSORS  OF REID.                 337
serenity of his mind,-which is felt in his reverence for
knowledge, in the generosity of his praise, and in the tenderness of his censure.... Those readers are not to be
envied, who limit their admiration to particular parts, or
to excellencies merely literary, without being warmed by
the glow of that honest triumph in the advancement of
knowledge, and of that assured faith in the final prevalence
of truth and justice, which breathe through every page of
them, and give the unity and dignity of a moral purpose
to the whole of those classical works."
I cannot close this brief notice of an author to whom
personally I am so deeply indebted without mentioning
one other trait conspicuous in his writings. I refer to the
peculiar modesty and caution with which he differs at any
time from writers of established authority, and especially
from Dr. Reid. It has been well said that he " employed
more skill in concealing his very important reforms of
Reid's doctrines, than others exert to maintain their claims
to originality."  In this respect his writings form  a
marked contrast as it seems to me with those of his not less
distinguished successor, who seems to glory in nothing
more than in casting off allegiance to the authority of his
predecessors.
ADDENDA.
The following is the only notice I have been able to
find of the closing years of Mr. Stewart's life, It is from
the same pen to which I am indebted for the preceding
observations,
After remarking that the Dissertations on the Progress
of Philosophy, Mr. Stewart's latest works, are the most
highly ornamented of any of his productions, a fact which
is to be accounted for in part from the nature of the subject, the writer proceeds to observe: "But the memorable
instances of Cicero, of Milton, and still more those of
Dryden and Burke, seem to show that there is some natu15




338          SUCCESSORS OF REID.
ral tendency in the fire of genius to burni more brightly, or
to blaze more fiercely in the evening than in the morning
of human life. Probably the materials which long experience supplies to the imagination, the boldness with which
a more established reputation arms the mind, and the
silence of the low but formidable rivals of the higher principles, may concur in producing this unexpected and
little observed effect.
It was in the last years of his life, when suffering
under the effects of a severe attack of palsy, with which
he had been afflicted in 1822, that Mr. Stewart most
plentifully reaped the fruits of long virtue, and a well
ordered mind. Happily for him, his own cultivation and
exercise of every kindly affection, had laid up for him a
store of that domestic consolation, which none who deserve
it ever want, and for the loss of which nothing beyond the
threshold can make amends. The same philosophy which
he had cultivated from his youth upward employed his
dying hand. Aspirations after higher and brighter scenes
of excellence, always blended with his elevated morality,
became more earnest and deeper as worldly passions
died away, and earthly objects vanished from his sight."
g DR. THOMAS BROWN.
The system of philosophy commonly known as the
Scotch Metaphysics, as blocked out by Reid, matured and
completed by Stewart, received a very serious modification,
if not indeed a complete subversion, at the hands of Mr.
Stewart's immediate successor, Dr. Thomas Brown. Of
the personal history of this distinguished metaphysician,
neither the limits of this lecture, nor the materials at my
command, enable me to say much. He was born in 1728,
and like Dr. Reid, was descended from one of those ministers
in the Scottish church which, in the language of another,
"after a generation or two of an humble life spent in piety
and usefulness, with no more than needful knowledge, have




SUCCESSORS  OF REID.                339
more than:once sent forth a man of genius from their cool
and quiet shade, to make his fellows wiser or better, by
tongue or pen, by head or hand. "  Like Mr. Stewart, he
was educated first at the High School, and afterwards at
the University of Edinburgh, in which he subsequently
became professor of Moral Philosophy. While yet in his
19th year he distinguished himself by an acute and able
review of Dr. Darwin's Zo6nomia. This publication introduced him to the notice of some of the most distinguished
men of the time, and at the age of 19 he was associated
with a number of them in the formation of the Edinburgh
Academy o.f Physics. Erskine, Brougham, Lord Seymour,
Mackenzie, Jeffrey, and others, were of this number, and
from  this association originated the Edinburgh Review.
Dr. Brown wrote for this Review the article on the Philosophy of Kant in the second number, but taking umbrage at
some liberties which were taken with a subsequent paper,
he withdrew entirely his connection with the work.
Dr. Brown figured somewhat as a poet, though not, it
would seem, with any great success. His poetry is of that
metaphysical sort, which comparatively few readers appreciate or enjoy, and which is by no means the highest order
of poetry. He looked upon nature and upon man too
much with the eye of a philosopher intent upon discovering the true relations of things and their moral bearings,
just as he looked upon philosophy too much with the eye
of a poet, intent upon discovering beauties where only nice
discrimination of truth should be the object. It may be
said of him without injustice, that his philosophy spoiled
his poetry, and the latter avenged itself by spoiling, in
turn, his philosophy. His principal poetical work was the
Paradise of Coquettes, London, 1814. The prose of Dr.
Brown is certainly as unphilosophical, as his poetry is unpoetical. In the somewhat severe but just language of one
who was himself both a philosopher and a personal friend
of Brown, "'It is brilliant to excess. It must not be




34:0         SUCCESSORS OF REID.
denied that its beauty is sometimes womanly, that it too
often melts down precision into elegance, that it buries its
main idea under a load of illustration, of which every part
is expanded and adorned with such a visible labor as to
withdraw the mind from attention to the thoughts which it
professes to introduce more easily into the understanding.
It is darkened by excessive brightness; it loses ease and
liveliness by overdress,-and in the midst of its luscious
sweetness we wish for the striking and homely illustrations of Tucker, and for the pithy and sinewy sense of
Paley, either of whom by a single short metaphor from a
familiar, perhaps a low object, could at one blow set the
two worlds of reason and force in movement."
These very qualities, however, contributed not a little doubtless to the success of his lectures on their first
delivery. Brilliant, adorned with every grace and ornament of style and fancy, sparkling with imagery, sufficiently
original to wear the air of novelty, bold and daring even to
a fault in differing from established authority, analytic
withal in a very high degree, yet clothing the  most
abstract speculations in popular language and even poetical diction, the lectures of Dr. Brown drew large and
admiring audiences, and attracted general attention. They
were the result, however, not of careful and mature thought
and long study, but of a brilliant and original genius trusting to its own powers of invention and analysis. They
were generally written the night previous to their delivery,
and of necessity were as hasty and superficial as they were
brilliant and popular. Had he lived to prepare them for
the press he would probably have divested them somewhat
of the popular and declamatory style and clothed in a garb
more fitting the chaste and sober genius of philosophy.
The personal character of Dr. Brown is peculiarly
attractive. Mackintosh speaks of him " as an example of
one in whom the utmost tenderness of affection and the
indulgence of a flowery fancy were not repressed by the




SUCCESSORS  OF REID.                 341
highest cultivation, and by a perhaps excessive refinement
of intellect.  His mind soared and roamed through every
region of philosophy and poetry, but his untravelled heart
clung to the hearth of his father, to the children who
shared it with him, and after them first to other partners
of his childish sports and then almost solely to those companions of his youthful studies who continued to be the
friends of his life. Speculation seemed to keep his kindness at home. It is observable that, though sparkling
with fancy, he does not seem to have been deeply or
durably touched by those affections which are lighted at its
torch, or at least tinged with its colors. His heart sought
little abroad, but contently dwelt in his family and in his
study. He was one of those men of genius who repaid the
tender care of a mother by rocking the cradle of her reposing age."
lie died April 2d, 1820, at the age of 42. Of the
philosophy of Dr. Brown we have already had occasion to
speak in discussing that of Reid; especially of the injustice which he does the latter in respect to the merit of
overthrowing the established and long current theory of
ideas; and also of the historical inaccuracies with which
he abounds. The most serious defect of his system is,
perhaps, the doctrine which he saw fit to advocate in
regard to perception. The very point on which he claims
(to be at one with Reid, is the very one in which he differs
most essentially and entirely from him.  So far is he from
understanding either the history of the doctrine, or Reid's
position with regard to it, or in fact, his own. Brown is,
with regard to perception, what Hamilton would call a
representationist of the egoistical order. The object immediately perceived is, with him, not any external thing,
but a mode or modification of the mind itself. Reid, as
we have seen,, is a natural realist, the thing directly
perceived is, with him, not the mind itself, not any idea
in the mind or out of it, but the really existing external




342          SUCCESSORS  OF REID.
object.  Brown misunderstands his entire doctrine on this
subject and supposes him to be, like himself, a representationist.  In taking this position, Brown throws the entire
philosophy of the Scotch school a step backwards,-out of
order into confusion, out of progress into retreat. The
shadow moves a degree backward on the dial the moment
that step is taken. The door is thrown open again to
idealism and scepticism, and the philosophy of Dr. Brown
is utterly powerless to meet these advancing foes. This so
far as regards merely our belief in external realities, may
not be of so much consequence, for that belief is too firm
to be shaken by any theory or speculation. But the mischief wrought is chiefly in another quarter. The representation theory contradicts the universal consciousness of
mankind, and if that be affirmed false in one instance it
cannot, as Hamilton has well shown, be relied on in other
cases. All certainty, all confidence in its testimony is
destroyed, and what becomes of the validity of human
knowledge of any kind and in any case? See Hamilton's
argument against Brown.
The general system adopted by Brown may best be seen
in his classification of the mental powers. He divides
mental phenomena into external and internal states; including under the former the various sensations; under
the latter, intellectual states, which are all reduced to
simple and relative suggestion, and emotions, which comprise the passions and desires. The will has no place among
these faculties.  There are in fact no faculties, but merely
states of the mind. The mind exists now in the state of
memory, now in that of imagination, etc., just as moisture exists, now in the state of vapor, now of water, now of
ice or snow. The laws by which it passes from one of
these states to the other, are in either case fixed and
positive, and may be, to some extent at least, definitely
ascertained, and the mental, as truly as the physical
phenomena, are the definite and certain results of those




SUCCESSORS  OF REID.                   343
laws.  Activity, operation, power, faculty, are terms not
known to this system as designations of mental phenomena.
The native spontaneity, the inherent activity of mind, its
first chief distinguishing characteristic, in distinction from
mere organized  and  animate or inanimate  matter, is.
altogether overlooked. Psychology becomes merely the
physiology of mind,-a system of mental mechanics.
Against this cardinal feature of Brown's system we protest
with all earnestness, as a cardinal error and blunder.
The mind is not a series of states, but a living conscious
unity, possessing an inherent activity of its own, possessing
by its nature and constitution certain powers, putting forth
those powers as it will, now this-now that —but always
acting, operating, continually; and to speak of the mind
-thus constituted as existing merely in certain states, is not
simply ridiculous, it is one of the grossest libels upon
psychology,-it is to- give the play of Hamlet with the
character of Hamlet left out, —it is to stumble over the
very threshold of the science and sprawl at full length on
the first pavements.  Mental physiology-mental mechanics. Procul! 0 procul!
We object still further to the peculiar phraseology of
Brown. The states of mind are part internal, part external.  But what are we to understand by an external
state of mind! Was ever a greater absurdity of language
perpetrated in all Ireland?  Paul assures us that at one
time he knew not whether he was in the body or out of it,
but Dr. Brown seems to be in the same quandary as to the
condition of the human mind generally. It is liable to
exist at any time in an external state. But, overlooking
the absurdity of the language, the principle of classification here involved is not the true one. The question of
importance to be answered is not what is the origin of
these so called mental states, as Morell very justly insists,
but what are they in themselves. Nor is the principle
self-consistent even were it admissible; for some of the




344          SUCCESSORS  OF REID.
internal states, so called, are really of external origin.
The whole thing is, in fact, from beginning to end, a
tissue and concatenation of blunders.
Not much better is the attempt to reduce all mental
operations and faculties to the category of single and relative suggestion. What is to be gained by this? Are not
these several operations and faculties of operation really
distinct? Are they not essential to the mind? known by
well defined names from time immemorial? Why disturb
this accustomed nomenclature? I have now and had from,birth a faculty of memory, of conception, of imagination,
of judgment, of taste, etc. Why strip me of these, and
send me out into the world, like the plucked chicken of
the ancient philosopher, two-legged and featherless —a man
with only two capacities; single and relative suggestion, and
no faculty at all. What is the gain to philosophy or to the
individual in particular, by any such process. It is not
true moreover that all the mental powers may be thus
comprised under the one general faculty, a law of suggestion-a law which, in Dr. Brown's view, plays the same part
in the mental that gravitation does in the physical world.
Matter gravitates; mind.. receives suggestions. We
would beg leave in this connection to suggest that this is
not altogether a satisfactory view of the human mind.  It
remains only to notice briefly two other points in this
system of philosophy. Brown's theory of cause and effect
and his theory of morals. As to the first, he virtually
denies the existence of power other than that of the Deity,
as an existing objective or subjective reality, manifesting
itself as cause in the production of changes or effects.
There are for him no efficient causes in nature, only immediate, invariable antecedence.  Nor does he recognize
power or cause in the mind itself as the efficient, voluntary
producer of its own acts. Overlooking our own personal
consciousness of voluntary power, effort, sensation,-the
source of all our ideas of power or cause in nature, he fails




SUCCESSORS  OP REID.                 345
of course to perceive in the material world anything of the
sort, and so reduces all phenomena both mental and material to mere succession of events, connected indeed and
uniform in their procedure, but of which no one is, or
contains in itself, the cause or reason why another occurs.
It is this idea of causation or rather the entire absence of
causation which gives that peculiar hue and coloring
which we have already noticed to Brown's whole theory of
mind. He sees in the mind a mere passive receptivity of
suggestions, a passive entity existing in certain ever changing states dependent for the quality and character of those
states upon influences and impressions from without, and
the established laws of consciousness within. The mind as
a power, as possessing faculties, and exerting them at its
own sweet will, he does not recognize, has never formed the
idea of such a thing. Hence it is that the will has no
place in his system.  It is merely a modification of
desire.
As to ethics, a word will suffice. Brown nowhere discusses the great problem of liberty and necessity. There
was perhaps, with such a theory of mind as we have now
described, very little occasion for him to take up those intricate and deep questions. They were in part already settled
by the very basis of his theory. Everything goes according
to fixed laws-no spontaneity, no activity, no will-of course
no occasion for liberty. Such, as it would seem, would be
the almost inevitable conclusion-certainly the only consistent one from such a psychology —or system of mental
mechanics.
His theory of virtue is analogous to that of cause
and effect; certain actions are followed by certain emotions
in us, the one the antecedent, the other the consequent;
that is all we know or can know of the matter. To inquire
for the cause of the emotions which thus arise, or seek any
adaptation in the action to produce the consequent emotion
is idle, just as it is in nature to inquire for a cause of the
15'




346          SUCCESSORS OF REID.
observed connection of events. Gravitation is the name we
give to this relation of events in the physical world. So
in the moral world we call the relation of actions and emotions by a general name-virtue-a mere name for an
unknown thing, an abstraction.  We are not to ask, then,
what is the ground of virtuous emotion, why we approve
or disapprove certain actions; there is no ground, at least
that can be known to us-nothing in the nature of human
action in itself considered, why one emotion should follow
rather than another. Were the emotions then to be reversed,
were we to approve what now we disapprove, and vice versa,
no reason could be shown why that would not be just as
well as the present arrangement, nay, why virtue and vice
would not just change places. To such a pass do we come
when once we lose sight of the element of human freedom
as the basis of human responsibility, and the foundation of
human conscience.
I have spoken in somewhat severe terms of this entire
system, because I regard it as on the whole most radically
defective and unsound, and from the very genius of its
author and the attractive dress in which it is clothed, all
the more specious and dangerous. It is all the more to be
condemned as being a move backward from a far better
and nobler system, against which it sets itself in open revolt.
I would by no means deny the originality and genius of
its author's mind, nor his power of analysis, which is everywhere manifest. Of his personal character and worth, I have
already spoken; so true is it, as a profound moralist has
remarked, that men are always better or worse than their
speculative opinions.




THE GEIRMAN  PHILOSOPHY.               347
CHAPTER XIV.
THE GERMAN PHILOSOPHY.-IMMANUEL KANT.
WHILE Reid was laying the foundations of a true philosophy in Britain, and setting himself to stem the prevailing torrent of scepticism, a greater than Reid was devoting
himself to the same work, and with the same design, in
another land. They were contemporary writers, in some
respects of kindred spirit, animated by a common desire,
laboring for a common end. Both gave their lives to the
great work of elaborating a system of philosophy that
should prove an effectual barrier to the inroads of that
scepticism which both saw and felt to be most formidable,
not to philosophy alone, but to all truth and all sound principles of morality. Both were men of genius and power.
Each knew little of the life and writings of the other. It
was the writings of David Hume that first aroused both to
undertake the work to which each devoted his life. But
though animated by the same impulse, they moved in altogether independent courses. The manner in which Reid
accomplished his design we have already noticed.  I
remains to inquire into the philosophy of his great contemporary, Immanuel Kant.
This distinguished man, second in fame as a philosopher
to no other, certainly in modern times, was born in Konigsberg, Prussia, April 22, 1724. He was the son of poor
but honest and respectable parents; his father a harnessmaker; his mother a woman of marked character, strictly
religious and not wanting in native strength of mind.
She took her boy early into the fields and taught him the
names of the flowers that grew by the wayside and along
the meadows, and awakened in him the love of nature and
the beautiful. The boy grew up and in course of time,




348       THE GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.
having received his first education at a charity school in
the suburbs, was sent in 1732, then only eight years old, by
much sacrifice and exertion of the parents, to the college at
K:nigsberg, named after Frederic, and in 1740, then sixteen, to the University. The mother and the son now
walked forth as before into the fields,-she now to question
and he to teach. For his mother he ever retained, as every
truly great and noble man has ever done, the tenderest
affection. Both his parents, however, were removed by
death soon after he reached the age of manhood. His
application to study at the college and university was unremitting, and his proficiency great. He devoted himself
chiefly to philological studies at first, together with Physics
and Mathematics, which were his favorite studies and recreation in subsequent life.  At the university he studied
theology as a profession, intending to devote himself to it
as a means of livelihood, but seems never to have formed
any special taste therefor. He was quite too fond of science and philosophy to devote himself to either of the
practical professions as the business of life. Coleridge, the
English disciple of Kant, had in early life a similar destination and went so far as actually to preach on a few occasions, once certainly on the corn-laws, not altogether a gospel sermon probably. Whether Kant did likewise we are not
informed, but he somewhere speaks of having, as a candidate
for theology, written a sermon on reconciliation with enemies from the words " agree with thine adversary quickly,"
etc., which however, he had never had occasion to deliver.
Very early, however, must he have acquired a fondness for
philosophical investigation, since we find him at the age of
twenty-two assailing vigorously the systems of Leibnitz
and Wolff and using the weapons of dialectic skill with
no little effect against the most eminent authorities of the
age in metaphysical science. Obliged to depend upon his
own resources, he spent some years in retirement as private
tutor in several families, where he devoted much time to




THE  GERMAN  PHILOSOI'IIY.               349
reading, and marked out the plan of several of the philosophical treatises which he subsequently published. In
1755, after ten or twelve years thus employed, he returned
to Kbnigsberg, took the degree of A. M., and soon after
published his celebrated work the Theory of the Heavens,
or the constitution and mechanical structure of the Globe,
according to the Newtonian system. This was a work of
no little originality and merit, and in it he anticipates
more than one of the subsequent discoveries of Herschel,
as that astronomer afterwards admitted, particularly the
existence of the planet Uranus. Kant now began to lecture
as Doctor Docens on a wide range of subjects-natural law,
metaphysics, mathematics, logic, natural philosophy, moral
philosophy, natural theology, etc. He became popular
with the students, but was not appointed a professor until
after some fifteen years of patient toil and waiting. At
length in 1770 the honor so long and richly merited was
conferred on him. His publications did not attract much
attention at first. The Critique of Pure Reason, his master
work, lay six years almost unnoticed, and the publisher
was on the point of destroying the unsold edition, when
suddenly the demand increased, the value of the work became known, successive editions were quickly disposed of,
and all Germany became animate with the discussion of
the new philosophy. It was stoutly and learnedly assailed,
as vigorously and ably defended by its friends and disciples; the thinking mind of Germany ranged itself on either
side, for and against the new system. Gradually it prevailed over all obstacles. Almost every chair in the German universities was filled by a Kantist. The work was
the study of twelve years, but was written in five months.
Hence its defects of style, its carelessness, looseness, want
of clearness, sometimes of consistency.  It is such a
work as none but a German could ever write, and no literary community but a German would ever tolerate. In spite
of its defects of style, however, it has exerted a more power



350       THE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.
ful influence on the educated and thinking mind of Europe
than probably any other book of the kind ever written.
The fame of Kant was now fully established. From all
the countries of Europe men came to see and speak with
the great German. One man, himself a professor, announced himself at the study door, as having travelled 160
miles to speak with Kant. Advantageous proposals from
other universities were made to him, but Kant remained
faithful to the home of his early life and labors. Indeed,
with the exception of his private tutorship at Arensdorf, 32
miles distant, he never once quitted KSInigsberg, it is said,
during his whole life. His habits were extremely simple.
He had no ambition for display and the attentions of a
crowd, —sought retirement,-lived alone, attended only by
a faithful old soldier in the capacity of body servant,-in
a retired house,-the domestic arrangements of which were
all entrusted to his servant and his cook. There he passed
his hours, days, years, till an advanced old age, content
with his own best thoughts and best society. Reichardt
describes him as a lean, small man-" leaner, nay, drier,
none probably ever existed." A high, calm forehead,
tranquil and lofty as the seat of high thought, a well-formed
nose, and clear bright eyes of serene depth, gave his countenance a marked expression. Though loving retirement
he was yet fond of society, and never dined without one or
two invited guests. Dinner was a social and cheerful meal,
in which he gave himself up to conversation, merriment,
good cheer, good living. His habits were quite as regular
and punctual as those of the town clock, which seemed
rather to regulate its movement by his, than his by its.
At five minutes before five, summer and winter, weather
what it pleased, the old soldier walked with military precision into his master's bed-room, exclaimed with a bow,
"Sir, it is time!" and immediately withdrew. Just five
minutes after, the philosopher invariably sat down to a cup
of tea, scarcely more, for breakfast. He now marked out




THE GERMAN  PtHILOSOPHY.                351
with the precision of an astronomical diagram, his occupations for the day, and immediately entered upon them.
At seven he sallied forth for lecture, frequently giving successive lectures at short intervals, through a considerable
part of the morning. His lectures were full of illustration
-given mostly without reference to his notes, from memory. After that he gave himself up to study till, at a quarter before one, the old soldier opened the door and
announced that 123 had struck. Whatever else might be
on hand at the moment, Kant was on hand also, —made
his toilet with care-and appeared precisely at one, neatly
dressed, and with a cordial greeting for his invited guests.
At no other time did he see visitors. After dinner, which
occupied some two hours or more, he always, and in all
weathers, took his promenade of an hour, alone, or attended
only by his servant,-spent the remaining afternoon in
light reading,-which comprehended almost everything in
almost every department of literature-but especially politics and books of travel. At six o'clock, without supper,
he addressed himself to the studies of the evening, retiring
at ten. Fifteen minutes before retiring, he broke off all
thought and occupation that might disturb his repose, and
immediately fell asleep on touching his pillow. Thus he
lived till extreme old age gradually wore out his powers of
labor and endurance, and he sank to his final sleep February 12th, 1804, eighty years of age. His faculties gradually wasted with his wasting form. His memory first,his sight followed,-he became gradually unconscious of
surrounding objects, and yet life still lingered at the citadel, as loth to deprive the world of one who had so well
adorned and served it. After his decease, his remains were
visited by immense multitudes, thronging the house for
days, and his funeral solemnities were attended as few
kings have been attended on their march to the sepulchre.
All Germany conspired to do him honor. It would have
been gratifying to have heard from the lips of so great a




352      THE GER'M AN  PHILOSOPHY.
man, as he approached the grave, some avowal of a personal
Christian faith.  Alas! he was a philosopher, rather than
a Christian.  When asked in his closing life to what he
looked forward in the future, he professed an entire ignorance of what wight hereafter await him.  The wasting
energies of life filled him with sad regrets.  Weary and
sick of existence, which was to him full of pain and misery,
he drew no consolation from the hopes of the future and of
immortality, which revelation holds out to man. He was
ready enough to die, and would gladly depart, but the
ground of this readiness was the uselessness and misery of
further existence, and the ground of his confidence was
that he had never consciously injured any one. A sad
death for a Christian philosopher of the 19th century.
That of Socrates was a far more sublime and Christian
death of the two.
Of the philosophy of Kant little more than a meagre
outline can be given in the compass of a lecture, and no
such outline, however full and faithful and correct, can
convey an adequate and just idea of a great system of
philosophy. And yet it may be of service to study an outline map before travelling over a country, and thus learn
beforehand what are the prominent features of the region
we are about to visit. I shall be satisfied if the exposition
I am about to give shall serve as such an introduction and
guide to any of you in your future study of the great
author himself.
The philosophical systems that were chiefly in vogue,
it will be remembered, at the time when Kant came upon
the stage, were the sensationalism of the followers of Locke,
the idealism of Leibnitz and his followers, together with
the prevailing scepticism of Ilume. These all, the latter
chiefly, had left their impression on the thinking mind of
northern Europe, and were producing their effects. Hume
had shown triumphantly that certain ideas of the human
mind, as e.g. ideas of cause and effect, are not derived




THE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.                  353
from  experience, and thence concluded that they were
mere figments of the imagination, quite without authority.
Kant saw the necessity of a profounder investigation of
the fundamental laws of the mind itself, as the only way
of settling truth and philosophy on a sure basis. He saw
that Hume was right as to his premises in this case. He
saw that the ideas of cause and effect were, however, not
the only ideas that are not derived from experience, that
the same thing is true of a large class of our ideas, and
that instead of rejecting these ideas, with Hume, as of no
authority on that account, it was necessary to admit and
establish them as of the very highest authority. To these
ideas or forms of thought not derived from experience, he
gives the name transcendental; and seeks to determine
their number and legitimate province. These are primitive intuitions; a priori conceptions, not a posteriori-not
the result of experience —not, with Descartes, innate. The
truths which are thus acquired are the only truths that
are absolutely certain. The truths of experience are contingent, variable, uncertain, changing with circumstances.
These a priori or transcendental conceptions, on the contrary, have the character of necessary and universal truths.
Of such a nature are the ideas we have of substance,
causality, infinity, space, time, etc.  The faculty which
furnishes the principles of this a priori cognition Kant
denominates the pure reason.
It is the object of the work entitled Critique of Pure
Reason to give a general theory of all the pure or a priori
elements which enter into human knowledge.  The work
consists of two parts, the first of which enumerates and
establishes the existence of those various elements, the
second investigates their value, absolute and relative, and
their right use.
All human knowledge, says Kant, is derived from two
sources, equally important but essentially diverse. These
two sources or fundamental faculties, are first the sensi



354       THE  GERMAN  PH ILOSOPHIY.
bility; (sinnlichkeit), which is the capacity of receiving
representations (vorstellungen) of objects by means of the
impressions made on our senses, —a passive faculty-hence
called the receptivity, but essential to the representation
of objects, since objects are represented to us only as we
are cffected in some way by them; the representations
thus received he calls also intuitions; (anschauungen),
and their objects are appearances, phenomena (erscheinung); second the understandizng; (verstand)-the faculty of knowing objects by means of the representations
afforded by sense-the source of notions, or conceptions,
(begriffe) as the sensibility is of intuitions.  It is not,
like the former, a mere capacity (fahigkeit), but an active
power, a faculty (vermogen).  Its developments are spontaneous. These two powers, differing thus in character
and function, concur in all our knowledge. The study of
the one differs from that of the other as iEsthetic differs
from Logic. Now the question is, what are the pure a
priori elements that are contained in each of these; for to
determine this simply, not to treat at large of the two faculties, is Kant's sole object in the Critique. And first as
to the sensibility.  In every object of intuition, that is, in
every phenomenon, we distinguish two things; the matter
of the phenomenon,-that which is manifold, variable,
that which corresponds to the sensation, and the form,
that which is fixed and unchangeable.   The former is
given in sensation or a posteriori; the latter is independent of and prior to sensation i. e., a priori. On examination we discover two of these invariable elements or
forms, of sensible intuition, viz., time and space-the necessary conditions of all sensible experience.  You cannot
conceive of body without space.  It is in space that you
locate it, determine its figure, size, relations. It is the
indispensable condition then of sensation. It is not given
in the materials of sensation;-annihilate all those materials, all sensation, all matter, you have not annihilated




T HE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPH Y.               355
space-that still remains-must therefore be its form.
It answers to the character of an a priori or pure element; since universal, invariable, necessary.
So of time. It too is aform of sensible intuition.  All
objects not only, but all consciousness or internal intuition
is represented under this form, just as all objects are in
space. We are sensible of things and conscious of things
only as presented in succession to our sensibility.  These
then are indispensable conditions both,-pure forms of
sensibility, with which we invest all the materials of sensation. Since these are given not in experience, since
they are not contained in the material of sensation, but
are forms of it only, they have no objective existence, are
purely subjective, conceptions of the mind.  They exist
within us, not without-are necessary and pure intuitions
of the internal sense.
Let us now examine the understanding to discover what
pure a priori elements are there contained.
The function of this power, it will be observed, is to
judge, to elevate into notions or conceptions, the perceptions furnished by the sensibility. It does this by linking
diverse sensations together, reducing them to unity by
means of memory, imagination, consciousness, thus forming conceptions. Without this faculty we should have no
knowledge, only sensations.  As the sensibility imposes the
laws or forms of time and space on the objects presented to
it, so the understanding imposes certain laws or forms of
its own on the materials furnished by sensibility. What
are these forms of the understanding, these laws of its
operation? If we examine all the different methods of
judging, we find them to be four —viz, quantity, quality,
relation, modality-i. e., in every judgment we have regard
to some one of these four things, predicate something
either as to the quantity, or the quality, or the relation, or
the mode of existence of the object considered. Each of
these four embraces under it three distinct, pure, a priori




356       THE G E RM AN  PHILOSOPHY.
conceptions.  Thus, in judging of quantity we regard the
object as a unity, plurality, or totality. In judging of
quality we have to do with affirmation or reality, negation,
limitation, i. e. we affirm or deny, or limit the thing proposed or considered.  So in judging of the relations of an
object, we have to do with the ideas of substance, causality
and reciprocity; while if we consider the modality or mode
of existence of any object, we regard its possibility, actuality, and necessity.
These are all pure a priori conceptions, indispensable to
experience-prior to it-the conditions and forms or laws
of the understanding. Kant calls them categories.
Kant divides all judgments into two classes, analytic
and synthetic. The former is a simple statement of our
conception or notion of a thing, as that a triangle has three
sides. The latter states some circumstance or quality not
involved necessarily in the conception of the object itself,
adds something to what is implied in the simple conception of the object, as when we say a straight line is the
shortest distance between two points.  These synthetic
judgments may be either a posteriori, from experience, or
a priori, independent of experience. Iron is malleable,-a
synthetic judgment from experience. Nbt so that synthetic
judgment already stated respecting a straight line as the
shortest distance, etc. That experience can only confirm.
It was true without experience, has universality which
experience cannot bestow, since experience can only show
what has been frequently found true, but cannot prove that
the same is universally true.  Experience may show that
in numberless instances the sun has risen, or crows are
black, etc., but cannot prove that no exceptions ever will
occur. Nor is there any a priori synthetic judgment that
affirms that. But that every effect must have a cause is a
pure a priori conception, not given in experience merely,
but independent of it, prior to it. Now these synthetic a
priori judgments are certain and universal. They are the




-T-E  GERMAN  PH ILOSOPH Y.              357
~ground of certitude.  The veracity of human reason rests
land reposes on that certitude.  Thus and therefore it is,
that, while endless disputes prevail about metaphysics, men
do not endlessly quarrel about mathematics, logic, or the
higher physics, because these have to do with universal
and a priori truths, not with the contingent and variable.
The principles and properties of mathematical science are
only so many conceptions; the rules and propositions of
logic are only so many invariable laws of the human mind.
Even in physics men follow reason while investigating
nature. Reason furnishes the rules, methods, problems even,
by which and on which they work. Science then reposes
on the laws of the human mind.
Thus far we have investigated the a priori elements
given in the sensibility and the judgment. The Reason
also furnishes its quota. What are they?
Understanding is the faculty of judging; —Reason the
faculty of ratiocination,-of drawing conclusions from
premises. It reduces our various conceptions to unity,
traces each up to some more general idea, and that onward
to its ultimate principle. It also deduces the particular
from the general. Now in our reasonings and generalizings we may proceed in either of three ways, as shown by
the rules of formal logic, viz., categorically, hypothetically
or disjunctively. The first regards the relations of substance and accident, and proceeding according to this
method we reach at last, as the result, a subject universal
and absolute, not itself the attribute of any other substance, viz., the soul. Proceeding hypothetically, we reach
at last a supposition which supposes nothing further, something which is not an effect depending on some anterior
effect, the absolute unity and totality of the series of
phenomena, viz., the world or universe. Finally, by the
disjunctive process we arrive at last at the absolute unity
of all the objects of thought in general, viz., Deity.  The
soul, the world, God; these are three ideas or pure forms




358       THE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.
of the reason, the first, uniting in itself as unity all the
phenomena of the Ego; the second, uniting in itself, as
unity, all the phenomena of the non-Eyo; the third,
uniting in itself, as the absolute and final unity, both
the other, the Ego and the non-Ego, as the source and
basis of both.
Corresponding to these three ideas of the reason are
three sciences: psychology, cosmology, theology; the
science of the soul, of the world, of God.
As the results of the understanding are called notions,
so the results of the reason are in this system termed ideas.
These ideas, unlike our notions, have no objective reality,
are the pure creations of the reason, are subjective merely;
notions being derived, primarily, from experience and
sensation, can be traced back to some objective reality, fall
within the limits of perception. Not so ideas; they afford
no basis of certain objective reality; they only regulate
the use of the understanding, as that regulates the use of
the facultyzof sense. Such, however, is the constitution
of the mind, that we do inevitably and universally proceed,
as above shown, in accordance with these ideas of the
pure reason; that we necessarily form the idea of a thinking subject, a soul, as the basis and unity of the phenomena of self; the idea of a substance, the universe, as basis
of the phenomena of the non-Ego; the idea of a supreme
substance and unity, Deity, as the ground of all secondary
conditions of existence. Still, though all men do, and
must and ever will reason in this way, these great ideas
have, after all, only asubjective value. They demonstrate
nothing, can prove nothing, objectively; for all proof, all
certain science and knowledge, is grounded on experience.
Hence all attempts to prove, by the arguments usually
drawn from reason and the pure metaphysics, the personality of the soul, its immateriality, its immortality, the
creation or non-eternity of the universe and the existence
of God, are futile and worthless. The opposite can with




THIE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.               359
equal facility be proved from  the same source.  What
then?  Scepticism? Have these things no reality, no
existence, no certainty to us? They have. We are not
left without any ground of certainty as to the reality and
objective existence of these things.  We have that ground,
not in the pure and theoretical reason, indeed, which is
merely formal, merely negative, but we have it in our
practical reason, in our moral nature. The knowledge of
the external universe, and of the soul, and of God, rests
ultimately on the same firm and sure basis as the knowledge of our own present existence and thought and sensation, viz., on the basis of consciousness.  For consciousness
attests the reality and existence of our moral nature,
reveals to us the supremacy within us of an absolute moral
law, imperative, commanding,-the authority of the conscience, that grand practical movement of the reason, by
which it sways the sceptre of lofty dominion over the soul,
and regulates the conduct.  This is a reality as sure and
positive as any other part of consciousness. And it implies,
what?  Mark the answer. It implies freedom, without
which all moral action were impossible; a future state, as
the goal of human action and completion of the present;
a God, as the lawgiver and judge, whence emanates this
regulative and legislative principle in man. These grand
truths are realities, then, founded not in theoretical reason,
but in practical reason, in the moral nature of man, and
attested by consciousness, whose testimony is never to be
called in question.
Between the theoretical and the practical reason there
comes in as an intermediate and connecting link the
faculty of judgment, which unites the two in a common
result. This faculty gives us the feeling of the sublime, the beautiful, and the reverse, also the notion of a
final end,-teleology-arising from the perception of the
design everywhere manifest in nature. These noble
esthetic sentiments confirm  the belief of the practical




360      THE G E RM A N  PHILOSOPHY.
reason in immorality and in God. The certainty and
immutability of moral distinctions and the evidence of
natural religion are thus placed on a basis as sure and
valid as anything short of absolute demonstration can
possibly make them.
Such are the grand outlines of the philosophy of Kant.
To sum up its leading points: —He acknowledges the
reality of our sense-knowledge, makes it the basis in fact
of all positive science, but not the source of all our
knowledge. We have beyond and above this apriori conceptions, not derived from experience. These are the forms
of our intellections, as furnished by reason while experience or sense furnishes only the matter. But these pure
a priori forms and conceptions are subjective only, can
never lead to objective reality. The certainty of those
truths which lie above and beyond the sphere of sense,
and which the theoretical reason affirms but can never
prove, is to be found in our moral nature.
The grand merits of this system are its clear and complete analysis of the mental processes, especially of the a
priori elements of our knowledge; its distinction between
sense and understanding; its discovery in the soul of a
higher faculty than either, viz., the pure reason; its
establishing morality and religion on a firm basis, the constitution of man's moral nature as attested by consciousness.
Its grand defects are, that it makes the apriori elements of time and space purely subjective, mere phenomena of ego, and assigns them to the sensibility in distinction from the understanding, as if the latter had no
concern with them; and also it makes the reason and its
ideas, in like manner, purely subjective and personal, thus
banishing from pure philosophy the certain knowledge of
the soul as immortal and immaterial, of the universe as an
objective reality, and of God, making all these all-important truths rest entirely on altogether another basis, viz.,




THE GERMAN PHILOSOPHY.    361
that of belief in and consciousness of our moral nature.
The system of Kant puts no faith in reason as a revealer
of these grand truths.
With all the merits then of this system, its tendency to
pure idealism is obvious and apparently inevitable.  We
shall not be surprised then to find the successors of Kant
going beyond him in this direction, and with less perspicacity and less caution, boldly adventuring where his clear
and gigantic intellect could find no sure resting place.
ADDENDA ON KANT.-A BIOGRAPHY.
It was at the age of twenty-two that he published his
first work. IHis teaching was in families in the environs of
Kbnigsberg.  He never went out of the province of KbSnigsberg in his life. That was to him a theatre of action, a
mart and centre of commerce, a political centre and literary
also, affording abundant advantages for the study of men
and manners. While specially devoted to mathematics,
and physical science, he was a stranger to no branch of
knowledge.  He was gifted with a vast memory and a great
power of conception and combination.  HIe despised
rhetorlicians, and with Montaigne regarded rhetoric as the
art of deceiving men, yet he by no means undervalued the
talent of speaking well. It was in his lectures on anthropology and physical geography, that his abundant knowledge of men and things, his accurate observation, his profound and original and just views, more conspicuously
appeared, and these lectures following his other course,
were attended by auditors of all ages and all ranks.
As a writer he is often embarrassed and obscure, needlessly so, but is always equal to, and often rises above his
cotempolraries in the qualities of good writing. His distinguishing characteristic was love of truth; nothing stood
second to that in his estimation, and he demanded liberty
to think and to speak accordingly, could brook no hin



362      THE  GERMAN  PHILOSOPHY.
drance to the free utterance of truth, demanded the strictest
veracity also on the part of his friends.
He was a patriot; " Liberty, law, and the public power
are elements of all social life," he says, "law and liberty
without power, is anarchy. Law and power without liberty, is despotism; power alone is barbarism; liberty and
law united with power is republicanism, the only good
civil constitution, but which is not necessarily democracy."
In religion he seems to have been a sort of Deist. He
rejected all supernatural revelation as useless and impossible, and for a long time took no part in public worship of
any kind, which he regarded as needful only for the feebleminded; yet so far from discarding the doctrines of the
Bible, he bent all his energies, says Willm, to reconcile
them with reason and thus established a rational theology.
He inculcates in his writings rather a natural than a
supernatural religion.
His personal appearance was not unprepossessing.
His physical constitution was feeble, his frame not robust
but small and delicate, his eye blue, at once lively and
mild, indicating spirit and kindness, his forehead elevated,
indicating the profound thinker.
Never was a man more systematic and exact in all his
habits; and to this regularity is owing his advanced age
and his vigor of mind and body until almost the last.
It is impossible, says Willm, when one has read all
that his biographers relate of Kant, not to love and respect the man as much as we admire the philosopher.  It
is related by his biographers that his habit was to sit at
evening twilight by his window and meditate on his next
day's lecture, his eyes fixed abstractedly meanwhile on a
neighboring tower. The gradual growth of a row of poplars, at last hid the tower from view, and occasioned so
much embarrassment to the course of thought in the philosopher that he was under the necessity of prevailing with
the owner to cut down the pretensions of the too aspiring




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                  363
poplars.  It is also related of him that he was accustomed
in lecturing to fix his eyes on a particular coat button of
one of his auditors. One day the lecture was unaccountably confused and heavy, a perfect failure in fact. Thinking of the circumstance afterward, Kant remembered
that the button was that day unfortunately missing, and
coat being minus the button, the philosopher was minus
his lecture.
CHAPTER XV.
SUCCESSORS OF KANT.
KANT had nicely distinguished the various faculties of
the mind, but had not attempted to derive them from a
common source, to trace them back to a single and primitive origin. The life of the soul, however, is a unique and
single principle. It is one in its origin, and one in its end.
The development of this principle is progressive, and is to
be viewed in diverse aspects and results as understanding,
judgment, reason, etc. What is this unity, this single fundamental principle of all psychological development, and
all human knowledge? Let us search it out, and so place
the philosophy of Kant on a better foundation and give it
the completeness it needs. Thus reasoned the first successors of Kant, of whom Reinhold and Fichte are more especially worthy of notice.
~ 1. REINIOLD.
Born at Vienna, 1758; at first a Jesuit; after the dissolution of that order, a Barnabite monk and professor of
philosophy in his convent; in 1783 embraces protestantism;
1787 professor at Jena.  1794 at Kiel, where he dies in
1823.  He was a man of the world, a journalist, a man of
bi-illiant and vivacious mind, but not the calm, patient, pro



364          SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.
found thinker,-not the correct philosopher.  His thoughts
were often very just and weighty, but he was content to
herald and announce them merely, leaving it to others to
give them  the correct expression.  His influence on the
public mind, however, was very great. He adopts the philosophy of Kant at its first appearance with enthusiasm, and
writes a series of letters on it which were widely read, and
with which Kant himself expressed great satisfaction.
Seeking to place this philosophy, however, on a firmer
basis, as already explained, he discovers, as he thinks, the
fundamental principle of which he is in search, in the fact
of consciousness or of perception, and bases human knowledge on the representative faculty. In the representative
process, there is the subject which represents, the object
represented, and also the act of representation itself,
which unites the two, —their synthesis in the consciousness. Representation supposes in man, or the subject,
a representative faculty, which precedes, of course, the
exercise or act, and which comprises under it, sensible intuition, concept, idea, sensibility, understanding even, and
reason.  The principle of consciousness, then, which determines the representative faculty, is the elementary principle
of knowledge, and of all philosophy.
~ 2. FICHTE.
That foundation which Reinhold sought thus to establish in the consciousness, Fichte, going back of that,
going further than that, places in an act primitive and
spontaneous, the source of consciousness itself, viz., the act
by which the soul, the subject, the ego, concludes its own
existence as such. This modification of the system deserves a more particular mention; but first the personal
history of the man himself demands our attention.
Johann Gottlieb (or Theophilus) Fichte was born at
Rammenan, May 19, 1762, of poor but respectable parents;
his father a ribbon-maker, descended from a Swedish ser



SUCCESSORS OF KAN T.                   365
geant of the army of Gustavus Adolphus, a man of strict
integrity, of firm, unbending will, virtues which passed over
in striking degree to the inheritance of the son. Many
anecdotes are related of the childhood and youth of Gottlieb,
which show  that he possessed a very marked character.
He was little like other children, little with them, took no
pleasure in the sports of his brothers and sisters. There
seems to have been in him, in very childhood, a love of
solitude, a power of creative imagination, vague longings
for something superior to what was about him or what was
in him. By himself he wanders into the fields and among
the forests, pleased with the luxury of silence and his own
thoughts and the deep solitude of nature, gazes into the
deep sky till the sun goes down, and late in the twilight returns sadly, thoughtfully, to his home. An anecdote which
is related of him shows the self-command of the boy. A
work of fiction which fell into his hands seized so strongly
on his imagination that he forgot all things else, and was
punished for his negligence. Deeply stung with the consciousness of his fault and his degradation, he resolved to
sacrifice forever the object which had betrayed him to this
offence, and taking the book, walked deliberately to a
stream that ran past the house, and lingering awhile to
gather strength for the sacrifice, summoning all his resolution, threw the idol at last into the stream and as he saw
it floating away forever from him, burst into tears. The act
had been observed, and as the boy did not explain his conduct, his motive was misunderstood, and he was again
severely punished-a prelude of what oft happened to him
in after life, to be,misunderstood and suffer in consequence.
The precocity of the child attracted the attention of the Lord
of Rammenan, and of his friend the Baron von Miltitz,
of Saxony on the Elbe, who took charge of his education,
placing him under the care of a country pastor, where he
passed some of the pleasantest years of his life.  Here he
remained till his thirteenth year, receiving his first instruc



366         SUCCESSORS OF KANT.
tion in the ancient languages, and what was worth more
to him than all languages, ancient or modern, kind and
affectionate treatment. His patron now placed him at
the seminary of Schulpforte. There he was harshly treated
and much abused. Tyranny and force on the part of
the teachers led to duplicity and cunning on the part of the
pupils. The generous and virtuous elements of character
were little cultivated or esteemed. The integrity and
honesty and self reliance of Gottlieb were put to a severe
test. His sympathies were repressed. His tears were taught
to flow in secret. He resolved to fly from the gloomy monastic walls, where life was so wretched. He was already
well on his way, on foot and without resources, to Hamburg, when he remembered a saying of his old pastor, that
one ought never to begin an important undertaking in
life without asking Divine assistance. Kneeling by the
road-side, he implores the blessing of heaven on a friendless wandering boy. The thought of his mother now
occurred to him; his eyes filled with tears; wandering
from his school, he was in fact wandering from his friends
and home, and might perhaps return no more. This
thought brought back his courage and his better principle.
He resolved to return and bravely meet the punishment
that might await him at Schulpforte, " that he might look
once more on the face of his mother." The honesty with
which he confessed his fault procured his pardon, and he
was thenceforth more kindly treated. How much to the
future man was that one instance of self-conquest worth in
after years.
At eighteen Fichte enters the university of Jena as student of theology; and here his philosophic genius seems to
have been more decidedly awakened by the grand problems of liberty, necessity and Providence, which now
came before him for solution. His patron's death, which
occurred soon after, threw him again on his own resources,
and he became private tutor in Zurich. Here he became




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                  367
acquainted with Mlle. Rahn, a niece of Klopstock, his
future bride. His tutorship was not altogether to his
mind, nor altogether successful, and 1790 he quits Zurich
to seek his fortunes in Germany. Vainly seeking employment at Stuttgart and Weimar, he comes at last to Leipsig
and begins giving lessons in Greek and philosophy, and
here forms his first acquaintance with the writings of Kant.
It was an era in his life.  " I have been living for the last
four or five months," he says, "in Leipsig the happiest life
I can remember. I came here with my head full of grand
projects, which all burst one after another, like so many
soap-bubbles without leaving me so much as the froth.
At first this troubled me a little, and half in despair, I
took a step which I ought to have taken long before.
Since I could not alter what was without me, I resolved to
try to alter what was within. I threw myself into philosophy, the Kantian, and here I found the true antidote for
all my evils, and joy enough into the bargain.  The
influence which this philosophy, the ethical part of it particularly, has had upon my whole system of thought is not
to be described."  I-Ie proceeds to express his firm belief
in the doctrine of free will as the only foundation for
virtue and duty, and then proceeds: " I am furthermore
well convinced, that this life is not the land of enjoyment,
but of labor and toil —that every joy is granted to us but
to strengthen us for further exertion; that the management of our own fate is by no means required of us, but
only self-culture. I trouble myself, therefore, not at all
concerning the things that are without; I endeavor not to
appear, but to be. And to this perhaps I owe the deep
tranquillity I enjoy." After various reverses and removals,
Fichte visits K6nigsberg, attracted by his admiration for
Kant. He places in the hands of that philosopher, to
whom he had no introduction, a work written in eight
days entitled, A Critique on all Revelation.  Kant saw in
the stranger his own peer, and received him cordially.




368         SUCCESSO RS OF KAN T.
But the resources of the adventurer were nearly exhausted. His journal bears the most touching witness to
many a mental conflict on this score. " I have reckoned
my finances," he says under date of August 28th, "and
find that I have just enough to subsist on for a fortnight.'
First September, "A situation as tutor, however reluctantly I might accept it, does not even offer itself, while
the uncertainty of my position does not allow me to work.
I must return home. I can perhaps borrow from Kant
the small sum needful for my journey." 12th September,
"I wanted to work to-day but could do nothing. How
will this end? What will become of me a week hence?
Then all my money will be gone." But a brighter day
was at hand for the poor struggling scholar, conscious of
his strength and firm in his purpose. By the advice of
Kant he puts his, manuscript into the hands of a bookseller, who consents to publish it anonymously. So well
was it written, and so fully did it fall in with the known
sentiments of the great philosopher that it was very generally attributed to Kant himself. The mistake at once
made the reputation and the fortune of Fichte. He marries and returns to Zurich in 1793. The applause now
acquired procured him the chair of philosophy at Jena,
the leading university of Germany, whither he repairs in
1794; not however to end his troubles or escape opposition, which seems to have been his fortune in life.
After some years of arduous toil and brilliant success, his
enemies charge him with inculcating atheistic sentiments.
The government takes up the matter. Fichte in disgust
throws up his appointment and retires to Berlin in 1799.
There he pursued his studies with renewed energy, and
published several works.
In 1805 he is appointed professor at Erlangen. The
troubles with France now occurred, and Prussia lost her
independence. Fichte shares the lot of the vanquished
and escapes to Copenhagen. After the peace of Tilsit he




SUCCESSORS OF KA N T.               369
returns to Berlin and accepts the rectorship of the -University then just organized there. His rule was one of firmness and vigor. His labors were for the country quite as
much as for philosophy. He lectures with all the fire and
fervor of a patriot, and pronounces his celebrated discourse
to the German people, while the French drums were sounding in the street beneath the windows of his lecture-room.
At the commencement of the campaign of 1813, Fichte
terminates one of his most eloquent lectures with these
words: "This course will be suspended till the end of the
campaign. We will resume them in a free country or die
in the attempt." Loud shouts responded to his appeal.
Fichte descends and places himself in the ranks of a corps
of volunteers just departing for the field of strife. His noble wife devotes herself wholly to the care of the sick and
wounded in the hospitals, and the contagion seizes herher husband devotes himself day and night to her care,
contracts the same disease and expires the 28th January,
1814, at 52. A truly heroic life is here, a truly great and
noble character rises before us, like a granite obelisk piercing the clouds, defying the winds and storms.
We have lingered so long in sketching the man that we
must pass rapidly over the philosophy. And as we wish
merely to indicate its general outlines, and show wherein
it differs from that of Kant, it will not be necessary to go
into detail. Kant had admitted the objective reality of
things about us in the material world, but had contented
himself with saying that we cannot know them as they are
in themselves, but only as they appear to us, only as phenomena.  These appearances, even, are determined by our
intellectual organization. The laws of nature are in fact,
only the laws of our own mind, the phenomenal world is,
as to itsforms at least, only a production of our own intellect. Still it has a real and material existence independent
of us. Fichte carries idealism much further than this.
The AMe only exists, and the things of which Kant speaks




370          SUCCESSORS OF KANT.
are only just so many and such as the intelligent Me postulates and determines.
The "things in themselves," so called, of Kant, are thus
reduced to a simple not-me, —are imagination, not a reality,
-devised merely to give the me the knowledge of itself.
And why assume the objective existence of these so called
things? Science must proceed from one self-evident position as starting-point or basis, and go on step by step,
assuming nothing. Now the starting-point in philosophy,
says Fichte, is not even consciousness, but something back
of that-an act of the mind, whence our very consciousness, our knowledge of self proceeds-an act by which the
ego comes to know itself. But to go no further back even
than consciousness and to make that the starting-point;
now are we conscious of external things? no; —only of our
own impressions, sensations, judgments, ideas, or whatever
we choose to call them,-only of these are we conscious.
Whatever I experience, that and that only is with certainty
known to me. If there be an external reality, then how
can I ever know it? believe it, I may: that is another
thing; but how know it? It must first pass through my
mental experience, before I can be conscious of it, and in
so doing becomes subjective; no longer objective. Is a representation given us by the constitution and operation of
our minds? How can we verify the so called representation and know its correctness, but by comparing the said
representation with the thing represented, that is, by comparing it with what is out of our consciousness and cannot
therefore be known or perceived by us? But we are so
formed, it will be replied, that we must accept our consciousness as a true representation of what lies beyond and
without. And what is this, Fichte replies, but a purely
subjective process; a law of our own minds; we do not
get out of the charmed circle of self, of the ego, in this
way; nor is it possible to do so, try what method we will.
The very necessity of supposing, even, an external world is




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                   371
a necessity resulting from the very constitution of the mind,
a purely subjective necessity.
Did Fichte, then, mean to deny all objective existence?
Not at all. He denies merely that in strict philosophy,
which allows us to assume nothing which requires certainty, and confines us to the facts of consciousness, we can
ever attain a positive knowledge of such external reality.
We can never know it. If it exist, it lies by the very supposition beyond our consciousness, and can only be believed,
not known.
" He imagined the mind," says Morell, " to be as it were
an intelligent eye placed in the central point of our inward consciousness, surveying all that takes place there,
and it was from that point of view, (the only absolute and
scientific one,) that he wished to give an account of our
moral and intellectual history, detailing the rise, the progress, and all the events of our real inward life from its
commencement to its maturity.  Whether the scenes
which take place within this subjective circle betoken any
objective existence or not, that was to him a matter of no
consequence, and he knew that if this were the case, it
was only just in proportion as the objects could lay aside
as it were, their objectivity, and transport within the
subjective sphere of the mind's vision, that they could be
observed and known; or, what is the same thing, that to
us they could exist. The real history of every man, urged
Fichte, is the history of his mind, the flow of his conscious existence; for what are to us woods, mountains,
trees, or stars, but names we attach to certain parts of ounr
consciousness? What are all forms of the material world
but certain visions which have passed through our own
minds-sensations which we have inwardly experienced?"
Which now is the primitive, which the cause of the
other, the subjective or the objective? Have we subjectivre phenomena because there is an objective world to produce them, or do we suppose such a world because we have




372           SUCCESSORS  OF  KA-NT.
the former?  Manifestly the subjective comes first.  I am
conscious of sensations; to explain these I infer the objective reality.  The mind then is the sphere of its own operations. It is at once subject and object. Such is, in popular language, a general outline of his system.
The technical method in which he established logically
and scientifically the foundation principles of this system
is sufficiently curious and sufficiently unintelligible to all
but the initiated.  Science, being one, must repose on
some one absolute, unique, sovereign principle, the source
of all knowledge and all reality, and that must be discovered by reflection. Now on looking carefully we can find
nothing more incontestible and certain than this proposition, A==A; in saying which I affirm nothing as to the
existence of A, but only that if it is, it is what it is; Yet
in even this I pass a judgment, and thereby propose or
affirm myself, for all judgment implies the existence of him
who judges.  This is, in fact, the "cogito ergo sum" of
Descartes, scientifically  stated.   But further, in thus
affirming itself, the me first becomes conscious of itself, nay,
produces itself, for there is no Me without and prior to
consciousness, and no consciousness prior to this proposition or affirmation of itself.
It is because it affirms itself, and it affirms itself because it is. The Me affirms primitively its own being.
This is the first act of the Me, and the absolute principle
of all science. By a second act, the Me affirms, or opposes
to itself a not Me, both absolute; or-A is not=A.  In the
first case it viewed itself as absolute subject. In the
second it become absolute object. The one proposition is
absolute affirmation, the other absolute negation.  The
last proposition however is as truly primitive as the first;
to say Me is to distinguish that which is so called from
something which is not itself.  But this last proposition
is contradictory of itself and of the first, for the Me and
the not-Me are both affirmed as absolute, which is impos



SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                  373
sible. To reconcile the two a third is necessary, as the
union of the positive and the negative, viz., the principle
of limitation, thus: the Me and the not-Me are both
affirmed by the Me as reciprocally limiting each other.
The subject limits the object and the object the subject.
So, then, we have here three elementary principles,
affirmation, negation and limitation; or thesis, antithesis,
and synthesis, the primitive processes of the mind, the
absolute principles of all science. " In thus hovering
between subject and object, all our knowledge lies
cradled."
The idea of the not-me is then only a modification of
the me-a creation of it, arising from the fact that the me
perceives itself limited, and supposes, out of itself, a cause
of that limitation, yet in turn does itself define and limit
that cause. All the sensations, ideas, etc., of the Me
proceed from its own activity, and the not-Me itself is
produced by the Me, proceeds from it and has no existence
in fact but in it.
This is pure absolute idealism. Beyond this can no
mortal go, one is ready to exclaim; but of this we can
never be sure till we know what the next German that comes
after is to teach.  What becomes of creation and the Creator on this system? one asks. Simply this becomes of it.
The mind is the true creator of all things out of itself,
since all things out of itself are only its reflected existence,
itself objectified. Of God, as an essential and personal existence, this philosophy knows nothing. Nay, to have an
idea of God, says Fichte, is to limit him, and thus destroy
the notion of him as an infinite being.  How then, is Fichte
an atheist? Not at all. As a man he believes in God, but
as a philosopher, does not know him. The region of philosophy,-he would say,-is pure science; the region of
faith is quite another realm and domain from that. We
cannot know God, cannot demonstrate him, cannot philosophize him, but practically we believe in him, just as prac



374         SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.
tically we believe in an external world, so soon as we step
out of the realm of science into that of faith. It is a sad
mistake, however, to construct a philosophy which does not
admit a God; nor can we be surprised at the charge of
atheism which occasioned him so much trouble and led to
his retirement from Jena.
The great error of this system is obvious. It makes
self the centre and circumference of all being and all knowledge. The sphere of thought, and the sphere of being are
synonymous. The difference between those ideas and
operations which depend solely on the mind's own activity,
as memory, judgment, etc., and those which depend on
something without the mind, and which we call perceptions,
is altogether ignored. That which SEEMS to be an objective element, a not-me, is admitted in what we call perception, but the fact is explained by the supposition of
certain laws or limits in the very constitution of our minds,
which make it necessary for us to create for ourselves such
an objectivity as a limit of our own free activity.
This point was never cleared up, and never could be.
Nor was it ever shown why we should admit the reality of
the mze, rather than of the not-me; why we should admit
the one and deny the other. Nor was it ever shown what
could be the ground and basis of all the phenomena of
sense; what the ground of the limitations and laws and
activities of the mind itself; what the foundation of all
these subjective phenomena. This was ever asked, never
answered. We are not surprised to learn, accordingly, that
Fichte, on further reflection, essentially modified his whole
system, and instead of making conscious self the sole existence, the sole reality, a mere activity perceiving and thinking while there is nothing to be perceived or thought, he so
far changed his stand-point as to admit, not indeed a
duality of existence, subject and object both real, independent existences, but on the contrary one sole and absolute existence, which is the same in both subject and




SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.                 375
object, and of which both are but forms. This one absolute existence is the divine mind or reason, —Deity himself,
of which existence both what we experience within, and
what we see without are equally and only manifestations.
Still, however, mind is the only reality. The only objectivity is mind in some or other of its forms and manifestations.
Such, first and last, is the system of Fichte. We agree on
the whole with Morell, that notwithstanding the results
to which his philosophy led, it is still impossible to withhold
our "admiration at the powerful eloquence, the unwearied
energy of thought, the close and almost pitiless logic, with
which he compels you on from one conclusion to another.
So far from answering to the idea of a mystic recluse,
dreaming away life in the midst of the ethereal and shadowy
creations of his own fancy, we venture to affirm that never
was there a man more intensely practical; never one more
formed to struggle with the stern and bitter sufferings of
life; never one who was more able to dispel the shadows
and phantoms that deluded the world, and to gaze upon
everything in its naked reality; never a mind more clear,
more deep, more sternly logical, more solemnly earnest,
than was that of Fichte."
ADDENDA.
The following passage from his works will convey an
idea at once of his eloquent and earnest thought, and of
the depth and sincerity of his religious sentiments.
" I am free; and it is not merely my action but the free
determination of my will to obey the voice of conscience,
that decides all my worth. More brightly does the everlasting world now rise before me, and the fundamental laws
of its order are more clearly revealed to my mental sight.
My will alone lying hid in the obscure depths of my soul,
is the first link in a chain of consequences stretching
through the invisible realms of spirit.... The will
is the efficient cause, the living principle of the world of




376          SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.
spirit, as motion is of the world of sense.  I stand between
two worlds, the one visible, in which the act alone avails,
and the intention matters not at all; the other invisible
and incomprehensible, acted on only by the will. In both
these worlds I am an effective force. The divine life as
alone the finite mind can conceive it, is self-forming,
self-representing will, clothed to the mortal eye with multitudinous sensuous forms, flowing through me, and
through the whole immeasurable universe, here streaming
through my veins and muscles, there pouring its abundance into the tree, the flower, the grass. The dead heavy
mass of inert matter, which did but fill up nature, has
disappeared, and in its stead, there rushes by the bright,
everlasting flood of life and power from its infinite source.
The eternal Will is the creator of the world, as he is the
creator of the finite reason.... The infinite reason alone
exists in himself, the finite in him; in our minds alone,
has he created a world, or at least that by and through
which it becomes unfolded to us.  In his light, we behold
the light and all that it reveals.  Great living Will! whom
no words can name, and no conception embrace! Well may
I lift my thoughts to thee, for I can think only in thee. In
thee, the Incomprehensible, does my own existence and that
of the world become comprehensible to me; all the problems
of being are solved, and the most perfect harmony reigns.
I veil my face before thee, and lay my finger on my lips."




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                 37'
CHAPTER XVI.
SUCCESSORS OF KANT.
WE have extended the course already so far beyond the
limits originally intended, that what remains to be said of
German philosophy must be compressed within the smallest
reasonable limits, although the complete works of Hegel
alone occupy 20 vols. 8vo., and the analysis of his system
is itself a full-sized octavo volume.
~ 3. SCEELLING.
Frederic William Joseph Schelling was born Jan. 27,
1775, at Leonberg in Wiirtemberg, educated at the university of Tiibingen, where he became acquainted with Hegel;
studied medicine and philosophy at Leipsig, and afterward
at Jena, where he was the pupil of Fichte; in 1798 was
chosen to fill the chair vacated by Fichte at Jena, and lectured with great success; in 1807 removed to Munich, and
the same year was made member of the Munich Academy
of Sciences; there he remained with honor till 1841 or 2,
when he was invited by the King of Prussia to Berlin, and
went thither; where as late as 1845 he still continued to
lecture, at that time seventy years of age and upwards, but
still hale and vigorous and full of enthusiasm. At Berlin,
however, he met with much opposition from the disciples
of Hegel, and subsequently resigned his post, in order to
end his days in peace. He died at the Baths of Ragaz, in
Switzerland, Aug. 20, 1854.
The philosophy of Schelling may be briefly designated
as the philosophy of the absolute. Fichte, as we have seen,
had carried the subjective view to its furthest extreme,
had merged all reality in the Ego,-had made the object
dependent entirely on the subject and created by it,-had




378         SUCOESSORS   OF KANT.
found it necessary, in a measure, to retrace subsequently,
his own steps, and admit the existence of an essential
reality as the foundation of the Me and the not-Me, of
which reality with subject and object are but forms, themselves in part identical. The principle now named, that
of identity of object and subject in one absolute essence or
existence, while it certainly constitutes the essential feature
and peculiar modification of the later philosophy of Fichte,
was fully adopted and made the basis of a complete system
by Schelling. The merit of the discovery of this principle
is warmly contested between the two, by their respective
friends and disciples.
We may proceed, says Schelling, in either of two ways
in philosophizing; with Fichte we may construct the objective out of the subjective; or we may with equal propriety and equal success reverse the process, and construct the subjective from the objective, deduce the Me
from the universe. Now both the ego and the material
world or nature are realities, the one as much as the other.
They have each a common basis. There is one essential
absolute existence that underlies them both. They are in
truth both but forms and aspects of the absolute, in which
both exist, indivisible and identical.
Before either nature or the ego existed, this one great,
absolute thought or being-viz. Deity-existed and filled all
space. This self-existent one is the only absolute reality-not substance, as Spinoza held, but mind. To know him
is to know all real existence and without knowing him we
take not the first step in philosophy. The faculty by
which we may know him and that immediately is the faculty of intellectual intuition.  All forms of being, all
reality, are but the several forms of self-development of
this absolute reality. The knowledge of the absolute is
the highest knowledge, and alone deserves the name of
philosophy.  In distinction from  this knowledge of the
absolute by means of intellectual intuition, or ideas, there




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                 379
is the knowledge of the conditional, the divisible, the
individual, by means of our ordinary conception; this
Schelling terms inferior or secondary knowledge.
All things are but the development of this absolute
principle of being, every mind an image of the eternal
mind, man a microcosm, and by gazing steadfastly into
our own consciousness, and observing how our own minds
develop, we may learn the universal process. Now in
our consciousness we find subject and object combined
and these are not in fact distinct, but rather, when properly
viewed, the two-fold law of our mind's operation; the one
movement, that in which thought predominates, we call
subject, the other, in which existence is the principal
notion, we call object; but this mode of thinking is both
unphilosophical and untrue, and creates a distinction between the soul and the world without, which does not
really exist. From whichever of these opposite poles we
set out we must arrive at the other. From the objective
we may deduce the subjective, and vice versa. There are
in fact too philosophies, then, two fundamental sciences,
the philosophy of nature and the philosophy of spirit,
from each of which we may construct the other.
Now what is the law of self-development;, according
to which the absolute and all things else unfold themselves?
This law comprises three movements or, as he terms
them, potencies. The first is the Reflective Movement,
the attempt of Infinite to embody itself in the Finite.
The second is that of Subsuzmption, the attempt of the
Absolute thus embodied, to return to the Infinite. The
third movement, that of Reason, is the union of the two
former, in which the subjective and the objective movements are blended.
By the first of these movements, the Infinite Being,
containing in itself potentially all that it ever becomes
actually, striving after self-development, embodies its own




380          SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.
attributes in the finite, produces finite objects, reflections
of itself, nature, which is thus the Infinite objectified.
By the second movement the finite returns to the infinite, nature becomes absolute again, and reassumes the
nature of the eternal, becomes conscious, becomes mind as
we see it in man, which is only nature striving to find its
way back to the Infinite and eternal.
These two movements have given us object and subject. The third movement unites the two in the divine
reason, and gives us God, not in his original potential
state but in his self-developed existence, as comprising the
universe of mind and being.  Thus out of the absolute we
construct nature or object, mind or subject, and their
reunion or God in his realized existence.
In like manner, we may proceed to unfold both nature
and mind according to the same law of development, and
in so doing we find again three movements or potencies in
each, giving use to three spheres of being, each exhibiting the same general law, viz. two opposite potencies and
a point of indifference or reunion of both. The movements by which nature (i. e. the absolute essence viewed
objectively,) unfolds itself, Schelling calls real, and those
of mind ideal. Looking at the real, or the philosophy of
nature, the first movement gives us the sphere of matter,
the union of the infinite with the finite.  Matter is the
emanation of the eternal mind; it is that mind in its reflective movement, making itself finite in order to become
the object of its own contemplations and privity. This is
the first movement, and its potencies are: 1. repulsion, or
the expansive  power, 2. attraction or the returning
toward the centre and source, and 3. gravity, or the indifference of the two.
The second grand movement of nature, the subsumptive, by which it returns from the finite toward the Infinite again, gives us the second sphere, that of light, which
is to matter what soul or mind is to body. This has its




SUCCESSORS OF KANT.                   381
three potencies also: 1. magnetism, the going forth in
opposite poles, 2. electricity, the return, the unity of the
positive and negative poles, 3. galvanism, the combination
of the two.
The third grand movement of nature, the reunion or
combination of the two first, gives us the third sphere, that
of organization or life, in which matter and light are combined. Its three potencies are: 1. reproduction, 2. irritability or self-movement, 3. sensibility, which combines the
two previous principles. This brings us to the point where
matter or nature ends, and spirit begins.
It will be observed, that all these movements and potencies follow the same regular law, and correspond perfectly to each other; first, the going forth, second,.the
regress, third the combination of the other two.
Turning now from the real to the ideal, from nature to
mind, we find the same grand law of development.
The first grand movement is the going forth of mind,
enbodying itself in the finite-making itself objective-giving rise thus to the sphere of knowledge. In knowing anything, the mind finds itself a limit, becomes finite.  This
sphere corresponds to that of matter on the objective or real
side. The three potencies in this'sphere are: 1. sensation,
the mind going forth and embodying itself in an object or
image, 2. refection, the mind returning to self-consciousness of its own operation in the process, 3. freedom, the
union of the two other.
The second grand movement, the regress from the finite
toward the infinite, gives us the second sphere of mind, viz.,
that of practice. As in knowledge essence expresses itself
in a form, so in action the form returns to the essence.
The three potencies here are: 1. Individuality, or the single
individual mind, which is merely one moment of the
infinite intelligence, just as a single thought is one moment of the whole mind. 2. The State. 3. History, which




382         SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.
combines the freedom of the one, with the necessary development of the other.
The third movement blends together the two preceding, combines knowledge and practice, gives us the sphere
of art, which is the combination of theory and practice.
This, moreover, being the highest point of self-development
of the absolute, the ultima Thule of the process combines
tile two departments, the subjective and objective, the real
and ideal, unites the two, brings matter and mind into
combination, gives unity to the two. The finite and the
infinite here unite, and this is what we see, the infinite, the
beau-ideal, shadowed forth by the artist in the finite production. Here, then, we reach the end of the grand process.
Such is a very brief outline of the system of Schelling.
You perceive at once the perfect symmetry and completeness
of the theory. A more perfect and comprehensive webwork of theory was probably never spun out of the human
brain. You perceive the perfect pantheism of the system.
This was its great defect and crime. Schelling subsequently modified the theory in several respects to meet this
difficulty, giving a positive in distinction from previous or
negative philosophy. We have neither time nor inclination to follow him in these successive modifications.  Suffice it to say, he carries the threefold potency already
explained into the field of revelation, and explains by the
same general law the doctrines of Trinity, fall of man,
redemption, and the entire religious history of the world.
~ 4. HEGEL.
We have seen in Fichte and Schelling the two opposite
phases of idealism, the subjective and objective; the one
making self the starting point and origin of all things; the
other resolving self and all things into the one existence,
the absolute. It remains to notice a movement in ph-ilosophy still beyond these, more radically and thoroughly
ideal than either, which, denying alike the subjective and




SUCCESSORS    OsF KENT.              383
the objective as realities, resolves both and all things into
a mere logical process, mere thought. I mean the absolute
idealism of Hegel.
George William Frederic Hegel was born in Stuttgard,
in 1770, went to the university of Tiibingen at the age of
seventeen, where he studied theology and philosophy, and
formed the acquaintance of Schelling, with whom he
remained ever after on terms of intimacy; spent some time
as private tutor in Switzerland and Frankfort; went to
Jena in 1801, where he enjoyed the friendship and society
of Goethe and Schiller, published a dissertation, and began
lecturing with a regular audience of four persons, fit audience they were, however, though few. On Schelling's quitting Jena, Hegel filled the vacant chair for one year. His
first important philosophical work was finished on -the
night of the memorable battle of Jena, while the artillery
was roaring under the walls, the rapt philosopher unconscious of any special disturbance.  On his way to the prublishers, next morning, he encounters the French soldiery in
the streets, who without further ceremony proceed to lay
his ideality under arrest. Subsequently we find him editing a paper at Bamberg; then rector of a college at Nuremberg; in 1816, called to the chair of philosophy at Heidelberg, and finally, in 1818, to that at Berlin, the most
important in Germany, where he lectured with great favor
for thirteen years till his death by cholera, November 24,
1831, in his sixty-first year.
Hegel began as a firm advocate of the philosophy of
Schelling, and sought only to give system and unity to his
views. But he soon diverged, or rather passed on beyond
him and out of sight. Schelling had not denied the primary
existence of the absolute, previous to all development,
lying beyond the region of thought, the basis of all existence, apprehended by means of intellectual intuition.
Hegel allows no such existence whatever. He begins with
pure nothing.  Schelling had admitted experience as the




384.         SUCCESSORS  Oo KANT.
means by which we come to know the law of the universe
and of all being,-experience as regards self, nature and history. Hegel discards all this and makes thought itself,
1pure logic, the revelation of the absolute,-nay, itself the
sole existence, itself the very process in which the Absolute,
or God, consists. Subject and object, thought and existence
are absolutely identical, and in the mutual relation of the
two consists the only reality. For example, I see an object,
viz. a tree; that tree, says Fichte, is merely a creation of
your mind, your subjective activity objectijies itself thus.
That tree, so called, is not a real only an ideal thing. No,
says Schelling, the object and the subject are both real,
both forms of the one infinite and absolute essence.  No,
says Hegel, neither the tree nor the perception, neither the
object nor the subject, has any real existence, in and by
itself, or can have; the only reality is the idea, the relation
of the two.  Ideas are the only concrete realities.  This is
the substance and essential character of his philosophy.
The absolute is with him, as Morell has well stated, not
the infinite substance of Spinoza, nor the infinite subject
or Ego of Fichte, nor the infinite mind of Schelling, but
infinite and eternal thought, a perpetual Pono, without
beginning or end.
In order to philosophy, then, we must gain a clear conception of the laws of thought, the process of knowledge.
The process by which we arrive at the knowledge of anything, we find on close examination to involve a threefold
movement: first, the mind is in the state of mere consciousness or sensation, in which condition it is one with the
object, it merely feels, but does not distinguish between
itself as subject and the thing or object felt; secondly, the
mind objectifies the sensation and refers it to some external
existence or cause; thirdly, the mind perceives, on reflection, that this object is, after all, a product or process of
its own activity, and so returns again to complete union
and identity with it. The first of these movements is pro



SUCCESSORS  OF  KANT.                  385
duced by sense, the second by understanding, the third by
reason. This general threefold movement or law pervades
the universe of thought. We have first the infinite idea in
itself, bare thought; next the idea in its objective form,
thought making itself external and objective, as in -nature;
lastly, the idea in regress, thought returning to itself,
mind.  Hence philosophy has three grand divisions;
1. logic, or the philosophy of pure thought; 2. the philosophy of nature; 3. the philosophy of mind.
1. Logic, the province of abstract thought, of the idea
in itself (Idee an sich).
HIere again we find the same threefold law at work.  All
knowledge consists in separating one thing from another,
setting it off by itself, distinguishing it from some other
thing, e. g. finite stands opposed to infinite, subjective is
known only as distinguished from objective, so north implies south, etc., etc. No one thing can be known in itself
alone, no notion as mere unity can be conceived, but must
consist of two opposite sides, positive and negative, and
these must be combined in order to form a complete idea.
This is what Hegel calls the doctrine or law of contradiction, which lies at the basis of his system, and which is the
key to the whole. It corresponds to and carries out in the
logical domain, that threefold movement which takes place,
as already stated, in the mind, in the process of its attaining to the knowledge of anything, the two opposites
answering to the first and second movements of mind, the
union of these opposites in one answering to the third and
highest movement.
Logic, then, divides into three parts. I. Doctrine of
Being, thought in its immediacy; II. Doctrine of Essence,
thought in communication; III. Doctrine of Notion,
thought in regress; or the subjective, the objective, and
the union of the two. In each of these divisions, again,
we find the operation of this same threefold law or
rhythm.




386          SUCCESSORS OF  KAXiT.
I. Doctrine of Being comprises three categories, Quality,
Quantity, Measure.
(A) Quality. Nothing is the opposite of Being, and
without the idea of nothing you could not have that
of Being, and vice versa: they are the two opposite poles
of thought. The two opposites combined form the idea
of Becoming or of Existence, the production of something out of nothing. Hence the proposition so paradoxical, that Being=Nothing, (i.e. in their unlimited state, as
opposites) and that Being and Nothing constitute existence; or Becoming is the identity of Being and non-Being.
But this process now goes over again. Existence, in order
to become a distinct reality must be still further subject to
negation. Mere existence by itself is vague, undetermined; negative it, say it is not so, or not so, and you
make it definite, it becomes this or that, becomes some
distinct existence.  A rose is a rose, only by virtue of this
negation, i. e. because it is not a lily or some or any other
flower than just this particular one.
We have, then, these three steps: 1. Being, which
combined with Nothing gives, 2. Becoming or Existence,
which, still farther negatived, gives 3. definite or independent existence. (Seyn, Deaseyn, Fiir-sich-seyn.)
These make the category of Quality. Then comes
(B) the category of quantity, which consists of 1. pure
quantity, 2. particular quantity, 3. the union of the two
forming degree. The combination of the categories of
quality and quantity gives us (C) Measure.
II. Doctrine of Essence.  Thought no longer abstract;
being as concrete and real existence-(corresponding to the
second movement of mind by which the understanding
separates the object from its consciousness). Here again
a threefold division —1. Essence, as ground or substratum,
2. as phenomenon or attribute; 3. as reality, or the union
of substratum and attribute.
III. Doctrine of Notion; threefold again; 1. subjec



SUCCESSORS  OF KANT.                    387
live, the operating of the mind in (a) simple apprehension
(b) judging, (c) reasoning; 2. objective, our conceptions
of (a) mechanical powers of nature; (b) chemical powers;
(c) organization or design: 3. the union of the subjective and
the objective in the Idea, (a) of life, (b) intelligence; (c)
the absolute.  Thus we reach by a logical and perfectly
symmetrical process the highest step of pure thought, viz.,
the absolute idea-Deity, —and to do this we start, it will
be remembered, from nothing.
Thus far we have considered only the first grand division of philosophy, i. e., Logic. We now approach the
second, and find the same grand law applying also here.
Our progress will now be easier, since we know the path.
I. Philosophy  of Nature.  Nature is thought - but
only not subjective-thought externalizing itself.
1. Nature in its undetermined forms-corresponding to
what in logic was termed doctrine of Being-gives us what
we call mechanics, comprising, (a) mathematical properties
of matter as existing in time and space, (b) mechanical
properties, as gravitation, etc., absolute or actual properties which regulate the motion of the various bodies in space.
2. Physics, comprising, (a) the general forms of matter,
as air, water, light, etc., (b) the relative forms, as cohesion,
elasticity, etc., (c) specific forms, as acids, alkalies, etc.
3. Organism, combining the other two, viz., matter
and form, comprising, (a) the geological, (b) the vegetable,
(c) the animal structure.
III. This brings us to the third grand division-to Philosophy of the mind.  Here we find the two former, the subjective and the objective processes, combined. The steps
are similar to those in the preceding divisions.
1. Mind viewed subjectively-comprising (a) anthropology; (b) psychology; (c) will-three separate branches of
mental science.
2. Viewed objectively, mind in its relations to what is
without, or the range of Moral Philosophy; comprising, (a)




388           SUCCESSORS OF KANT.
the rights of person and property, or what is termed jurisprudence, (b) rectitude of actions, or what is termed morals, (c) politics, or duties domestic and public.
3. Mind in its absolute form, as belonging not to the
individual but the race, comprising in its several stages
of development, (a) art or resthetics, (b) religion, (c)
philosophy.
Such is the single brief outline of the complete system
of philosophy as marked out by Hegel.
With regard to revealed religion, Hegel carries his system fully out in the explanation of the leading doctrines
of revelation, making a complete rational theology. The
personality of God in our sense of the word, is not admitted, however; for God is the absolute, and to make the
absolute a person would be a contradiction in terms. IHe
is not a person, but rather the absolute, total personality,
as realized in every individual mind and consciousness of
man.  The Trinity finds its rational explanation by his
threefold law.  The Father is pure thought and selfexistence. The Son is this pure thought, or existence, objectified, manifest in the flesh. The Spirit is the reunion of
the two. Redemption is the reunion of man's spirit, as individualized, with the Spirit of eternal truth. By faith we become mystically one with God, members of his spiritual body.
The great contest of Hegelianism has been a theological
contest, questions of this nature absorbing every other in
the system. The followers of Hiegel are themselves divided
in opinion on these questions.
The right, the centre, and the left, as these divisions
are termed, hold views widely divergent from  each other.
The right is the least rationalistic-regards our religious
consciousness, our intuitive perceptions of religious truth,
as of equal validity and authority with the deductions of
reason.  Of this class are Gabler, Erdmann and others.
The centre makes these religious feelings and intuitions of
secondary importance, uses them  to -illtstracte the logical




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.  389
conclusions of reason-no more. IRosenkrans and Marheineke are of this class. The left discards these entirely,
is purely pantheistic and rational. Of this class are Strauss,
Bauer, Feuerbach. The results of this rationalism have
been disastrous in the extreme. It were unfair, however,
to charge these results upon Hegel himself, or even upon
his philosophy as a system, for many most excellent and
evangelical men have been firm adherents of that philosophy. Its tendencies, however, and its final results have
been most pernicious in Germany and on the continent.
The lectures of Hegel were published after his deathaccording to his desire-by some of his most distinguished
pupils, and they have also done much to defend and illustrate the system, but it is now on the wane, and what will
be the next type of German philosophy is known only to
him who knows the future.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE RECENT PHILOSOPHY OF GREAT BRITAIN.
Two opposing schools may just now be said to be disputing the empire of British thought; that of the Scotch
philosophy, as represented by Sir William HEamilton, and
that of the positive, or as it is often termed the material
philosophy, as represented by John Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer, as also by Bain, Maudsley, Huxley and others
of that class, men of great learning and industry, devoted
chiefly to scientific pursuits.
~ 1. SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON AND THE SCOTCH PHILOSOPHY.
This most distinguished of modern metaphysicians was
born in Glasgow in 1788. He was educated at Baliol College, Oxford; in 1821 appointed Professor of History in
the University of Edinburgh, and in 1836 called to the




390   PH ILOSOPHY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.
chair of Logic and Metaphysics in the same institution,
which position he held till his death in 1856. He first
attracted the attention of the philosophic world by a brilliant and searching review of the philosophy of Cousin,
which appeared in the Edinburgh Review in October, 1829,
and which drew from Cousin himself the highest encomium.
This was followed in the succeeding year by an article in
the same magazine on the philosophy of perception; and
three years after by the famous review of Whateley and the
English logicians. His fame as a critic and philosophical
writer were now fully established.  No one can peruse
either of these articles and not be struck with these two
things,-the distinguishing peculiarities of Sir William
Hamilton, as shown in all his writings,-his immense erudition, which seems to have laid the whole world of learning
under contribution, and his remarkable power of analysis.
The most subtle and perplexed problems of thought seem
to resolve themselves at once into their simple elements
before his clear and searching glance. With these qualities
he combines a precision and elegance of style, that command the admiration of the reader. Cousin pronounces him
"the greatest critic of our age;" (Fragmens Philosophiques); and M. Persse, the French translator of his
principal essays, says of him "there is not perhaps in
Europe a man who possesses a knowledge so complete and
so minute, so profound an understanding of the books, the
systems, the philosophers of Germany."  (Fragmens de
Philosophie par Sir W. Hamilton.)
In personal appearance, Hamilton was dignified and
commanding-I speak from recollection of him as seen at
his house in High-Iing street, Edinburgh, in 1854, two
years before his death-in stature somewhat above ordinary,
and with a countenance at once prepossessing and impressive. That lofty brow and that repose of manner seemed
to indicate a kingly soul conscious of its power; while yet




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.   391
a genuine modesty and Christian humility marked all his
deportment.
A glance at the prevalent philosophy of Europe at the
time when Hamilton came upon the stage may enable us
the better to estimate his position and his influence. At
the close of the last and the beginning of the present century, as we have seen, the philosophy of Locke, as carried
out by Condillac in France, and, as to its general principles, by Hume in England, had led in its prevalence to
results which at once awakened and alarmed the public
mind, both in Great Britain and on the Continent. As the
result there came naturally, almost necessarily, a reaction.
Kant in Germany, and Reid in Scotland, working quite
independently of each other, but with the same spirit and
to the same end, had laid the foundations of a different
philosophy. The fame of the former already, at his death,
in 1804, filled all Europe; while the works of the latter,
though less famous, philosopher, as edited by Jouffroy and
advocated by Royer Collard, in France, were exerting no
inconsiderable influence on the Continent, as well as in
England. Such were the influences prevalent in the philosophic world at the time when Hamilton was first turning
his attention to the great problems which in all ages have
profoundly exercised the human mind. Fichte had followed Kant; Schelling and Hegel were just coming into
notice; Cousin in France was attracting the gay and pleasure-loving Parisians by thousands to his eloquent expositions. At this juncture appeared the articles in the Edinburgh Review, of which I have already spoken, and which
indicated the rising of a new star of the first magnitude on
the philosophic horizon.
In the main Sir William Hamilton may be said to be a
disciple of Reid and the Scotch school; yet not more a
disciple of Reid in reality than of Kant; and not more of
either than of Aristotle.  These three -were his chief
masters, while he sat also at the feet of all antiquity. It is




392   PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAI7N.
to be regretted that lie left no work in which his own system is fully and methodically developed.  His lectures on
metaphysics, designed for the class room, and written,
currente calamo, often on the night preceding their delivery, never subsequently rewritten, nor even revised for
publication by the author, but given to the public since his
death, cannot, valuable as they are, be regarded as the
results of his mature and later thought, but rather of his
earlier and cruder speculations. His dissertations appended
to his edition of the works of Reid, contain his more elaborate statements; yet even in these most admirable essays
his doctrines are rather indicated than fully and systematically developed.
In common with the great body of modern philosophers
Hamilton adopts the threefold division of the powers of
the mind into intellect, sensibility, and will; classing,
however, the desires with the will under the head of conative powers. Consciousness he regards, not as a distinct
faculty of the mind, but as involved in all intelligence, and
the basis of all. We are conscious, he holds, not of self
alone, but of the external world as well, of the non-ego just
as really as of the ego. Attention, he regards as a mere
modification of consciousness; the voluntary direction of
consciousness to a particular object. He does not, however, make consciousness co-extensive with knowledge, or
with all our mental states and operations, but holds that
there are modifications of mind which do not come within
the sphere of consciousness, latent states and operations of
which we are not cognizant except in their effects. This
unconscious mental activity, he maintains, shows itself in
our acquired habits, as the knowledge of a language or a
science which we are not at the moment making use of;
in acquisitions of former years, which though long since
passed out of the recollection come back to consciousness
in certain abnormal states, as in delirium, somnambulism,
and the like; and also in the operations of the senses




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.   393
which construct that of which we are conscious out of a
multitude of impressions of which we are unconscious
(Lectures pp. 241, 2).
The doctrine of unconscious perception, or unconscious
mental modification, first announced by Leibnitz in Germany and advocated by Wolff, as also by some recent
French philosophers, has not received the attention it
deserves at the hands of English psychologists. Hamilton
is also the first distinctly to announce the grandlaw of the
relation of knowledge to sensation in the act of sense-perception, a law indicated, but not definitely determined, by
Kant-that is, that in any act of the senses the element
of knowledge is in the inverse ratio to the degree of feeling
or sensation, and vice versa; that as the one increases the
other diminishes (Lectures, p. 335). In Logic, Hamilton
maintains with great earnestness and ability the doctrine,not indeed original with him, but first by him fully set
forth and defended, —of the quantification of the predicate
in syllogistic reasoning, a most important modification of
the Aristotelian syllogism, but one not as yet generally accepted by logicians.
But the great merit of Hamilton, that on which his
fame as a philosopher must chiefly rest, is his clear and
complete analysis and full elaboration of the doctrine of
perception. It had been, as we have seen in the previous
lectures, the widely received doctrine of the various schools
of philosophy, however divergent in other respects, that in
the act of perception the mind is directly cognizant only
of its own ideas.
This doctrine of representative perception, as we have
seen, was boldly assailed by Reid, who ably maintained the
opposite doctrine, that of the immediate cognizance of
external objects by the mind in the act of perception. But
the true philosophy of perception, though clearly indicated, was not fully elaborated by Reid, who failed to discriminate between different forms of the doctrine of
1. 7:.




394   P- ILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.
representative perception.  It remained for Hamilton thoroughly to analyze this doctrine and to reduce to a system
its various modifications. This work he has most thoroughly and completely done. The true doctrine of perception, according to Hamilton, is that which fully admits
the veracity of consciousness, and the reality of the antithesis of mind and matter as the two factors always and
necessarily given in every act of perception. This doctrine
he calls natural realism.  If we deny the reality of this
antithesis, we have the theory of absolzte identity of the
subject and object in perception. If we admit reality of
the subject, and derive the object from it, we have idealism.
If we make the object the real and original factor, and
derive the subject from  it, we have materialism. If we
deny the reality of both, we have nihilism.  If with the
great majority of philosophers from the earliest to the
latest times we admit the reality of the external or objective world, while at the same time we deny its immediate
cognizance in the act of perception, we have the scheme of
cosmothetic or hypothetic realism. This is only one form of
the theory of representative perception, as Hamilton very
clearly shows, a theory unnecessary, not in accordance
with the facts, and in reality destructive of all evidence of
the existence of an external world; since the only evidence
we have of such existence is the testimony of consciousness,
in the act of perception, which evidence the theory in question sets aside as unreliable.  The doctrine of natural
realism he shows to be the true and only tenable ground,
recognizing in every act of perception the direct and immediate cognizance of self as percipient, and the external
reality as object perceived; while the rejection of this
doctrine in any form, consistently carried out, leads to
idealism, materialism, or nihilism, according to the shape
which the denial assumes.
There is yet another feature of the Hamiltonian philosophy which should not be entirely passed over in this




PHILOSOPHY OF GREAT B  I  TA IN.  395
brief outline of his system. I refer to his philosophy of
the conditioned.  All our knowledge is relative, says
Hamilton. We know and can know anything, odnly as it
stands in some way related to our faculties. If these were
different our knowledge would be different. We know
and can know only the limited, the definite.  To know IS
to limit, to define. Hence the wholly unlimited, the infinite and absolute, we cannot know nor even conceive. So
Hamilton; and his friend and disciple Mansel (Bampton
lectures-Limits of Religious Thought).  True, says Kant;
we cannot know the infinite, and absolute, but we can
conceive them. We may both know and conceive them,
says Cousin, as within the sphere of consciousness. No,
not as coming within the sphere of ordinary consciousness,
says Schelling; and yet we may know them by that
faculty of the higher reason, or intuition, which transcendcs the understanding and consciousness. The infinite
and absolute can neither be known nor conceived, replies
Hamilton, by the finite human mind; for this is to limit
the wholly unlimited; it is to make the less contain the
greater.
The application of this philosophy of the conditioned
to theology, is obvious and important. It presents to the
mind -the God whom we adore as infinite and absolute, as a
being in reality incomprehensible by the mind that adores
Him. A God that can be comprehended, says Hamilton,
is no God; " a Deity understood would be no Deity at all "
(Lectures, p. 531). "Canst thou by searching find out
God? Canst thou find out the Almighty to perfection? "
This philosophy of the conditioned is applied by
Hamilton to the law of causality, and also to the idea of'
fireedom, as accounting for both.  We cannot conceive
the absolute commencement of anything that exists in time;
hence we are compelled to the belief that every event has
and meust have a cause. It is the result of our inability to
think the unconditioned.  For the same reason we can



396' PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.
not conceive a volition wholly undetermined, or a cause
not itself cansed.  Freedom  is therefore inconceivable.
But so likewise is its opposite, necessity.  We know that
we are free; consciousness assures us that we are so; but
how such a thing as moral liberty is possible to man or
God, we are utterly unable to understand.  (Wight's
Philosophy of Sir W. Ham., pp. 508-512.)*
~ 2. THE POSITIVE OR MATERIAL PHILOSOPHY, AS REPRESENTED
BY J. STUART MILL, SPENCER AND BAIN.
This phase or tendency of modern speculative thought,
empirical in psychology, and utilitarian in ethics, numbers among its followers not a few of the ablest and most
eminent British thinkers; among whom we may rank
first and foremost, John Stuart Mill, son of James Mill, a
philosophical writer of some repute of the utilitarian
school. J. S. Mill is well and widely known as a writer
on logic and political economy, in which departments of
science his works have won just renown. In metaphysics
he is best known by his " Examination of Sir William
Hamilton's Philosophy," a very able and searching critique
of the system of that philosopher. The advocates of the
empirical philosophy, whether of the positive type of
Comte and Spencer, or the materialists of the school of
IHobbes, Hume, Priestley, found themselves, as a matter
of self-defence, under the necessity of attacking the
authority and destroying the prestige of Sir William Hamilton as an acknowledged leader of British thought.  He
was too formidable and too earnest an opponent to be let
alone.  Resolutely and earnestly the foremost champion
of the opposing system, J. S. Mill, girded himself for the
* For a fuller discussion of Hamilton's philosophy than could be
given in these pages, and especially for a consideration of his theory
of causality and of freedom, I must refer the reader to my " Studies
in Philosophy and Theology," article, Philosophy of Sir W.
HIamilton.




PHILOSOPHIY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.   397
attack.  That he has succeeded in demolishing the system
of his great antagonist can hardly be claimed, even by his
ardent admirers; while on the other hand even his opponents must concede the fairness and candor, as well as the
ability, of his attack.
In common with all the philosophers of the empirical
or sensational school, as Hobbes, Locke, Hume, Priestley,
Bentham, Hartley, Paley, and others of more recent fame,
Mill derives all our ideas from experience, denying all
innate or connate ideas, and a priori truth. All our
knowledge comes primarily from the senses and is the
result of experience. Our ideas of right and wrong, of
truth, beauty, duty, honor and the like, are of empirical
origin. Nothing is true necessarily and a priori. In
this he stands opposed not only to such thinkers as Descartes, Leibnitz, Kant, Cousin, Coleridge, and others of
the so called transcendental school, but to the Cambridge
Platonists as well, and to the sturdy common sense of the
Scotch philosophers, Reid, Stewart, Mackintosh, and others
of that type.  But to no one of all these does the empirical or sensational philosophy stand more directly and
squarely opposed than to Sir William Hamilton.  No one
has more distinctly and earnestly contended for the
supreme importance in philosophy of a priori ideas and
convictions. It is one of the distinguishing features of
his system, as the denial of it is of that of his opponent.
This denial is complete and thorough-going. It is only
by experience that we know.that two straight lines cannot
enclose a space, or that the whole is greater than a part,
or that one action is right and another wrong.  And as
experience is the source of our ideas of this sort, so expediency or utility is the ground of morals, the reason why
we come to pronounce one action right and another the
reverse.
With respect to the reality of our knowledge, the doctrines of Mill are essentially opposed to those of the Ham



398   P H ILOSOP H Y  OF GREAT BRITAI N.
iltonian or Scotch philosophy. All our knowledge, says
Hamilton, is relative, in the sense that it stands related to
our faculties of knowing; but it is none the less real and
true knowledge. All our knowledge is relative, says Mill,
in this higher and further sense, that it is merely the
report of our faculties as to what seems to be so and so;
whether the thing is what it seems to be, whether our
knowledge is real or only apparent and illusive, we are
not and cannot be certain. The only thing certain is that
we have such and such impressions; things seem to us so
and so. To us, constituted as we are, two and two are
four, and a straight line is the shortest distance between
two points.  But because it is so in our experience, it
does not follow that it is so in the nature of things; because it is so to us, it does not follow that it is so evervwhere and always. In other parts of the universe, and
to beings otherwise constituted, all this may be changed;
two and two may be five, or a part may be equal to the
whole; and their knowledge may be as correct and as real
as ours. All certitude and reality of truth seems to be by
this doctrine utterly destroyed.  We are out on a wide sea
of conjecture, and can know nothing positively.
As regards the perception of external things by the
senses, Mr. Mill of course rejects the doctrine of natural
realism, or the immediate cognizance of the external world
in the act of perception, which is the distinguishing feature
of the Hamiltonian system.  We have impressions and
sensations-that is all. From these we infer the existence
of an external something capable of producing these impressions. It is an inference, a connection forced upon us
by our sensations, not a direct and positive knowledge.
Matter is " a permanent possibility of sensation," as he
expresses it. In this, he is even more an idealist than
Berkeley, for not even mind is here given as a real entity.
As to the idea of, and belief in, a personal God as first
cause of all things, Mr. Mill says nothing definitely, but




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.  393
leaves it an open question, on which the positive philosophy
may take one side or the other without detriment to its
principles. He thinks, however, that there may be a religion without a belief in the existence of God (Critique on
Comte, p. 133).
As'to the freedom of the will, Mill assails Hamilton's
theory. Moral responsibility does not, he thinks, involve
freedom of the will, as Hamilton maintains.  The feeling
of accountability is to be traced not to the possession of
freedom, but to the fact that the evil-doer is liable to be
called to account, and that he knows the punishment which
awaits him is just and well deserved. Volition follows its
moral causes just as physical events follow their physical
causes. He does not affirm that they must do so; only
that they always do. He disapproves the use of the word
necessity to express this relation, and understands by that
term, when he employs it, as do Edwards and most necessitarians, the simple certainty of events.  (Examination of
Hamilton, vol. II. pp. 281, 300.)'  ecessity is to be carefully distinguished from fatalism, which teaches that a superior power overrules our destiny, and that our characters
are formed for us, not by us.
In ethics Mr. Mill is of the utilitarian school. Virtue
is an enlightened and refined expediency. The principle
of greatest happiness is the ruling motive of human
conduct.
It need hardly be remarked, that the system now
sketched,-as in fact any scheme that derives all our ideas
from sensation, and makes our knowledge relative in the
sense above explained, must inevitably do,-fails to solve
the great problems of human thought, or even to account
for some of the most important mental phenomena. If, as
Mr. Mill holds, the mind is a mere series of feelings tending to associate according to certain laws, how is it that this
series of feelings recognizes itself as a series, and as having
an existence in the past? In other words, how is the fact




400   PHILOSOPHY  OF  GREAT BRITAI N.
of memory to be explained?  And wvhence these laws of
association which govern the series? And whence the
whole class of our mo ral feelings and judgments, the sense
of duty or obligation?  Whence this MUST, that plays so
important A role in the mental phenomena? Here the
philosophy in question wholly fails. It cannot explain by
any laws or principles of association, this grand characteristic feature of our moral nature, "the conversion," to use
the language of Masson, " of the prodest into the oportet;
the evolution of the participle in dus out of never so much
of the past participle passive."*
If we regard Mr. Mill as, in some sense, the leading
representative of the positive and material school of thought
in Great Britain, at the present day, it must be conceded
that Herbert Spencer ranks hardly second to him as an advocate of the same essential principle.  Mr. Spencer's writings cover a wider range of topics, and are perhaps, even
more widely read, in this country at least, than are those
of Mr. Mill.  With various modifications, the philosophy
of Mr. Spencer is, in its essential features, substantially
the same as that already sketched.  In common with Mill,
he denies all primitive, universal and a priori truth, making all such or so called truths, as for example the axioms
of geometry, to be only the inductions of our experience.
He differs from Mill as to the ultimate test of.belief, which
he makes to be the inconceivableness of the opposite, or
the inability to think the alleged truth to be false.  With
him, as with Mr. Mill, what we call knowledge or cognition, is simply the relation subsisting among our feelings.
We know and can know  only phenomena; of the hidden
causes of phenomena we know and can know nothing. He
divides our cognitions, or intellectual powers, into Presentative-as localizing sensations-Presentative-Representa* For a more complete statement and criticism of this system the
reader is referred to the Author's'" Studies in Philosophy and Theology," article "Mill versus Hamilton."




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIIN.  401
five, as when the sight of an -object calls to mind its various qualities;-Representative, as memory; and Re-Representative —as the higher abstractions of mathematics,
designated by symbols. His classification of the emotions
runs parallel to that of the intellectual powers.
With the same school essentially, may be classed Alexander Bain, professor of Logic and Philosophy in the University of Aberdeen, though in some respects he seems to
approach more nearly the idealism of Berkeley, than the
materialism of the positive philosophy. He treats the
mind from a physiological stand-point throughout. His
division of the faculties is into I..Antecedents of Intellect,
1. muscularity, 2. the senses; II. The Intellect, with its
three functions, 1. discrimination or difference, 2. agreement or similarity, 3. retentiveness. The physical sensations of pleasure and pain are classed with the mental
emotions of fear, love, etc., under the general designation of the feelings, every feeling having its physical as well
as its mental side. No distinctive place is assigned among
the feelings or emotions to the moral faculty. In common
with Mill and Herbert Spencer, Bain argues at length
against the existence of innate or intuitive ideas. Matter,
and mind, are distinguished as the two great departments
of our knowledge, Object and Subject, the former distinguished by the quality of extension, the latter by the absence
of that quality. As regards the perception of an external
object, Professor Bain is not far removed from the position
of Berkeley when he affirms that in ascribing separate
and independent existence to the object, "we not only
forget that the object qualities are still modes of conscious
experience, but are guilty besides of converting an abstraction into a reality" (Mental Science, p. 202).  " The prevailing doctrine, is that a tree is something in itself, apart
from all perception; that by its luminous emanations it
impresses our minds and is then perceived; the perception being an effect, and the unperceived tree the cause.




402   PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.
But the tree is known only through perception.  What it
may be anterior to, or independent of, perception we cannot tell" (Mental Science, p. 198).
As to the will, the law of causality reigns there no less
than in the realm of physical events; freedom is an illusion and a myth.
~ 3.-CERTAIN LATER FORMS OF MATERIALISM.
Of late, Materialism  has assumed a more direct and
distinctly avowed form in the writings of modern scientists
of note.  The doctrines announced by Cabanis, and endorsed by Vogt, that "the brain secretes thought as the
liver secretes bile," or, as expressed by Moleschott, that
thought is a motion of matter, and by Bilchner, that'"mental activity is a function of the cerebral substance,"
"emitted by the brain as sounds are by the mouth, as
music is by the organ," has not been without its adherents
in England. Spencer says: " That no idea or feeling arises,
save as a result of some physical force expended in producing it, is fast becoming a common-place of science" (First
Principles, 217). The tendency to resolve the phenomena
of thought into material agency, and to identify matter and
mind as essentially one and the same thing under different
phases, is quite marked among English scientists. Professor Tyndall disclaims materialism, and believes in the
existence of mind as associated- with the phenomena of
matter; but affirms that "thought, as exercised by us, has
its correlative in the physics of the brain," and considers
it probable " that for every fact of consciousness, whether
in the domain of sense, of thought, or of emotion, a certain definite molecular condition, is set up in the brain;
that this relation of physics to consciousness is invariable,
so that, given the state of the brain, the corresponding
thought or feeling might be inferred" (Address before
the British Association). Huxley in like manner declares
himself so materialist; but it is on the ground that neither




PHILOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.   403
matter nor mind are to be regarded as substances, apart
from our own sensations and impressions.  "What after
all do we know of this terrible' matter,' except as a name
for the unknown and hypothetical cause of states of our
own consciousness? And what do we know of this'spirit,
over whose threatened extinction by matter a great lamentation is arising, like that which was heard at the death of
Pan, except that it is also a name for an unknown and
hypothetical cause or condition of the states of consciousness?"  (Physical Basis of Life.)
All that we know, in other words, is simply our own
mental states and impressions; matter and mind, self and
not-self are mere hypotheses devised to explain those states
and impressions. "[Nor is our knowledge of anything we
know or feel more or less than a knowledge of states of consciousness.", "Strictly speaking, the existence of a self
and a not-self are hypotheses by which we account for the
facts of consciousness." It is evident that if all real knowledge of an external world vanishes on these principles, so
also does all real knowledge of the internal or spiritual
world, as well. We stand, not with Berkeley merely, but
with Hume. Yet in this sense, at least, must Huxley be
content to take his place with the materialists; he makes
use of a terminology entirely materialistic, and he establishes a purely physical basis for the phenomena of mind.
"All vital action," he declares, "is the result of the molecular forces of the protoplasm which displays it."  "Even
those manifestations of intellect, of feeling and of will,
which we rightly name the higher faculties," are not exceptions to the rule, but are known, to every one but the subject of them, only as " transitory changes in the relative positions of the parts of the body." (Physical Basis of Life.)
Perhaps no modern English writer, however, has more
distinctly advocated the doctrines of materialism as regards
the philosophy of the mind, than Dr. Maudsley, an English
physician of reading and culture, who, as superintendent




404   PH ILOSOPHEY  OF GREAT BRITAIN.
of the Manchester Royal Lunatic Asylum, has had special
opportunities for the study of abnormal conditions of the
mind, and has devoted particular attention to psychology
in connection with these conditions. In a work of much
ability, entitled Physiology and Pathology of Mind, he traces
the various forms of mental derangement to pathological
causes, and shows the influence of a disordered brain upon
the operations of the mind. From this he is naturally,
though incorrectly, led to the conclusion-a conclusion not
warranted by the facts adduced-that as disordered and
abnormal states of mind may be traced to physical causes,
so all psychological states and processes may be accounted
for in like manner. Thought, feeling, volition, are certain
modifications of the brain, certain processes "which take
place in the minute cells of the cortical layers." So delicate, however, are these processes as to be quite beyond our
power of investigation in the present resources of science.
The system thus developed is wholly and avowedly material.
The doctrine is not that the brain cells are the organ of
thought, as all admit, but that they manufacture thought,
emotion, and the various operations of what we call the
mind. This is their function as really as it is that of the
certain other organs to secrete bile, or gastric juice. To
think and to feel is as truly the function and province of
the brain cells, as it is that of the stomach to digest food.
These various mental operations we are to study not by
the old method of consciousness, but by observation, not
subjectively, but objectively, by careful investigation of
the states of the brain and nervous system as affected by
these processes. Self-consciousness he regards as a method
wholly unreliable. If the mind is for any reason disordered, the consciousness partakes of the disorder, and
reports accordingly, that is falsely. The man is conscious
that he is a king; or that he is made of glass; and the
like. It cannot therefore be trusted. (Physiology, etc.,
p. 25.)




PfM-LTOSOPHY  OF GREAT  BRITAIN.  405
This however is wholly a mistake. Consciousness never
testifies falsely. Its office is simply to report our own
present sensations and impressions, not to vouch for the
correctness of those impressions. And this it does, and
does correctly. It affirms that we.feel warm or cold, not
that we are so; it says that we think and believe ourselves to
be such and such personages, not that we are so. Even the
most decided sceptics have admitted the testimony of consciousness as valid and trustworthy; nor is it possible on
any other principle to lay the foundation of any system
whatever, not even of materialism, or nihilism, since whatever we affirm or deny, the truth of our affirmation or
denial must rest ultimately on the veracity of consciousness.
Dr. Maudsley denies the unity of the soul. It is one
only in the sense in which a tree or a house is one, by the
combination and co-operation of the several parts of which
it is composed. It is one, only as the brain cells co-operate to produce a given effect, and the ceasing thus to act,
the disorder or dissolution of the cells which constitute
mental activity, would be the dissolution of that unity, and
in fact of the soul itself.  This is materialism in its most
direct and decided form.
THE END.








INDEX OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.
Abelard.-Principal data of his history, 210. His doctrines, 211.
Opponent of nominalism and of Roscellinus, 212. Tendency
to rationalistic views, 212.
Academy, The New. —In its main features Platonic, with decided
tendency to Scepticism, 190. Founder of the school, Arcesilaus,
191. His successor, Carneades, 191. Subsequent fortunes, 191.
Anaximander.-Friend and successor of Thales, 12. First of the
mechanists, 12., His elementary principle, abstract, 13. His
theory of the universe, 14. Darwinian origin of man, 14. The
Nous as first mover or creator, wanting, 15. First to use the
term'Apx4 for the Principle of things, 15. A fatalist, 16. Astronomer and mathematician, 16.
Anaximenes. —Epoch and general system, 17. His first principle, the
air or ether, 17. Theory of the universe as developed from
this, 18. Relation of his philosophy to that of Thales, 17.
Anaxagoras.-History and character, 31. An astronomer and natural philosopher, 32. Mechanist in theory, 33. Chaos the primitive state, 33. Atomic theory, 34. Mind the moving and producing cause of all, 34. Movement circular, 34. Anticipations
of modern science, 35. Reason and the senses, 36.
Ancient Philosophy-As distinguished from modern, 1. Chief divisions, 1. Begins with Greek philosophy, 2. For what reasons, 3.
Anselm.-Period and history, 211. Bases knowledge on faith, 211.
Realism, 211. Argument for divine existence, 211.
Antisthenes.-The Cynic, 97. Character and c'trines, 97. Relation
to the Socratic philosophy, 99. Pleasure to be resolutely avoided
as an absolute evil, 99. Virtue consists largely in this, 99
System purely selfish and Inorose, 100.




408     INDEX   OF  PRINCI PAL  TOPICS..Arcesilaus.-Founder of New Academy, 190. Philosophy of nescience, 191. Differs from the sceptics in what respects, 191.
Aristippus.-The Cyrenaic, 93. Personal character, 94. His system
Socratic in its starting-point, 94. Happiness the great aim of
life-but happiness consists in pleasure, 95. Virtue and vice
indifferent except as contributing to this end, 96. Reason the
regulating principle, 96.
Aristotle.-As compared with Plato, 132. Life, 133. Character as
a philosopher, as sketched by Ritter, 135. General system, 137.
What he undertakes to do, 139. Division of philosophy into
theoretical and practical, 139. The First Philosophy, 139. Aristotle's Logic, 140. His Metaphysics, 143. The self-moving cause
or Deity of Aristotle, 144. His Physics, 148. Psychology, 153.
Rejects the Platonic theory of ideas and of pre-existence, 154.
His Ethics and Politics, 157.
Bacon, Francis.-Personal history, 217. Method and principle, 220.
Chief works, 222. Plan of the Instauratio Magna, 224. The De
Augmentis, 228. The Novum Organum, 223. His chief devotion to natural science, 225. His defects, 226. His influence, 228.
Bain. —System  of mental science, 401. Physiological stand-point,
401. Questions the reality of external objects apart from perception, 401.
Berkeley.-Relation to preceding systems, 308. Life and character,
308. System, 309. Denial of material existence, 310. How led
to this, 311. Admits a material world in what sense, 312. An
absolute idealist, 313.
Brown, Dr. Thomas.-Life, 338. Character, 340. System, 342. His
doctrine of perception, 343. A representationist, 344. Classification of mental faculties, 344. The mind a series of states, 345.
His theory of cause and effect, 344. Theory of virtue, 345.
Carneades.-Of the New Academy, 191. Noted for eloquence, 192.
Advocates both sides of every question, 192. Attacks the Stoic
doctrine of God, and of necessity, 192. Justice conventional,
not natural, 192. Theory of probability, 193.
Qyrenaic Philosophy.-Its character and principles, 93. Pleasure the
great aim of life, 94. Virtue of use as conducing to that, 94.
Reason the regulating principle, 96. Its founder, Aristippus, 93.




INDEX  OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.  40:9
Cynic Phitlosophy.-Its character and doctrines, 97. Antisthenes
its founder, 97. Opposition to pleasure in every form, 98.
Descartes. —His period, 229. State of philosophy at the time, 230.
His life and character, 231. His system, 235. Analysis of "the
Method " and the Meditations, 235. Argument for divine existence, 236. Characteristic features of the system, 238. Effect of
the man and his works, 242. Tendency of the views, 242. Descartes proficient in natural philosophy and mathematics, 244.
Compared with Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, 245.
Diodorus Cronos. —The Megarian, 102. Fallacies of, 102. Motion
impossible, 103.
Diogenes of Ajpollonia. —Last of Ionian dynamists, 27. Date, 27.
First principle, ether or air, 28. How led to this, 28. The
arrangement and order of the universe ascribed to a presiding
intelligence, or soul of the world; not a personal being, 29.
Diogenes of Sinope. —The Cynic, 98. Pupil of Antisthenes, 98. Resembles his master in character and principles, 100.
Eckhart of Strasburg.-Attempt to revive the Platonic philosophy
in the 14th century, 216.
Empedorles.-The Eleatic. Birth-place and history, 58. Principal
work, a poem on Nature, 59. Principle of love and hate, 60.
The sphere, 61. Four elements, 63. Senses not reliable, 63.
Epicurus.-Date and history, 170. Founds a school, 171. Its character, 171. The character and teachings of Epicurus himself, 171. Strict temperance and frugality, 171. Tendency of his
doctrines, 172.
Epicureian System.-Makes philosophy the art of living well, the
science of the useful, or of happiness; discards logic and
science proper, and makes ethics the chief study; makes
pleasure the chief element of happiness; but not the pleasures
of sense; superiority of mental and spiritual pleasures, 170.
Virtue the way to highest happiness, 173. Philosophy of senl
sation and perception, 1.74., The soul corporeal and not immnortal, 175. Theology of Epicurus, 176.
Eubulides.l-Megarian, 102. Fallacies; all change and motion shown
to be impossible, 102.
Fuctiid of Regara.-Discip]e of Socrates; personal incident in his




410     INDEX   OF  PRINCIPAL  TO PICS.
history, 100. Eleatic tendencies; system negative in character,
101. Fallacies, 102.
Fichte.-Relation to Kant and Reinhold, 364. Life, 365. Carries out
to its extreme the idealism of Kant, 368. The ME only exists,
369. The external phenomena which Kant admits as having
real existence, are only our own creations and imaginations,
or exist, if at all, beyond the sphere of consciousness, 370.
Method in which he establishes these principles, 371. Complete idealism, 373. Defects of the system, 374. Apparent
Atheism, 374. Subsequent modifications, 375.
German Philosophy-as represented by Kant and his successors.
Chapters XIV., XV., XVI., 347, 363, 377.
Gorgias the Sophist.-History and tenets, 67.
Greek Philosophy.-The beginning of ancient philosophy, not in
reality, but only as known to us, 195. Division into periods,
and schools, 196.
IHamilton, Sir William.-Sketch of life, 389. Personal appearance,
390. State of philosophy at the time he appeared, 391. Philosophical articles in Edinburgh Review, 390. Disciple of Reid,
Kant and Aristotle, 391. Lectures on metaphysics, 393. Doctrine of consciousness, 393. Latent mental states, 393. Relation
of knowledge to sensation in act of perception, 393. The law
first definitely stated, 392. Doctrine of perception, 394. Natural
realism, 894. Different theories, 394. Doctrine of the conditioned,
395. The doctrine applied to theology; to the law of causality,
also; and to freedom of will, 395. Doctrine of primitive, a
priori, ideas, 395.
teraclitus.-Era and personal history, 19. Work obscure, 20. A
dynamist, 22. First principle fire, from  which by transformation all things proceed, 23. Harmony from combination
of opposites, 25. Natural philosophy of Heraclitus, 26. Senses
not reliable, 25. Reason the sole criterion, 26.
Hegel.-How  related  to Fichte and  Schelling, 382.  Personal
sketch, 383. Philosophy, 383. Begins with pure nothing, discards experience, and makes pure thought the sole existence,
ideas the only realities, 385. Threefold movement in the process of knowledge, 386. Corresponding division of Logic;
doctrine of Being, of Essence, and of Notion, 386. Philosophy
of Nature, 387. Philosophy of Mind, 387. Theology, 388.




INDEX   OF  PRINICIPAL  TOPICS.                  411
Hobbes.-Relation to the Baconian philosophy, 280. Personal history, 281. Style, 281. Character, 282. Main features of his
philosophy, 282. Sensationalism, 282. Nothing in itself good or
evil, 285. Civil polity, 286.
Hume.-Sketch of personal history, 314. A sceptic rather than a
dogmatist, 316. Assumes the premises of Locke and Berkeley,
and carries out these principles to their logical conclusions,
3817. Result, nihilism, 8317. Admits the subjective reality of
our impressions, 318.
zuxley. —In what sense and to what extent a materialist, 402.,,dea —Platonic theory of, 110.
"   Denial of innate, by Locke, 295.
Italian School. —The Pythagorean system, 38.  Its founder and
tenets, 42.
Ionian Philosophy-General character of, 5. Different schools, 6.
Jewish-Alexandrian Philosophy. —Philo, 202. Blending of Judaism
and Platonism, 202.
Kant, mnmanuel.-Life and works, 348. Character and habits, 850.
Relation to previous systems, 352. A priori or universal
truths, 354. Analysis of the Critique of Pure Reason, 356. A
priori elements of the sensibility, of the understanding, and
of the reason, 357. Immortality of the soul, and existence of
God, not capable of proof from reason; to be known only from
consciousness of our own moral nature, 358. Merits and defects
of this system, 3860.
Leibnitz.-Life and habits, 270. Adopts in the main the Cartesian
philosophy; but-with modifications, 273.  First truths, 274.
Ideas not innate; yet not all from sensation, 275. Ultimate
criteria of truth 276. Monadology, 277. Pre-established harmony, 277. Philosophical necessity, 278. Optimism, 278. Calvinistic aspect of the doctrine, 278.
Locke. —Personal history and character, 288. Essay on Human
Understanding-how  composed, 291. Style, wide circulation
293. Ground-plan of the system, 294. Experience the basis of
all our knowledge, 295. Observation and consciousness the
true method, 296. Ideas simple and compound, 296. Of the
former, some represent primary, others secondary qualities of
objects; knowledge of the latter wholly subjective, 297.
Locke's use of the term reflection 297. Does not refer all our




412    IINDEX OF PRINCIPAL  TOPICS.
knowledge to sensation as its origin, 297. Twofold source, 298.
Criticism of Cousin and Morell, 298. Use of the term idea, 299.
Does not distinguish between the occasion and cause of an idea,
300. Ideas not all from sensation and reflection, 300. Is the
system  subversive of moral distinctions, 301. Tendency of
the system, 303. Successors, 305. Mandeville, Hartley, and the
French philosophers of this school, Condillac, Condorcet, 305.
Logic.-Of Aristotle, 141. Of Bacon, 223. Of Plato, 111. Of the
Stoics, 180.
lMaterialism, 394. Later forms, 402. Tyndall, 402. Huxley, 402.
Dr. Maudsley, 403.,Malebranche.-Contemporary with Spinoza, 259. Personal history
259. Impressed by writings of Descartes, 260.  Character as a
writer, 261. Works, 261. Religious element, 261. General outline of system, 262. Cartesian in principle, 262. Analysis of the
"Inquiry after Truth," 263. Theory of ideas, 263.'Theory of
vision in God, 266. Will and desire synonymous, 267. Virtue
the love of order; consists in intention-a principle now first
clearly announced, 268. Theory of existence of evil, 268.
Mcaudsley, Dr.-Pathology of mind, 403. Materialistic views, 404.
Consciousness rejected as method of mental investigation, 404.
Unity of the soul denied, 404. Dissolution of the brain-cells
involves destruction of the soul, 404.
Mdethod.-Of Aristotle, 143. Of Plato, 109. Of Socrates, 86. Of Descartes, 232.
Medieval Philosophy.-See Scholastic Philosophy, 207.
IMill, J. S.-Opponent of Hamilton, 396. Derives all ideas from
experience, 397. Nothing true a priori, 397. Reality of our
knowledge called in question; only sure that we have such and
such impressions, 397. Natural realism rejected; the external
world not immediately known in perception but only inferred,
398. Theology doubtful, 399. Freedom of will not admitted;
philosophical necessity, 400. Defects of the system, 400.
Neo-Platonism.-Attempt to revive the ancient philosophy, 203.
Epoch, 203. Chief teachers, 203. Plotinus, 203. Porphyry, 203.
Iamblichus, 203. Proclus, 204. Tendency to mysticism, 204. Platonic basis, 204. Theory of emanation, 2Q5. Doctrine of God, 204
New Academy.-Teachers and tenets, 190.
Nominalism and Realism.-Dispute concerning, 394.




INDEX  OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.   413
Parmenides.-Epoch, 51. History, 51. Tenets, 51. Discredits the
evidence of sense, 51. Reason alone reliable, 51. Poem on
Nature 51. Fundamental position, 52. The All identical with
Intelligence, or Thought and Being one, 52. View of man, 53.
Philo, the Jew. —Descent, 201. Judaism and Platonism blended, 201.
God the only true existence; employs ministering agencies, 202.
Chief of these, Wisdom or the Son, 202. Logos doctrine;
differs from that of John, 202.
Plato.-Life and character, 104. Method, 109. Ideas, 116. Psychology, 104. Division of philosophy into logic, physics, and ethics,
111. Logic or dialectic of Plato, 111. Soul twofold, the sensitive and the rational, 111. Pre-existent, 111. Reminiscence, 111.
Theology of Plato, 119. Ethics, 120. Basisof the Platonic ethics,
120. Socratic theory of virtue as a science, 120. Estimate of
pleasure, 121. Virtue of fourfold character, 122. Politics of
Plato, 124. The individual merged in the state, 124. Family
relations ignored, 124. Education by the state, 125. Orders of
society, 125. Physics of Plato; world-soul; image of God; evil
inherent in matter; resemblance to Mosaic narrative, 131.
P'ositive Philosophy-as represented by Mill, Spencer, Bain, 296.
Derives all our knowledge from experience; denies a priori and
universal ideas; makes knowledge relative and uncertain; phenomena alone capable of being known, 298. Utility the basis
of morals, 299. The will not endowed with freedom, 302.
Pre-existence-Of the soul, 43. Platonic doctrine of, 114.
Porphyry.-Of the Neo-Platonic school, 203. Disciple of Plotinus
203. History, 203.
Plotinus.-Neo-Platonic, 203.  Pupil of Ammonius Saccas, 203.
Historic data, 203.
Proclus.  Most distinguished of later Neo-Platonists, 203. Life
and work, 204.
Protagoras.-Sophist, 64. Personal history, 64. Doctrines, 67. All
truth relative, 68. Man the measure of all things, 68. Everything true of every-thing, 70. Whatever seems true is so, 71.
Pythagoras.-Of the Italian school, 37. Period and history, 37.
Fabulous stories, 37. His school, 38. Makes number and time
the first principles of all things, 40. Deity is number, 42. The




414   INDEX  OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.
Kosmos springs from number, 42. Soul pre-existent, 43. Transmigration, 43. Reason, intelligence, sense, the three attributes of the soul, 43. Rules of life ascetic, and morality
severe, 43.
Reid, Dr. Thomas.-Life, 319. Inquiry into the Human Mind, 321.
Connection with Hume's treatise on Human Nature, 322. Correspondence with Hume, 322. Doctrines of Reid, 324. Philosophy of common sense, 327. Refutation of the common
theory of perception, 327. Merit of this questioned by Dr.
Brown; vindicated by Hamilton, 328. Defects of Reid; makes
consciousness a distinct faculty; fails to distinguish definitely
between true and false doctrines of perception, 330. The true
doctrine, 332.
Reinhold.-Sketch of life, 363. Seeks to give completeness to the
philosophy of Kant, 364. Bases knowledge on the representative faculty, 364.
Romans.-Philosophy among, 195. Different systems prevalent, 195.
Cicero, 196.
Roscellinus.-Advocate of nominalism, 212. Applies it to the doctrine of the Trinity, 212. Compelled to retract, 212.
Sceptics.-The Greek; philosophy of; chief teachers, Pyrrho of
Elis, and Timon of Athens, 169. Tenets; virtue is happiness;
all things in themselves indifferent; nothing certain; nothing
to choose between one thing and another, 170.
Schelling, Frederic William. —Life, 377. Philosophy of the absolute, 377. God the one great absolute; known by intuition, 378.
All things the development of this absolute principle, 379.
Law of this development in its three movements or potencies,
379. This law applied to nature; applied to mind, 380. Pantheism, 382. Subsequent modification of the system, 382.
Scholastic Philosophy of the Middle Ages.-Its general character,
207. Chief names-Johannes Scotus; Roscellinus; Anselhn;
Abelard; Albert the Great; Thomas'Aquinas; Duns Scotus, 209.
Scotch Philosophy-as represented by Reid, Stewart, Brown; Relation of, to preceding doctrines, 323. Life and doctrines of Reid,
324. Of Stewart, 333. Of Brown, 338.
Socrates.-Life and personal character, 74. Military experience, 75.
Integrity in public life, 75. Personal appearance, 77. Trial and




INDEX OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.   415
death, 83. Doctrines, 83. General character of his philosophy
ethical, 83. The Socratic method, 86.  Socratic ethics, 87.
Virtue-intelligence, 89. Socratic theology, 90. Immortality
inferred from imperfection of present state, 91.
Socratic Period of Philosophy.-Relation to earlier systems. General character ethical; yet not wholly so, 94. Recognition of
self-consciousness, 94.
Sophists. Important mission, 64. Causes which produced, 64. General character, 67. Chief teachers, 67. Protagoras, history and
tenets, 68. Gorgias; life; doctrines, 68. Sophists of use in
philosophy, 71. Call attention to the subjective phase of
being-and to the distinction between sense and intellect, 71.
Spencer, Herbert.-Positive philosophy, 400. In substantial accordance with J. S. Mill, 400. Denies a priori and universal truth,
400. Ultimate test of truth, the inconceivableness of the opposite, 401. Knowledge relative, 401. Can know only phenomena,
402. Classification of mental powers, 402.
Spinoza.-Personal history, 246. Character, 247. Principal works,
250. Style and method of reasoning, 251. Outline of system
252. Analysis of "the Ethics," 253. Definitions, 253. Propositions that follow from these, 254. Falsity of the principles, 256.
Spinoza a fatalist, 257. In what sense a pantheist, 257. Tribute
of Cousin, 257.
Stoics.-Leaders, Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, 177. Opposition to
prevailing degeneracy, 179. System more practical than the
Platonic, looking to the common duties of life, 179. Divide
philosophy into Logic, Physics, Ethics, 179.  Logic of the
Stoics, origin of ideas from sensation, as Locke; doctrine of
perception, categories four; criterion of truth, as Descartes,
180. Physics; God pervading the universe as the soul the
body; development and final conflagration of the world; doctrine of existence of evil; soul not immortal; soul acts freely,
yet by fate, 182. Ethics; nature the ground of right; reason
the guide of life; self-love the foundation of moral action, 185.
Stewart, DIugald.-Life and character, 333. Writings, 333. System
in the main that of Reid, 334. Improves the same; adds completeness and symmetry, 335.  Estimate by Mackintosh, 335.
Modesty and caution with which he differs from other philosophers, 337. Impress of the man, 338.




416   INDEX  OF PRINCIPAL TOPICS.
Thales.-Epoch and life, 7. The first Baconian, 7. Observation, the
point of departure, 8. General theory stated by Aristotle;
by Fries; by Ritter, 8. Water the elementary principle, and
why, 8. World develops from this as a plant from the seed;
the world a living soul, distinct from the human, 9. Soul the
principle of motion, 10. Human soul immortal, 10. Is Thales
Theist or Atheist, 10.
Wolff, Christian.-Modifies philosophy of Leibnitz, 279. Gives the
system a methodical form, 279. Divides philosophy into theoretical and practical, 280.
Zeno of 0Eea.-Eleatic, 44. Personal history, 54. System that of
Parmenides, 55. Senses not credible, 55.  Arguments multiplicity and motion, 56. Sceptical tendency, 58.
Zeno the Stoic.-Leader of the sect, 177. Life and tenets, 178.
Xenophanes.-Eleatic, 44. Life, 44. Elegiac poet, 46. Opposes the
anthropomorphism of Homer and Hesiod, 47. Theology, 49.




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