MASTER NEGATIVE NO. 92-80755 MICROFILMED 1992 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES/NEW YORK as part of the "Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" Funded by the NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES Reproductions may not be made without permission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT The copyright law of the United States - Title 17, United States Code ~ concerns the making of photocopies or other reproductions of copyrighted material... Columbia University Library reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR: LEWES, GEORGE HENRY TITLE: THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY . . PLACE: LONDON DATE: 1867 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARCIFT Master Negative # Original Material as Pilmed - Existing Bibliographic Record c> 109 LI rr ' Lewes, George Henry, 1817-1878. The history of philosophy from Thales to Comte. By George Henry Lewes. 3d ed. ... London, Longmans, Green, and CO., 18G7. 2 V. 22««». Restrictions on Use: Conlontc. — v.l, /vnciont philooophy. — v. 2, laod- ern philoGophy. 1. Philosophy-— II lijt. Library of Congress B72.L7 (3211, 10—20560 TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA FILM SIZE: 2^j2i^_ REDUCTION RATIO: IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA QIA^ IB IIB DATE •FILMED:_^^^i_.^g:2: INITIALS_J^A HLMEDBY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRID^ m. c Association for Information and Image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue. Suite 1100 Silver Spring, Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter 12 3 4 5 iiiiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiiilnnliiiiliiiiliniliiimi wm 6 7 8 iiiliiiiliiiiliiiilimlni 9 10 11 imliiiilitiili 12 13 14 15 mm liiiiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiiiliiii Inches TTT T T 1 TTT 1.0 1^ 2.8 1^ IK u luuu 1.4 2.5 ?? I.I 2.0 1.8 1.6 1.25 TTT I MflNUFRCTURED TO flllM STflNDfiRDS BY APPLIED IMfiGEp INC. I THE LIBRARIES THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. i- VOL. I. I K THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY ti Works by the same Author. ARISTOTLE : a Chapter from the History of Science, including Analyses of Aristotle's Scientific Writings. 1864. The LIFE of GOETHE. New Edition, partly rewritten. 1863. STUDIES in ANIMAL LIFE. With Illnstrations. 1863. SEASIDE STUDIES at ILFRACOMBE. TENBY, the SCILLY ISLES, and JERSEY. With Illustrations. Second Edi- tion. 1860. The PHYSIOLOGY of COMMON LIFE. With Hlustrations. 2 vols. 1859. FROM THALES TO COMTE. BY GEORGE HENRY LEWES. THIRD EDITION. • • - • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •• • « • • • > « • • • • • • • • • • » •• • • .• • •.*' » • • •* • », • • • • , • • • • • • •' VOL. I. — A'NCfENT-'PHiLoSOPHY. LONDON : LONGMANS, GllEEN, AND CO. I8r,7. (Right of translation reserved.) h- PREFACE. LOMDOK rSINTSD BT 8POTTISWOODB AKD CO. KBW-STRBET SQIAKS • • • • * • • • • • • • • • ♦ • • 103 LI V 1 Br A SLIGHT CHANGE in the title this edition is separated from its predecessors, as if it were a new work, which indeed in many respects it is. The first edition ap- peared in 1845-6 in four pocket- volumes ; addressed to the general pubhc rather than to weU-read students, it had no pretensions to the completeness or erudition displayed in many other Histories, being little more than a rapid survey of the course of metaphysical speculation, written with the avowed purpose of dis- suading the youth of England from wasting energy on insoluble problems, and relying on a false Method. With this object of turning the mind* from Metaphysics to Positive Philosophy, it employed History as an instrument of Criticism to disclose the successive failures of succes- sive schools. In 1857, after a sale of several thousand copies of the stereotyped edition, the Library Edition^ in one volume octavo, was prepared with a view of rendering the book more acceptable to students. A graver, fuller treatment of various portions, some important additions, and con- siderable alterations in the style were found necessary, but no change in purpose or doctrine. In the edition now issued my readers of twenty years VI TREFACE. ago will hardly recognise the 'Biographical History of Philosophy,' so considerable have been the alterations and enlargements. They will see, indeed, the spirit and the purpose still unchanged; but it will be like re- cognising in an iron-grey citizen the features of the third-form boy. I adhered to the Positive Philosopliy in 1845, and I adhere to it still. But much that was dim to me then has- become clear now, much that was convic- tion then has ceased to be conviction now ; my estimates of men and theories have altered in the course of years. The reader will doubtless feel, even more than I can feel, the want of unity in various parts of this product of changing years. I have done my best to lessen the discordance between 1845 and 1867, and would gladly have rewritten the whole had health permitted such a task. Among the more important additions the following may be specified. In the Prolegomena, replacing the original Introduction, are discussed : What is Pliilosophy ? — The Objective and Subjective Methods — Tlie Test of Truth — Some Infirmities of Thought — Necessary Truths. These subjects threatened to expand into a volume, and I was forced to omit much that I had prepared. The chapters on Plato and Aristotle have been rewritten ; the former with large assistance from Mr. Grote's exhaustive work ; the latter with reproductions from a monograph of my own. The accounts of Scholasticism, Arabian Philosophy, and Eoger Bacon, are entirely new. The chapters on Francis Bacon, Descartes, Leibnitz, CoNDiLLAC, and Hartley have been rewritten. Several new biographical details are given in the account of Spinoza, which has also been rewritten. Kant has been restudied, and the exposition and criticism of his doctrines PREFACE. Vll are new. The chapter on Gall has also been rewritten with, I believe, a more decisive presentation of his claims, and a more decisive exposition of his imperfections. I had hoped to rewrite the chapter on Hegel, especially to answer the challenge of Mr. Stirling's work (' The Secret of Hegel'), but my health gave way, and as my estimate of HegeVs value was unchanged I shrank firom the labour. With regard to Auguste Comte it has been a source of great regret to me that a larger space was not at my disposal; the more so as he is now the thinker of all others about whom the greatest curiosity is manifested. What I have attempted is not such a detailed exposition as would flatter the incurious indolence of men who love to talk confidently upon second-hand knowledge, but such general indications of the Positive Philosophy as will enable the student to appreciate its drift and importance, and will guide him in the understanding of Comte's writings. I am often asked to recommend some ' brief account of the system,' by those who wish to profit by Comte's labours (or perhaps only to talk knowingly of them), yet shirk the labour of reading the works which they profess to consider of importance. My answer is : study the Philosophie Positive for youmelf, study it patiently, give it the time and thought you would not grudge to a new science or a new language, and then whev.her you accept or reject the system you will find your mental horizon irrevocably enlarged. 'But six stout volumes!' exclaims the hesitating aspirant. Well, yes, six volumes requiring to be meditated as well as read : I admit that they ' give pause' in this busy, bustling world of ours; but if you reflect how willingly six separate volumes of Philosophy would be read in the course of the .. i; i- li f^l VUl PREFACE. year, the undertaking seems less formidable. You would not think of giving the necessary time and labour unless you had some previous conception of the result being worth the price ; and no one who considers the immense importance of a Doctrine which will give unity to his life, would hesitate to pay a far higher price than that of a year's study. It is to place before the student this conception of the result that I have chiefly shaped my exposition of the aims and means of the Positive Philosophy. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. -*o*- I The Priory : Maij 1867. PROLEaOMENA. PAGE I. What is Philosophy ? xvii II. The Objective and Subjective Methods xxxi lU. The Test of Truth Ixii rV. Some Infirmities of Thought Ixxix V. Necessary Truths xcv FIRST EPOCH. Philosophy separates itself from Theology, and attempts a rational explanation of cosmical phenomena. m ! CHAPTER I. THE PHYSICISTS. I. Thales 1 II. Anaximenes 8 III. Diogenes of ApoUonia 10 CHAPTER II. THE MATHEMATICIANS. I. Anaximander of Miletus 13 II. Pythagoras 18 III. Philosophy of Pythagoras 26 Translated passages from Aristotle's Metaphysics ... 36 HJi CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. XI • CHAPTER in. THE ELEATICS. PAGE I. Xenophanes 30 II. The Philosophy of Xenophanes 44 HI. Parmenides ^^ IV. Zeno of Elea 57 FIFTH EPOCH. Development of Ethics consequent on the Socratic circu7nscrip' lion of the aiiiis of Fhilosophy . CHAPTER I. EucM THE MEGARICS. PAGE . 175 SECOND EPOCH. The failure of cosmical speculations directs the efforts of Fhilosophy to the psychological prohlems of the oriyin and limits of knowledge. I. Heraclitus "^ II. Anaxagoras '2 IH. Empedoclcs ^ IV. Democritus . ^ Summary of the two first Epochs 103 THIRD EPOCH. The first crisis. The insufficiency of Philosophy to solve the prohlem of Existence and to establish a basis of certitude produces a sceptical indifference. THE SOPHISTS. I. What were thev ? 4 li. Protagoras 105 118 FOURTH EPOCH. Fhilosophy emerges from the crisis by a neiv development of Method — the application of Dialectics as a negative process preparato^nj to the positive foundation of Inductive inquiry. SOCRATES. I. The Life of Socrates . II. Philosophy of Socrates 127 152 P CHAPTER II. THE CYRENAICS. Aristippus . . 179 CILAPTER HI. THE CYNICS. Antisthenes and Diogenes 184 SIXTH EPOCH. Bestoration of Philosophy to its widest Aims — Attempts to follow up the Negative Dialectics of Socrates with an affirmative solution of the chief problems— 'The necessity for a criterion of Philosophy becomes for the first time distinctly recognised — The answer to this question gives a logical basis to the Subjective Method. CHAPTER I. • Life of Plato 193 CHAPTER II. Plato's Writings : their Authenticity, Character, and Object . 206 CHAPTER HI. Plato's Method 2'2^ CHAPTER IV. Platonic Theories 240 in Xll CONTENTS OF SEVENTH EPOCH. Philosophy for the first thne assumes the systeimtic fo)in of a body of doctrine, all its conchisians respecting existences being referred to principles of Logic — The criterion' stated by Plato is systematized and applied by Aristotle — A method of proof takes its place among the chief instruments of tho^ight. CHAPTER I. PAGE Life of Aristotle 271 CHAPTER H. Aristotle's Method 284 CHAPTER HI. Aristotle's Logic 297 CHAPTER IV. The Metaphysics 306 CHAPTER V. Aristotle's Psychology 317 Summary of the Socratic Movement 334 EIGHTH EPOCH. Second crisis in Philosophy — The radical imperfection of the Subjective Method again becomes manifest in the impossi- bility of applying its criterion. Pyrrho CHAPTER L THE SCEPTICS. 336 CHAPTER U. THE EPICUREANS. Epicurus 342 THE FIRST VOLUME. xui CHAPTER III. THE STOICS. PAGE Zeno "^49 CHAPTER IV. THE NEW ACADEMY. Arcesilaus and Cameadee 3(51 CHAPTER V. Summary of the Eighth Epoch 373 %\ NINTH EPOCH. Reason allies itself with Faith, atid Philosophy renounces its inde- pendence, becoming once more an instrument of Theology •"^The Alexandrian School. CHAPTER I. RISE OF NEO-PLATONISM. 1. Alexandria 375 n. Philo 377 CHAPTER II. ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. I. Plotinus 382 U. The Alexandrian Dialectics , . 384 III. The Alexandi'ian Trinity 388 IV. The Doctrine of Emanation 396 CHAPTER in. Proclus 400 CHAPTER IV. Conclusion of Ancient l^hilosophy 404 •i! r» I . n PEOLEGOMEXA. L WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? 11. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. III. THE TEST OF TRUTH. IV. SOME INFIRMITIES OF THOUGHT. V. NECESSARY TRUTHS. VOL. I. a !^ I. WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? ilf l\ Meine Absicht ist, Allfi diejenigen. so es werth finden, sich mit Metaphysik zu beschaftigen, zu iiberzeugen : dass es unumganglich nothwendig sei, ihre Arbeit Yorder Hand auszusetzen, aUes bisher Geschehene als ungeschehen anzusehen und Tor aUen Dingen znerst die Frage aufzuwerfen : 'ob auch so etwas, als Meta- physik, uberaU nur moglich sei? '-Kant: Prolegomena zu einer jeden kunJUgen Metaphysik. Gelange es mir, mit meiner DarsteUung der Philosophie anch nur eine Seele abzustreiten, die sich mit ihr in jene dunkle Tiefe der Betrachtung verloren geben ^iU wo Alles nur Heulen und Zahnklappen und jeder wider den Andern ist. so wiirde ich sehon glauben, etwas geleistet zu haben.-FECHNER: Ueber die physika- lische und philosophiscJie Atomenlehre. Der Mensch ist nicht geboren, die Probleme der Welt zu losen, wohl aber zu suchen, wo das Problem angeht, und sich sodann in der Grenze des Begreiflichen zu halten. — Goethe. § 1. Theology, Philosophy, and Science constitute our spiritual triumvirate. The limits of their several dominions have been insensibly shifting, so that at various epochs in History they have been of very varied importance. For centuries the predominance of Theology was absolute and undisputed. Philosophy, meanwhile, grew apace, till at last it was enabled to assert an independent position ; and while these two rivals struggled for supremacy. Science was also quietly and obscurely feeling its way to independence. § 2. The office of Theology is now generally recognised as distinct from that of Philosophy and from that of Science. Its ancient claim to authority over all regions of inquiry has long been felt to be untenable, and has been frankly relin- quished. Although claiming to hold the keys of the highest Truth, it nevertheless no longer pretends to decide upon the lower, but confesses its inability to furnish Research with eflfective Methods, or Knowledge with available data. It re- stricts itself to the region of Faith, and leaves to Philosophy and Science the region of Inquiry. Its main province is the province of Feeling ; its office is the systematisation of our religious cmiceptions. This is the office not of one Theology, but of all. No matter what other functions the various Theologies may assume, they invariably assume this, and give it pre-eminence. It is thus not only their common characteristic, but also their highest characteristic ; and now that the course of human evolution has detached both Philosophy and Science from Theology, this systematisation remains its sole fimction. a2 XVlll WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? B § 3. The office of Science is distinct. It may be defined as the m/stematisatian of our hnowledge of the order of phenomena considered as phenomena. It co-ordinates common knowledge. It explains the order of phenomena, by bringing them under their respective laws of co-existence and succession, classing particular facts under general conceptions. § 4. The office of Philosophy is again distinct from these. It is the systematisation of the conceptions furnished by Theology and Science. It is sTnarrj^n) iTnarrjficov. As Science is the systematisation of the various generalities reached through particulars, so Philosophy is the systematisation of the generalities of generalities. In other words. Science famishes the Knowledge, and Philosophy the Doctrine. Each distinct science embraces a distinct province of knowledge. Mathematics treats of magnitudes, and disre- gards all other relations ; Physics and Chemistry concern themselves with the changes of inorganic bodies, leaving all vital relations to Biology ; Sociology concerns itself with the relations of human beings among each other, and with their relations to human beings in the past and in the future. But Philosophy has no distinct province of knowledge : it embraces the whole world of thought : it stands in the same relation to the various sciences as Geography stands to Topo- graphy. All the sciences subserve its purpose, furnish its life-blood. It systematises their results, co-ordinating their truths into a body of Doctrine. Thus, while Theology claims to furnish a system of re- ligious conceptions, and Science to furnish conceptions of the order of the world. Philosophy, detaching their widest con- ceptions from both, furnishes a Doctrine which contains an explanation of the world and of human destiny. Although this may appear a novel definition, it will, on examination, be found to characterise the persistent function which in all times Philosophy has exercised. Moreover, it will be found applicable in special cases, such as the philosophy of Science, the philosophy of Religion, the philosophy of History, or the philosophy of Art. Thus, WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? XIX given a science with its generalities laboriously ascertained, the philosophy of that science will be the co-ordination of its highest truths, the methods by which those truths were reached, and the relation which both these bear to the truths and methods of other sciences. I formerly defined Philosophy ^an attempt to explain the phenomena of the universe.' This is too vague, and fails to mark the point of separation from Science and Theology ; but though vague, it expresses what has been the unconscious and persistent effort of philosophical speculation. § 5. Such is the relative position of each of the three great spiritual powers at the present time. These positions were not always thus sharply defined, but the history of thought exhibits a continuous development in these directions. Theology at first was absolute and autocratic, not only furnishing religious doctrine, but dictating generalities to Philosophy, and explanations of all but the commonest phenomena to Science. Philosophy served as a handmaid to Theology, until she grew strong enough to think for herself. Science kept timidly aloof from all questions on which Theology had pronounced, and submitted to a peremptory order to be silent when her conclusions were unacceptable. Fortunately for Humanity, this creeping servitude was incompatible with. the continued exercise of reason. As discoveries extended, as more and more phenomena were satisfactorily reduced to order, the widen- ing reach of Inquiry embraced problem after problem, until now all the facts within human kin are assumed to be reducible to order on the scientific Method. With the growing strength came a growing courage, and timidity gave place to a proud self-reliance. Theology was first quietly yet firmly excluded from Cosmology, its explanations of the world being set aside as myths ; then it was excluded from Biology ; and now even Sociology is claimed as amen- able to scientific Methods, because all social phenomena are seen to be under the dominion of law. History shows a curious reversal of the principle of accommodation. Just JX WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY P WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? XXI lb as Science was formerly compelled to accommodate its con- clusions to Theology, no matter at what cost of consistency, with what sophistical excuses, so Theology is now compelled to accommodate its dicta to the conclusions of Science, by utterly distorting the meaning of words. Affcer having for centuries pursued its researches under the denunciation of Theology, and under the burden of a fear, terrible to delicate consciences, of approaching heresy when it was seeking truth. Science has at length ceased its timorous and futile efforts to reconcile its conclusions with anything but its own principles * The problem is no longer : Given a doctrine of indisputable authority, how to reconcile the conclusions of Experience with its dicta ; the problem is : Given certain indisputable conclusions of Experience, how to reconcile the dicta of an ancient doctrine with these irresistible con- clusions, f § 6. The conflict was inevitable and was foreseen from the first. Inevitable, because the two powers are characterised by two different Methods, that of Theology being the Sub- jective, that of Science the Objective. These Methods will have to be considered more particularly in a future section ; for the present, I merely call attention to the fact of their opposition, and to the fact that Philosophy occupying an intermediate position has necessarily employed both Methods by turns. When it was in alliance with Theology, it adopted the Subjective Method: this was during its ontological phase. When the advance of Science furnished it with more and more material, Philosophy gradually detached ♦ In 1864 was seen a memorable protest, on the part of scientific men, against every attempt to control their researches. In spite of the theological pressure, which is so powerful in England, our leading saraus openly and indignantly refused to sign a declaration of dependence. t A somewhat analogous inversion has taken place in the social problem. Formerly the problem was : Given the welfare and advantages of the Few, how best to reconcile with these the welfare of the Many ; it now is: Given the welfare of the Many, how best to secure the advantages of the Few. The new Astronomy transferred the centre of the world from the small Earth to the mighty Sun ; the new Sociology transfers the centre of social life from the small group of Idlers to the mighty mass of Workers. itself more and more from Theology, without, however, consciously and completely adopting the Objective Method : this was its psychological phase. Finally, the all-embracing progress of Science has forced Philosophy frankly to adopt the Objective Method : this is its present phase, the Positive Philosophy, Such in brief is the story we have to tell. Our history is the narrative of the emancipation of Philosophy from Theo- logy and its final constitution through the transformation of Science. § 7. The annals are red with the flames of persecuting wrath at every attempt Philosophy made to assert independ- ence. Naturally enough. No autocrat can be lenient to a powerful pretender; and the more reasonable the pre- tender's claim the more hateful will be its assertion. Philo- sophy, in turn, was equally intolerant of its rival Science, and allied itself with its ancient persecutor to persecute the new pretender. Aloof from the strife of polemics and personal irritations, the wise calm spirits of our day resign themselves to the Trium- virate, defining for each its separate province, and trusting in a harmony of combined effort which hitherto has been impossible. It is time that the great perturbations should cease, and the only struggles be carried on within the limits of each domain : theologians in controversy with theologians, savans with savans, philosophers with philosophers. The three powers have always hitherto been in a state of conflict or of armed peace. The problem of our age is, how to change this conflict into a concourse, to unite the indepen- dent and dissident efforts in dependent and harmonious efforts. This problem may be solved by the transformation of Science into Philosophy, and by the transformation of Philosophy into Religion. But whether we reject or accept that solution, the systematisation of our religious concep- tions and all its practical applications must be a distinct office from the systematisation of our conceptions of the order of phenomena; and the harmony of the two can xxu WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? only be effected by a Doctrine which combines the gene- ralities of both. The future of Philosophy is in this task of reconciliation. ii I III § 8. In the former editions of this History the word Philosophy carried a more restricted meaning than is assigned to it in the preceding paragraphs. It was used as sjmonymous with Metaphysics, or more specially with Ontology. That restricted use of the word was forced on me by the practice of all previous historians, and I stated why it was forced upon me, and in what sense the word was to be understood. In vain. The old vague indissoluble associations could not be escaped. The reader quickly forgot my explanation, and interpreted the word in his vague sense, instead of in my restricted sense. The large latitude in which the word has come to be used all over Europe has obliterated all special meaning, and this notably in England, where, as Hegel sar- castically remarks, microscopes and barometers are dignified as 'philosophical instruments,' Newton is styled a philoso- pher, and even parliamentary proceedings are sometimes said to be philosophical.* In presence of such looseness of expression what was the historian to do? Obviously, he could only declare the sense in which the word was used in other histories of Philosophy, and abide by that. Had I not fixed a precise meaning to the word I must have written a History of Knowledge, not a History of Philosophy. My explanation was of little avail. The object of my work being to show the essential futility of Philosophy, in the restricted sense of that word, I was supposed to have intended a crusade against Philosophy in the wider sense ; and readers who no more believed in Ontology than I did were startled by my attacks on it under the name of Philo- sophy. After this experience I cannot place much reliance on the security of any definition ; but for the sake of atten- tive readers, I have stated what position Philosophy holds ♦ Hegel : Geschichte der PhUosophie, i. 72. Compare also Hamilton, Meta- physics, i. 63. I' > WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? XXIU in relation to Theology and Science ; and to avoid equi- voque I shall use the words Metaphysical Philosophy, or Ontology, and sometimes simply Metaphysics, to designate inquiries on the Subjective Method into the ultimate essence of things. § 9. Unhappily there is no uniformity even in the use of the term Metaphysics. Sometimes it means Ontology. Sometimes it means Psychology. Sometimes it means the highest generalities of Physics. The first of these inquiries I hold to be utterly futile, hopelessly beyond human ken. But the second and third are legitimate in- quiries, which take their place in human knowledge when- ever they are pursued on the Objective Method, and only deserve reproof when pursued on the Subjective Method, upon which all problems are insoluble. As I have shown at some length elsewhere,* all problems are legitimate which admit Verification of their premisses and conclusions ; and no Verification is possible except on the Objective Method. § 10. In the arrangement of Aristotle's treatises, those which succeeded the Physics were called ra fxsja ra (^vaiKa fitfiXui — indicating that they were to be studied after the Physics, either because their topics were evolved from physical inquiries, or because their topics were beyond physical inquiry. The equivoque still continues. Metaphy- sics may concern itself with the last conclusions of Physics, dealing with these results as its elements ; or it may concern itself with inquiries beyond the region of Experience, en- tirely removed from Verification, transcending Sense, and drawing its data from a higher source. Obviously, in pro- portion as it seeks its elements in the relations of sensible phenomena it forms one branch of legitimate inquiry, and the only question then is as to the validity of the Method it employs. In proportion as it seeks its elements in the rela- tions of supersensible phenomena it separates itself from Experience, ceases to be amenable to the ordinary canons of * Aristotle, chap. iv. I M ( '' ;i' XXIV WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? % I' mi i V i ♦ Eesearch, and grounds its existence on the possession of a peculiar criterion — a direct and immediate knowledge of the Absolute. The confusion of these two distinct conceptions is very common, and is the source of much perplexity. Those who hold the doctrine of the relativity of knowledge may admit without inconsistency many principles which are metaphy- sical in the sense of transcending Experience in their gene- rality, although founded on Experience and conformable with it : such, for example, are causality and inertia. There is a large admixture of such Metaphysics, in all philoso- phical Physics ; and in this sense we may call Metaphysics the prima philosophia. But Experience is here the source and pattern : the Objective Method with its rigorous tests of Verification rules as absolutely here as in every other department of positive inquiry. The Unknown is only a prolongation of the Known, and is trusted only so far as it is in strict conformity with the Known. The Invisible is but the generalisation of the Visible. Those who hold that, over and above the conceptions fur- nished through Experience, the mind brings with it certain conceptions antecedent to and independent of Experience, who hold that, over and above our relative knowledge, we have absolute knowledge, reverse this procedure from the Known and Visible to the Unknown and Invisible ; and starting from what their rivals declare to be not simply the Unknown but the Unknowable, they deduce from it certain conclusions which they present as ontological truths capable of guiding us in discovering the relations of phenomena. Let Descartes be heard on this point : — ' Perspicuum est optimam philosophandi viam nos sequuturos, si ex ipsius Dei cognitione, rerum ab eo creatarum explicationem deducere conemur, ut ita scientiam perfectissimam, quse est effectuum, per causas acquiramus.' * The fallacy lies in concluding that because, in Mathematics and all deductive operations, we unfold the particulars contained implicitly in the gene- * Desca-RTEs : Princip. Philos. ii. § 22. WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? XXV ralities, we should therefore always seek particulars in this way. But the procedure is only justifiable when the gene- ralities are proved to be indisputably true, and when the particulars deduced are by Verification shown to be really as well as verbally contained in them. Now, what are the chief objects of absolute knowledge, the generalities from which ontologists deduce? They are God, Freedom, Immortality, Causality, Existence : the noumena of which all the mani- fold experiences are phenomena."^ That it is possible to infer these, no one denies; but their value as inferences opens an interminable discussion. The ontologists claim to hiow them directly, immediately, certainly. Their opponents affirm — and endeavour psychologically to prove — that such knowledge is impossible, and that, if possible, it would be infertile, because incapable of being applied to the problems of phenomena except through Experience ; infertile, because it can only be a comparison of ideas with ideas, never of ideas with facts ; and thus stumbles over the old sceptical objection — its Kpivu top vyceivov ; Suppose, for example, that antecedently to all Experience we know the general law of Causality, it is only through Experience we can enrich this knowledge. We may know that every effect has a cause; this knowledge we may have brought with us into our phenomenal life ; but .what concerns us is, to know the particular cause of each particular effect, and if we can ascertain that, the general axiom may be dis- regarded ; if we cannot ascertain that, the general axiom is powerless. § 11. The valid objection against Metaphysics is not so much against the subjects of inquiry as against the Method of inquiry ; if the Method were legitimate its results would be legitimated. I shall consider this Method by-and-by ; for the present I invoke the unequivocal verdict of History, which pronounces it to be the prolonged impotence of two thousand years and all its results, as shifting as the visionary * llffTiv iiriar\itir\ tis ^) Qitapu rh hv p hv Koi ra roxntf v-K6.pxovro- Kaff ainS. — Aris- totle : Met. iii. 1. .|: n XXVI WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? •■1. phantoms of reverie. When we are awake, says Aristotle, we have a world in common ; when we dream, each has his own. Kant aptly applies this to metaphysicians, * when we find a variety of men having various worlds,* we may conclude them to be dreaming.' It is because the majority of think- ing men have been convinced that inquiries conducted on the Metaphysical Method are but as dreams, that they have everywhere in Europe fallen into discredit. Once the pride and glory of the greatest intellects, and still forming an im- portant element of liberal culture, the present decadence of Metaphysics is attested no less by the complaints of its few followers than by the thronging ranks of its opponents. Few now believe in its large promises; stiU fewer devote to it that passionate patience which is devoted by thousands to Science. Every day the conviction gains strength, that Metaphysics is condemned, by the very nature of its Method, to wander for ever in one tortuous labyrinth, within whose circumscribed and winding spaces weary seekers are con- tinually finding themselves in the trodden tracks of pre- decessors who could find no exit. Metaphysical Philosophy has been ever in movement, but the movement has been circular ; and this fact is thrown into stronger relief by contrast with the linear progress of Science. Instead of perpetually finding itself, after years of gigantic endeavour, returned to the precise point from which it started. Science finds itself, year by year, and almost day by day, advancing step by step, each accumulation of power adding to the momentum of its progress ; each evolution, like the evolutions of organic development, bringing with it a new functional superiority, which in its turn becomes the agent of higher developments. Not a fact is discovered but has its bearing on the whole body of doctrine ; not a mechanical improvement in the construction of instruments but opens fresh sources of discovery. Onward, and for ever onward, mightier and for ever mightier, rolls this wondrous tide of discovery. While the first principles of Metaphysical Philosophy are to this day as much a mo-tter of dispute as WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY ? XXTll they were two thousand years ago,"^ the first principles of Science are securely established, and form the guiding lights of European progress. Precisely the same questions are agitated in Germany at the present moment that were agitated in ancient Greece ; and with no more certain Methods of solving them, with no nearer hopes of ultimate success. The History of Philosophy presents the spectacle of thousands of intellects — some the greatest that have made our race illustrious — steadily concentrated on problems believed to be of vital importance, yet producing no other result than a conviction of the extreme facility of error, and the remoteness of any probability that Truth can be reached. t The only conquest has been critical, that is to say, psychological. Vainly do some argue that Philosophy has made no progress hitherto, because its problems are complex, and require more effort than the simpler problems of Science ; vainly are we warned not to conclude from the past to the future, averring that no progress will be made be- cause no progress has been made. Perilous as it must ever be to set absolute limits to the future of human capacity, there can be no peril in averring that Metaphysics never will achieve its aims, because those aims lie beyond all scope. The difficulty is impossibility. No progress can be made because no basis of certainty is possible. To aspire to the knowledge of more than phenomena — their resemblances, co-existences, and successions— is to aspire to transcend the inexorable limits of human faculty. To know more, we must he more. * ' Cest la honte ^ternelle de la philosophie de u'avoir pas jusqu a present mis au jour un resultat positif, un principe une fois pour toute reconnu et universellement admis. Bien mieux, il n'y a pas memo un resultat n^gatif, une defaite complete, irrevocable d'uno doctrine si r^fut^e qu'elle soit.' — Delbceuf: Essai de Logique Scieniifique, Li^ge, 1865, p. 10. Compare Kant: Prolegomena zu einer jeden kiivftigcn Metaphysik, passim. t Compare Kant in the Preface to the 2nd ed. of the Kritik der reinen Ver- nunft: — 'Der Metaphysik . . . ist das Schicksal bisher noch so giinstig nicht geweson, dass sie den sichem Gang einer Wissenschaft einzuschlagen vermocht hatte ; ob sie gleich alter ist als alle iibrigen. . . . Es ist also kein Zweifel, dass ihr Verfahron bisher ein blosses Herumtappen und, was das Schlimmste ist, unter blossen Begriffen gewesen sei.* il'h i m XXVlll WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? ll 1 1 t In the early days of speculation all Philosophy was essen- tially metaphysical, because Science had not emerged from Common Knowledge to claim theoretical jurisdiction. The particular sciences then cultivated, no less 'than the higher generalities on Life, Destiny, and the Universe, were studied on one and the same Method ; but in the course of evolution a second Method grew up, at first timidly and unconsciously, gradually enlarging its bounds as it enlarged its powers, and at last separating itself into open antagonism with its parent and rival. The child then destroyed its parent; as the mythic Zeus, calling the Titans to his aid, destroyed Saturn and usurped his throne. The Titans of the new Method were Observation and Experiment. There are many who deplore the encroachment of Science, fondly imagining that Metaphysical Philosophy would re- spond better to the higher wants of man. This regret is partly unreasoning sentiment, partly ignorance of the limi- tations of human faculty. Even among those who admit that Ontology is an impossible attempt, there ar3 many who think it should be persevered in, because of the ' lofty views ' it is supposed to open to us. This is as if a man desirous of going to America should insist on walking there, because journeys on foot are more poetical than journeys by steam ; in vain is he shown the impossibility of crossing the Atlantic on foot ; he admits that grovelling fact, but his lofty soTil has visions of some mysterious overland route by which he hopes to pass. He dies without reaching America ; but to the last gasp he maintains that he has discovered the route on which others may reach it. Let us hear no more of the lofty views claimed as the exclusive privilege of Metaphysics. Ignorant indeed must be the man who nowadays is unacquainted with the grandeur and sweep of scientific speculation in Astronomy and Geology, or who has never been thrilled by the revelations of the telescope and microscope. The heights and depths of man's nature, the heights to which he aspires, the depths into which he searches, and the grander generalities on Life, WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? XXIX Destiny, and the Universe, find as eminent a place in Science as in Metaphysics. And even were we compelled to acknow- ledge that lofty views were excluded from Science, the earnest mind would surely barter such loftiness for Truth ? Our struggle, our passion, our hope, is for Truth, not for lofti- ness ; for sincerity, not for pretence. If we cannot reach certain heights, let us acknowledge them to be inacessible, and not deceive ourselves and others by phrases which pretend that these heights are accessible. Bentham warns us against 'question-begging epithets;' and one of these is the epithet 'lofty,' with which Metaphysical Philosophy allures the unwary student. As a specimen of the sentiment so inappropriately dragged in to decide questions not of sentiment but of truth, consider the following passage delivered from the professorial chair to students whose opinions were to be formed : — * A spirit of most misjudging contempt has for many years become fashionable towards the metaphysical contemplations of the elder sages. Alas ! I cannot understand on what principles. Is it, then, a matter to be exulted in, that we have at length discovered that our faculties are only formed for earth and earthly phenomena ? Are we to rejoice at our own limitations, and delight that we can be cogently demon- strated to be prisoners of sense and the facts of sense ? In those early struggles after a higher and more perfect know- ledge, and in the forgetfulness of every inferior science through the very ardour of the pursuit, there is at least a glorious, an irresistible testimony to the loftier destinies of man; and it might almost be pronounced that in such a view, their very errors evidence a truth higher than aU our discoveries can disclose ! When Lord Bacon, with his clear and powerful reasonings, led our thinkers from these ancient regions of thought (then newly opened to the modern world) to the humbler but more varied and extensive department of inductive inquiry, I represent to myself that angel-guide, all light and grace, who is pictured by our great poet as slowly conducting the first of our race from Paradise, to leave him m\ I' >*!• i XXX WHAT IS PHILOSOniY ? I* I, in a world, vast, indeed, and varied, but vrhere tlioms and thistles abounded, and food— often uncertain and often perilous — was to be gained only by the sweat of the brow and in the downcast attitude of servile toil.'^ It would be an insuJt to the reader's understanding to answer the several absurdities and ' question-begging ' posi- tions of this passage, which, however, is typical of much that may be read in many writers. Contempt for the specula- tions of the elder sages, or indeed of modems, is a feeling we should be slow to acknowledge, whatever estimate we formed of their truth. If my polemical tone against a Method I believe to be not only hopeless but nowadays pernicious has sometimes seemed to warrant such an accusation, let me, on personal no less than philosophic grounds, rebut it here. The memory of long laborious study, ever baffled ever renewed, would alone suffice to create sympathy and respect for all earnest seekers ; and if this feeling were not present, the Positive Philosophy would suffice, pointing as it does to all the great metaphysicians as necessary precursors, without whose labours Science would never have existed. It is not because the noble pioneers have perished in the trenches, that their renown should fade. If we make a bridge of their dead bodies, we should raise a monument to their devotion. * Abcheb Butler : Lectures on the Hist, of Ancient Philosopht/, ii. 109. ZXXl \^ n. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. § 12. A Spanish metaphysician truly says that the question of Method rules, and in one sense comprehends, all philoso- phical questions, being indeed Philosophy in action.^ As it is a path on which Truth is sought, we must first come to some agreement respecting the object of search. The question. What is Truth? has been variously answered, but instead of pausing here to consider the answers, I will propose one which is sufficiently catholic to be accepted by all schools. Truth is the correspondence between the order of ideas and the order of phenomena, so that the one is a reflection of the other—the movement of Thought following the movement of Things. ITie correspondence can never be absolute : it must, from the very structure of the mind, be relative ; but this relative accuracy suffices when it enables us to foresee with certainty the changes which wiU arise in the external order under given conditions. If the order in our ideas respecting falling bodies sufficiently corresponds with the order of the phe- nomena themselves to enable us to express the Law with precision, and foresee its results with certainty, we have in that Law a truth of the only kind attainable by us. The reader wHl observe that I have used the phrases ' order in ideas ' and ' movement of thought ' instead of adopting the ordinary formula ' ideas conformable with objects.' If Truth is ♦ NiETo Serrano: Bosquefo de la Ciencia Vivientr, Madrid, 1867. Parte primera, p. 31. ' La cuestion de m^todo domina y comprende hasta cierto punto todas las cuostiones filosoficas. Efectivamente el metodo filosofico es la filosofia misma en accion, la cualaparece ya tal cual es desde los primeros pasos, y no puede desmentirse en lo sucesivo.' VOL. I. b I xxxu THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS, THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xxxui the conformity of ideas with objects, Truth is a chimera, or Idealism is irresistible. * La notion de verite implique nne contradiction,' says Delboeuf. ' Par definition, une idee n'est vraie qu'a la condition d'etre conforme, adequate a son objet. Mais, par essence, une idee est n^cessairement differente d'un objet. Comment done puis-je parler d'une equation entre I'idee et son objet? '* The old sceptical arguments are un- answerable on this ground. We need not, however, rush into Idealism by af&rming the identity of ideas and their objects ; we need simply give up aU pretension to absolute knowledge, and rest contented with relative knowledge, which permits of our adjusting our actions to the external order. Indeed the ultimate aim of knowledge is adaptation ; and we call it Truth when the adaptation is precise. What bodies are in themselves, what faUing is in itself, need not properly concern us ; only what are the relations in which bodies and their movements stand to our perceptions. If in attempt- ing to comprehend these relations we succeed in so arranging our ideas that their order corresponds with the order of phenomena (as when we think of faUing bodies having a velocity proportional to the time), that arrangement is Truth ; but if, instead of the movement of Thought being controUed by the movement of Things, our ideas are arranged in an order which does not correspond with the order of phenomena (as when we think of the velocity being propor- tional to the space fallen through), that is Error. And this discloses the imperfection of the many definitions of Truth which regard it as ' conformity among ideas.' The conception of velocity proportional to space is a conception which would have nothing against it were it not opposed to the facts. As a pure deduction it is inevitable ; a movement of Thought determined by some pre-existing thought necessarily takes that course ; but a movement of Thought determined by that of Things, following step by step the succession of phenomena, leads to the conclusion of velocity proportional to the time. § 13. To attain this correspondence between the internal * Delbceuf : Essai de Logique ScientifiquCi p. 35. i and external order is the object of Search ; and the Methods of Search are two : a. The Objective Method which moulds its conceptions on realities by closely following the movements of the objects as they severally present themselves to Sense, so that the movements of Thought may synchronise with the move- ments of Things. &. The Subjective Method which moulds realities on its con- ceptions, endeavouring to discern the order of Things, not by step by step adjustments of the order of ideas to it, but by the anticipatory rush of Thought, the direction of which is determined by Thoughts and not controlled by Objects. Observation of objects presented to the mind must be succeeded by Conjecture respecting the connecting, but unobserved, links. The successive stages of inquiry are from Observation to Conjecture, and from Conjecture to Verification. The Subjective Method stops at the second stage: its function is Hypothesis. The Objective Method passes on to the third stage: its function is Verification. Thus while the first characterises our spontaneous tendency, and is seen in full vigour in all the early forms of speculation, the second characterises our reflective tendency, and is the source of positive knowledge. The Objective Method thus absorbs what is excellent in the Subjective Method, as Science takes up into itself whatever Metaphysics can esta- blish, rejecting what is irrelevant and completing what is incomplete. Both physicist and metaphysicist employ Obser- vation and Conjecture; but the physicist, if true to the Objective Method, is careful to verify the accuracy of his observations and conjectures, submitting the order of his ideas to the order of phenomena ; whereas the metaphysicist, obeying the subjective impulse, is careless of Verification, and is quite ready to rely on data and conclusions which are absolutely incapable of Verification. The one freely employs Hypothesis under the rigorous condition of never rely in »• on a conjecture as a fact, never assuming that a harmony in his conceptions must necessarily imply a corresponding b2 XXXIV THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. XXXV arraiigement in phenomena ; the other employs Hypothesis under the single condition of not thereby introducing a logical discord. In the one case the ' anticipatory rush of thought ' is controUed by the confrontation of ideas with ob- jects. In the other case the rush of thought is controlled only by the confrontation of ideas with ideas. Briefly, then, it may be said that the Objective Method seeks Truth in the relations of objects ; whereas the Subjective Method seeks it in the relations of ideas. § 14. Philosophers expound the objective and subjective elements of which Knowledge is composed, as the material and formal elements. Things furnish the materials. Thought furnishes the forms. Objects stimulate the activity of the Mind ; the Laws of mental action determine the result, in the forms of percepts, concepts, and judgments. But philo- sophers continually overlook the important consideration that the Mind, besides its laws which determine the forms of the material given by objects, has also a movement of its own; and this movement is determined from within, by some pre-existing movement, just as it may be determined from without, by the stimulus of objects. It is this mhjective currmt which, disturbing the clear reflection of the objective order, is the main source of error. It determines those concepts and judgments which have no corresponding objects : hallucinations, reveries, dreams, hypotheses, figments. This being so, we cannot accept the notion adopted by Sir W. Hamilton from Twesten, that ' the condition of error is not the activity of intelligence but its inactivity.' On the con- trary we must assign error to the activity of intelligence when it follows its own impulses in lieu of receiving the direction from objects. ' What is actuaUy thought,' according to Twesten and his foUower, 'cannot but be coiTectly thought. Error first commences when thinking is remitted, and can in fact only gain admission in virtue of the truth which it contains ;— every error is a perverted truth.' * This seems to me so glaiingly in opposition to all rational inter- ♦ Hamilton : Logic, i. 77. i pretation that I must conclude it to mean something very diflferent from what it says. Hamilton's comment only makes the matter worse. § 15. That the source of Error is the subjective current deter- mining the direction of the thoughts, is easily shown. Error arises in the substitution of Inference for Presentation. No error can possibly arise in Sensation itself, but solely in the movements of thought which are prompted by the sensation. The immense activity of this subjective current, the large in- terfusion of Inference in the simplest acts of Perception, has long been recognised ; and, as I have said elsewhere, what is called a ' fact ' and held to be indisputable because it is a * fact,' is in reality a bundle of inferences, some or all of which may be false, tied together by sensations, which must be true. Take a case so simple as the sight of an apple on the table. All that is here directly certified by consciousness is the sensation of a coloured surface ; with this are linked certain ideas of roundness, firmness, sweetness, and fragrance, which were once sensations, and are now recalled by this of colour ; and the whole group of actual and inferred sensations clusters into the fact which is expressed in 'there is an apple.' Yet any one of these inferences may be erroneous. The coloured object may be the imitation of an apple in wood or stone; the inference!^ of roundness and solidity would then be correct, those of sweetness and fragrance erroneous; the statement of fact would be false. Or the object seen may be another kind of fruit, resembling an apple, yet in important particulars differing from it. Or the object may not exist, and our perception may be an halluci^ nation. Thus a case seemingly so simple may furnish us with the evidence that Facts express our conception of the order in external things, and not the unadulterated order itself. Should the accuracy of any particular fact happen to be of importance — and in Science all facts are important — we must verify it, before accepting it. How is it verified ? By submitting each of its constituent inferences to the primordial test of Consciousness, The test with regard to objects withiu H I I in xxxvi THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. range of sense is obviously the reduction of Inference to Sensation. The test with regard to axioms, or general principles transcending sense, is conformity with the laws of thought : when we have thus verified a fact We have attained the highest degree of certitude. The mental vision by which in Perception we see the unapparent details — i. e. by which sensations formerly co- existing with the one now affecting us are reinstated under the form of ideas, which represent the objects — is a process closely allied to Ratiocination, which also presents an ideal series such as, if the objects were before us, would be a series of sensations, or perceptions. A chain of reasoning is a chain of inferences, which are ideal presentations of the details now unapparent to seiise. Could we realise all the links in this chain, by placing the objects in their actual order as a visible series, the chain of reasoning would be a succession of perceptions, and would cease to be called reasoning. The path of the planets is seen by reason to be an ellipse ; it would be perceived as a fact if we were in a proper position, and endowed with the requisite instruments to enable us to follow the planet in its course. Not having this advantage, we infer the unapparent points in its course, from those which are apparent. We see them mentally. In like manner, suppose a human body is discovered under conditions which suggest that it has been burned, but without sufficient indication of the cause, i. e. the facts antecedent to the burning. Some one suggests that these unapparent facts are those of Spontaneous Combustion. Our greater familiarity with the facts of combustion in general, and. with the facts of the animal organism, enables us to see that this explanation is absurd; we mentally range the supposed objects before us, and see that such an order of co-existences and successions is in contradiction to aU experience; we cannot see what the actual order was, but see clearly that it was not that. Correct reasoning is the ideal assemblage of objects in their true relations of co-existence and succession. It is see- THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTWE METHODS, xxxvu ing with the mind's eye. Bad reasoning results from over- looking either some of the objects, or their relations ; some links are dropped, and the gap is filled up from another series. Thus the traveller sees a highwayman, where there is truly no more than a sign-post in the twilight ; and a philosopher, in the twilight of knowledge, sees sl pestilence foreshadowed by an eclipse. These considerations may elucidate the real meaning to be assigned to Facts, which are sometimes taken to express the order of external things, and sometimes our conception of that order — our description of it ; just as sound means both the vibrations of the air, and our sensation of them. There is a general tendency to use the word Fact for a final truth. 'This is a fact not a theory' means, Hhis is an indis- putable truth, not a disputable view of the truth.' But if, as we have seen. Facts are inextricably mingled with Inferences, and if both Perception and Reasoning are processes of mental visimi reinstating unapparent details, and liable to error in the inferences, it is clear that the radical antithesis is not between Fact and Theory, but between verified and unverified Inferences, The antithesis between Fact and Theory is untenable, for the same statement may be either a fact or a theory, without any change in its evidence. It is a fact that the earth is globular. It is a fact that this globe is an oblate spheroid. It is a fact that its orbit is elliptical. No one doubts that these are facts, no one doubts that they are theories. Shall we say that they were theories until they were verified, when they became facts ? This will not extricate us ; since aU facts require verification before they are admitted as truths ; up to that point they are not less inferential than theories. I see an apple now falling, and I see an apple which has fallen. These are two facts which ordinary language will not suffer us to call theories. Now consider two theories which ordinary language suffers us to call facts: namely, that all apples when unsupported will faU, and that the spaces fallen through will be as the squares of the times. These i I > TTTviii THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. are two theories of extreme generality, which are far more indisputable than the facts we have contrasted them with. They carry such certainty that no mind having the requisite preparation can for a moment hesitate in assenting to them. They are inferences which are necessities. Whereas the inferences involved in the facts before named may very easily be erroneous. The falling object may not be an apple ; the apple found at the foot of the tree may not have fallen, but have been plucked and placed there. Thus doubt is permis- sible ; and if the facts carried any importance we should be bound to verify the accuracy of our inferences. No doubt is permissible in respect to the two theories, because the inferences on which they rest have already been rigorously verified. They carry none of those possibilities of error which we know may be carried by individual experiences; all such possibilities have been eliminated in the establish- ment of the general truth. Should any individual experience seem in contradiction with a thoroughly verified theory, should a hundred individual experiences contradict it, our confidence would suffer no disturbance ; we should at once assign them to the interference of some condition not included in the formula. That condition might be wholly undiscover- able, but we should be certain that the laws of nature were invariable; and our experience of disturbing influences is sufficiently extensive to invoke them in every apparent exception to a law. If it happened that two magnets placed side by side impressed on a particle of iron a velocity greater, or less, than the sum of the velocity due to each magnet acting separately, and if this were to occur a thousand times, we should not doubt the truth of the law that the velocity is proportional to the force, but should attribute this exception to some exceptional condition, such as the influence of one magnet on the otlier. The reason is simple : the law has been rigorously verified; the absence of any exceptional condition has not been verified, whereas the presence of such a condition is suggested by manifold experiences in ana- logous cases. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xxxix Failing thus to discover any valid antithesis between Fact and Theory, we must look upon the ordinary distinction as simply verbal. ShaU we express it by the terms Description and Explanation, implying that a Fact describes the order of phenomena, and a Theory interprets that order ? For many purposes this would suffice. Yet on examination we shall find that an Explanation is only a fuller Description : more details are introduced, greater precision is given, the links in the chain which are unapparent to sense, are made apparent to reason ; but the essential mystery is untouched ; successions are enumerated, but causation escapes. Thus in the description of falling bodies, greater fulness and precision of detail are given when the unapparent links are added, and the law of gravitation is introduced as the explanation. In like manner the description of an event, say the destruction of a house by a fire, acquires greater fubiess and precision of detail when the apparent details are completed by some eye- witness who saw the fire break out, and explains it by this enumeration of details. In each case the objects are ranged in their order, and are seen thus ; but in each case many objects are not seen, many intermediate links are overlooked, or are undiscoverable ; and the causal nexus is for ever undis- coverable. Thus it is that explanations are descriptions, and descriptions are explanations, facts are theories, and theories facts. Science is the explanation of nature ; the systematic co-ordination of the facts of co-existence and succession. § 16. In the preceding paragraphs we have vindicated the necessity of the subjective current, and its dangers. The weakness of the Subjective Method is its impossibility of applying Verification ; whereas the security of the Objective Method lies in its vigilant Verification. In both the mind has to supply the formal elements ; in both it has to link together sensations by inferences, and to classify objects according to inferred relations. But the Objective Method simply co-ordinates the materials furnished by Experience ; it introduces no new materials ; or if it admits them, it does xl THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. so provisionally and hypotheticallj ; they are not accepted as real objects until their reality has been otherwise established. Whereas the Subjective Method is perpetually overstepping the limits that divide the material from the formal; its tendency is to confound concepts with percepts, ideas with objects, conjectures with realities. It commits the fault of drawing material from the Subject, instead of drawing only form. It takes up an inference and treats it as a fact, and thus gives its own fictions the character of reality. Because it cannot apply Verification it assumes that the order of ideas must correspond with the external order if no disorder (con- tradiction) be displayed. Hence it is that metaphysical con- clusions are sometimes so audaciously at variance with what is known of the external order. ^ § 17. The Objective Method is incapable of reaching any results without the large employment of Inference, the suc- cessive steps of discovery being Observation, Hypothesis, and Verification. It is distinguished from the Subjective Method, not by its aim, which is in both that of co-ordmating the relations of objects, but by its principle of seeking the rela- tions in the order of the objects themselves, instead of in the order of our ideas : submitting therefore every Inference to the control of Verification, and refusing to accept a con- jecture as a fact until it has been tested by confrontation with the external order. The cardinal distinction between Metaphysics and Science lies in Method, not in the nature of their topics ; and the proof of this is exemplified in the fact that a theory may be transferred from Metaphysics to Science simply by the addition of a verifiable element ; or, conversely, may be transferred from Science to Metaphysics by the withdrawal of this same verifiable element. Thi^s the law of gravitation is a scientific theory ; but if we with- draw from it the verifiable formula ' inversely as the lit 1 if 4 ♦ Hegel, for instance, bases his system on Contradiction. So far from admitting that a thing cannot be the contrary of that which it is, he affirms, as a fundamental principle, that ' everything is at once that which it is and the contrary of that which it is.' THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xU square of the distance and directly as the mass,' there remains only the occult Attraction, — which is metaphysical. On the other hand, if to a metaphysical theory of gravita- tion, which explains the phenomena by Attraction or an * inherent virtue,' we add the verifiable formula of its mode of action, the purely subjective conception passes at once into the objective region, and a scientific theory results. § 18. In the course of t^is History we shall be incessantly witnessing the disastrous effects of transporting the formal elements of knowledge into the region of material elements — * realising abstractions,' as it is called — and deducing con- clusions from unverified inferences as if they had been verified. We shall witness the efforts of philosophers to interpret the external order by the internal order, animating Nature with human tendencies, interpreting motors by mo- tives. Thus because we derive our conceptions of Force and Cause from our own efforts and volitions, we interpret the changes seen without us by the changes felt within us. This is the source of the Fetichism of children and savages ; of the Polytheism of early nations ; and, by a gradual refine- ment in abstraction, of the Metaphysics and Physics of philosophers. Causes are first personified ; next raised into Deities; then, by gradual elimination of the personal quali- ties, transformed into Entities ; and finally resolved into Forces, which are exponents of relations. Thus first dis- appears the Will, next the independent existence ; and what finally remains is an abstract expression of the ob- served order. § 19. To make the two Methods more readily appreciable by exhibiting them in operation, I will select an imaginary case and two real cases. From a country where clocks are unknown, even by tradi- tion, two travellers arrive, and in the kitchen of the cottage where they are first received they observe with astonishment an eight-day clock. The phenomena it presents are so novel that our travellers at once begin attempting an explanation. Now all explanation consists in bringing the unknown facts M xlii THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. •li -i* under certain general facts already known ; only by finding what the unknown is like, can it be classed and known. In the present case the new phenomena resemble certain phenomena observed in animals. Hence * the first rough approximation to an explanation is the. conjecture that the clock must be alive. Suppose one of the travellers to be uncultivated, and still in the fetichistic stage, he will at once conclude from his conjecture that the clock is a fetich, and is inhabited by a good or evil Spirit. Let us, however, suppose him to have emerged from the primitive stage of inf-ellectual development, and to have become a thoughtful metaphy- sician. His companion we will suppose to have been trained in Science and its methods. Both start from the spontaneous hypothesis that the clock is alive, this being the conjecture which most naturally ranges the new phenomena under known phenomena. Let us now watch their procedure. A is a subjective philosopher, and, not aware of the ab- solute necessity of verifying his hypothesis, proceeds to apply it, and to deduce explanations of the clock phenomena from the known facts of animal life. The ticking resembles the regular sounds of breathing ; the beating of the pendulum is like the beating of the heart ; the slow movements of the hands are they not movements of feelers in search of food? the striking of the hours are they not cries of pain or expres- sions of anger ? If the hours are struck just as he approaches the clock to examine it, or has laid hold of it, the coincidence easily suggests rage or terror as the cause ; and he having once formed that conception, all subsequent experience of the clock striking when he is at a distance from it, or when no one is in the kitchen, will fail to shake it. but will be accom- modated to it by other explanations. By continuing to observe the phenomena his first rough explanation would gradually be modified, and give place to one more consistent with the facts. A variety of ingenious explanations would occur ; but they would all be vitiated by the absence of any verification of the data. He observes a certain periodicity in the recurrence of the cries. There is THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xliii a regularity in the succession of these cries — one being always followed by two, and two by three, and so on up to twelve ; after which one recurs and two and three in the old order. To his great delight he at last observes a coincidence between each of these cries and the position of the hands on the dial-plate ; the longer hand always pointing to twelve, and the shorter hand to the number corresponding with the cries. Hence he properly infers a causal connection; but what that is he can only guess ; out of several guesses he selects the most plausible. He propounds his explanation to his friend B with perfect confidence in its truth. B hereupon impatiently points out the treacherous nature of the procedure A has followed. ' My dear feUow, you seem unaware that your starting-point requires strict examination. You assume the vitality of the clock, and having assumed this, you interpret by it the resemblance of ticking to breathing, and of the sounds to cries of pain and anger. But the clock may be alive, and yet these resemblances may be fallacious ; they must be verified before they can be accepted ; and if the clock is not alive? You muddle yourself with Metaphysics, and amuse yourself with drawing deductions, instead of verifying your data. In classing the new facts under old facts it is necessary that we should assure our- selves that the resemblance we imagine is a real resemblance, and springs from similar roots. To eflPect this, rigorous Analysis is indispensable. But on your Subjective Method there is no analysis of objects, only of ideas. Let me describe the course of my own investigations, guided by that Method which Science has taught me to rely on. 'Like you I conjectured that an animal was before me. What animal? I first perceived that in many respects it was unlike all animals known to me ; and pursuing this track I found so many points of unlikeness, and these of such significance in animal.life, that another conjecture emerged, and I asked, Is it an animal at all ? Here were two starting- points, both conjectural, both needing verification. I chose to begin upon the second, and for this reason : if the clock were ■) \ ■ I Hii xHv THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. not an animal tlie natural inference was that it must be a machine. I was abeady familiar with many machines, more so than with organisms, and I began trying how far the observed phenomena could be brought under the known facts of mechanism. Now observe the operation of scientific method! You might have joined with me in forming precisely the same conjectures, but you would have started off at a tangent, and would have deduced from mechanical facts just as you deduced from vital facts, without troubling yourself about Verification. Had I not employed that potent instrument Analysis I should never have discovered the truth about the clock. The complex facts had to be de- composed, and their elements ascertained. As this could not (successfully) be done by analysis of my ideas, I had no alternative but to take the clock to pieces, bit by bit, in the search after the objective condition of each element in this complex whole. I removed the dial-plate, then the back, finally the whole external case; but still the pendulum swung, still the sounds regularly succeeded. Accidentally arresting the pendulum, I found that all the phenomena dis- appeared ;. restoring its swing, I restored the phenomena. After repeating this often enough to eliminate all possibilities of coincidence I came to the conclusion that the clock- phenomena were dependent on the motion of the pendulum. This was one step, and an important one; but it was no explanation. There were two questions still to be answered : What makes the pendulum move in this manner ? and how does its motion effect the observed results •> Had I been deprived of the means of objective analysis, unable to take the clock to pieces, I should have been reduced to your pro- cedure—ingenious guessing. But Observation having dis- closed the ascent of one weight and descent of another, I con- jectured that this motion was connected with the striking of the hours : I verified it by pulling the descending weight, and I found that, as I pulled, the hands revolved, and the sounds, previously heard at long intervals, now rapidly succeeded each other. Having laid bare the interior I could THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xlv trace the action of each part of the mechanism. I found that each beat of the pendulum detached one tooth of a wheel, and thus liberated the arrested movement of that wheel. I observed that these liberations were pulses coinciding with the tickings, and that the movements of the hands coincided with these movements of the wheel, every sixty revolutions of the wheel coinciding with each stroke of the clock. Having thus explained the mechanism I rejected the idea of the clock being an organism, as a needless and unacceptable hypothesis. I found that it resembles other mechanisms in all its essential characters, whereas it wants the primary character of an organism, that of drawing its force from Nutrition.' § 20. Even those who may object that our scientific traveller has too obviously the advantage in this illustration will admit that the two procedures are characteristically opposed. It is in taking an object to pieces by Analysis, either real or ideal, that we learn to estimate its elements and thus to estimate the whole. The Subjective Method deduces the elements from the whole ; and it is confirmed in this procedure by the success of Deductive Science. There is, however, a vital distinction between the Deductive Method and the Subjective Method, and it is this : in the former both data and conclusions are verified by confrontation with the external order. If truth is the x3orrespondence between the order of ideas and the order of phenomena, the only right Method must be that which step by step assures the corre- spondence, demonstrating that the order of our ideas is also that of the phenomena they represent. § 21. I have still to exemplify the operation of the rival Methods by two cases that have not the drawback which may attach to imaginary illustration. The first shall be borrowed from Broussais, in his contrast of Brown's system with his own : — A survey of the phenomena of life led both to the general conception of Excitation as the constant condition of all vital phenomena, and therefore as a compendious expression which resumed the general facts. Up to this point both /. xlvi THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. followed the Objective Method. From this point the diver- gence was great : * Nous professons d'abord avec Brown, que la vie ne s'entretient que par Texcitation. Mais nous aban- donnons aussitot cet auteur, parce qu'il prend- la voie de Pab- straction en dissertant toujours sur V excitation consideree en elle-meme ; nous aimons mieux etudier ce phenomene dans lea organes et dans les tissus qui les composent, ou plutot observer les organes et les tissus excites.' ^ § 22. Our second illustration shall be taken from the in- structive though deplorable hypothesis of Spirit-rapping, which is an indelible disgrace to the education of our age. A few persons stand round a table, gently resting their hands on it, but careful not to push in any direction. In a little while the table moves, at first slowly, afterwards with growing velocity. The persons are all of the highest respec- tability, above suspicion of wilful deceit. The phenomenon is so unexpected, so unprecedented, that an explanation is im- periously demanded. In presence of unusual phenomena, men are unable to remain without some explanation which shall render intelligible fo them how the unusual event is produced. They are spectators merely; condemned to witness the event, unable to penetrate directly into its causes, unable to get behind the scenes and see the strings which move the puppets, they guess at what they cannot see. Man is interpres Naturoe. Whether he be metaphysician or man of science, his starting-point is the same ; and they are in error who say that the metaphysician differs from the man of science in drawing his explanation from the recesses of his own mind in lieu of drawing it from the ob- servation of facts. Both observe facts, and both draw their interpretations from their own minds. Nay, as we have seen, there is necessarily, even in the most familiar fact, the annex- ation of mental inference — some formal element added by the mind, suggested by, but not given in, the immediate ob- servation. Facts are the registration of direct observation and direct inference, congeries of particulars partly sensa- * Broussais : De rirritation, 2ad ed. 1839, i. 55. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xlvii tional, partly ideal. The scientific value of facts depends on the validity of the inferences bound up with them ; and hence the profound truth of CuUen's paradox, that there are more false facts than false theories current. The facts comprised in the phenomenon of ' Table-turning ' are by no means so simple as they have been represented. Let us, however, reserve aU criticism, and fix our attention solely on the phenomenon, which, expressed in rigorous terms, amounts to this :— the table turns ; the cause of its turning is unknown. To explain this, one class of metaphysical minds refers it to the agency of an unseen Spirit. Connecting the spiritual manifestation with others which have been narrated to him, the interpreter finds no difficulty in believing that a Spirit moved the table ; for ' the movement assuredly issued from no human agency ;' the respectable witnesses ' declared they did not push.' Unless the table moved itself, therefore, his conclusion must be that it was moved by a Spirit. Minds of another class give another explanation, one equally metaphysical, although its advocates scornfully reject the spiritual hypothesis. These minds are indisposed to admit the existence of Spirits as agents in natural phenomena ; but their interpretation, in spite of its employing the lan- guage of Science, is as utterly removed from scientific method as the spiritual interpretation they despise. They attribute the phenomenon to Electricity. Connecting this supposed electrical manifestation with some other facts which seem to warrant the belief of nervous action being identi- cal with electricity, they have no hesitation in affirming that electricity streams from the tips of the fingers. It is even suggested by one gentleman that ' the nervous fluid has pro- bably a rotatory action, and a power of throwing off some of its surplus force.' How entirely these ideas of nervous fluid, rotatory power, and surplus force are additions drawn from the imagination and not supplied in the objects, I need scarcely pause to point out. Each of these explanations has been very widely accepted by the general public. The obvious defect in both lies in VOL. I. c ■j xhui THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. the utter absence of any objective guarantee. We ought to be satisfied with no explanation which is without iffe valid guarantee. Before we purchase silver spoons we demand to see the mark of Silversmiths' Hall, to be assured that the spoons are silver, and not plated only. The test of the assayer dispels our misgivings. In like manner when the motion of a table is explained by spiritual agency, instead of debating whether the spirit ' bring airs from heaven or blasts from hell,' we let our scepticism fall on the preliminary assumption of the spirit's presence. Prove the presence of the spirit, before you ask us to go further. If present, the spirit is perhaps capable of producing this motion of the table ; we do not know whether it is, for we know nothing about spirits ; at any rate the primary point requiring proof is the presence of the spirit ; we cannot permit you to assume such a presence merely to explain such a movement ; for if the fact to be explained is sufficient proof of the explanation, we might with equal justice assume that the movement was caused by an invisible dragon who turned the table by the fanning of his awful wings. If it is permissible to draw material from the Subject, and to make such assumption valid as regards objects, our right to assume the dragon is on a par with our right to assume the spirit. A similar initial error is observable in the electrical hypo- thesis. Electricity may be a less intrinsically improbable assumption, but its presence requires proof. After that step had been taken, we should require proof that electricity could comport itself with reference to tables and similar bodies in this particular manner. We have various tests for the presence of electricity ; various means of ascertaining how it would act upon a table. But seeing that the gentle- man who spoke so confidently of 'currents issuing from the tips of the fingers ' never once attempted to prove that there were currents ; and knowing moreover that these currents, if present, would not make a table turn, all men of true scientific culture dismissed the explanation with contempt. I THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. xlix Such were the metaphysical explanations of the pheno- menon. They are vitiated by fcheir Method. Very different was that pursued by men of science. The object sought was the, unknown cause of the table's movement. To reach the unknown we must pass by the Objective Method through the avenues of the known ; we must not attempt to reach it through the unknown. Is there any known fact with which this movement can be allied? The first and most obvious suggestion was that the table was pushed by the hands which rested on it. There is a difficulty in the way of this expla- nation, namely, ' that the persons declare solemnly they did not push ; and, as persons of the highest respectability, we are bound to believe them.' Is this statement of any value ? The whole question is involved in it. But the philosophical mind is very little affected by guarantees of respectability in matters implicating sagacity rather than integrity. The Frenchman assured his friend that the earth did turn round the sun, and offered his parole d'honneur as a guarantee ; but in the delicate and difficult question of science, paroles d'honneur have a quite inappreciable weight. We may there- fore set aside the respectability of the witnesses, and, with full confidence in their integrity, estimate the real value of their assertion, which amounts to this : they were not con- scions of pushing. If we come to examine such a case, we find Physiology in possession of abundant examples of mus- cular action unaccompanied by distinct consciousness, and some of these examples are very similar to those of the unconscious pushing, which may have turned the table ; and we are thus satisfied of three important points : — 1. Pushing is an adequate cause, and will serve as well as either the supposed spirit or electricity to explain the movement of the table. 2. Pushing may take place without any distinct consciousness on the part of those who push, 3. Expectant attention is known to produce such a state of the muscles as would occasion this unconscious pushing. Considered therefore as a mere hypothesis, this of un- conscious pushing is strictly scientific ; it may not be true, c2 THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. li H I but it has fulfilled the preliminary conditions. Unlike the two hypotheses it opposes, it assumes nothing previously unknown, or not easily demonstrable; every position has been or may be verified ; whereas the metaphysicians have not verified one of their positions : they have not proved the presence of their agents, nor have they proved that these agents, if present, would act in the required manner. Of spirit we know nothing, consequently can predicate nothing. Of electricity we know something, but what is known is not in accordance with the table-turning hypothesis. Of pushing we know that it can and does turn tables. All then that is required to convert this latter hypothesis into scientific certainty, is to prove the presence of the pushing in this particular case. And it is proved in many ways, positive and negative, as I showed when the phenomenon first became the subject of public investigation. Positive, because if the hands rest on a loose table-cloth, or on substances with per- fectly smooth surfaces which will glide easily over the table, the cloth or the substances will move, and not the table. Negative, because if the persons are duly warned of their liability to unconscious pushing, and are told to keep vigilant guard over their sensations, they do not move the table, although previously they may have moved it frequently. When we have thus verified the presence of unconscious pushing, aU the links in the chain have been verified, and certainty is complete. § 23. Reviewing the three explanations which the phe- nomenon of table-turning called forth, we elicit one charac- teristic as distinguishing the scientific or Objective Method, namely, the verification of each stage in the process, the guaranteeing of each separate point, the cultivated caution of proceeding to the unknown solely through the avenues of the known. The germinal difference, then, between the metaphysical and scientific Methods, is not that they draw their explanations from a different source, the one employing Reasoning where the other employs Observation, but that the one is content with an explanation which has no further guarantee than is given in the logical explanation of the difficulty ; whereas the other imperatively demands that every assumption should be treated as provisional, hypothetical, until it has been confronted with fact, tested by acknowledged tests, in a word, verified. The guarantee of the meta- physician is purely logical, subjective: it is the intellectus sibi permissus ; the guarantee of the other is derived from a correspondence of the internal with the external order. As Bacon says, all merely logical explanations are valueless, the subtlety of nature greatly surpassing that of argument: * Subtilitas naturae subtilitatem argumentandi multis partibus superat ; ' and he farther says, with his usual felicity, ' Sed axiomata a particularibus rite et ordine abstracta nova par- ticularia rursus facil^ indicant et designant.' It is these ' new particulars ' which are reached through those already known, and complete the links of the causal chain. Open the history of Science at any chapter you will, and its pages wiU show how all the errors which have gained acceptance gained it because this important principle of verification of particulars was neglected. Incessantly the mind of man leaps forward to ' anticipate ' Nature, and is satisfied with such anticipations if they have a logical con- sistence. VHien Galen and Aristotle thought that the air circulated in the arteries, causing the pulse to beat, and cooling the temperature of the blood, they were content with this plausible anticipation ; they did not verify the facts of the air's presence, and its cooling effect ; when they said that the 'spirituous blood' nourished the delicate organs, such as the lungs, and the 'venous blood' nourished the coarser organs, such as the liver ; when they said that the 'spirit,' which was the purer element of the blood, was formed in the left ventricle, and the venous blood in the right ventricle, they contented themselves with unverified assumptions. In like manner, when in our own day physio- logists of eminence maintain that in the organism there is a Vital Force which suspends chemical actions, they content themselves with a metaphysical unverified interpretation of m THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. liii 1 phenomena. If they came to rigorous confrontation with fact, they would see that so far from chemical action being ' suspended ' it is incessantly at work in the organism ; the varieties observable being either due to a difference of condi- tions (which will produce varieties out of the organism), or to the fact that the action is masked by other actions. § 24. If the foregoing discussion has carried with it the reader's assent, he will perceive that the distinguishing characteristic of Science is its Method of graduated Verifi- cation, and not, as some think, the employment of Induction in lieu of Deduction. All Science is deductive, and deduc- tive in proportion to its separation from ordinary knowledge, and its co-ordination into System. The true antithesis is not between Induction and Deduction, but between verified and unverified cases of Induction and Deduction. The dif- ference between the ancient and modem philosophies lies in the facility with which the one accepted axioms and hypo- theses as the basis for its deductions, and the cultivated caution with which the other insists on verifying its axioms and hypotheses before deducing conclusions from them.* We guess as freely as the ancients ; but we know that we are guessing ; and if we chance to forget it, our rivals quickly remind us that our guess is not evidence. Without guessing. Science would be impossible. We should never discover new islands, did we not often venture seawards with intent to sail beyond the sunset. To find new land, we must often quit sight of land. As Dr. Thomson admirably expresses it : — * Philosophy proceeds upon a system of credit, and if she never advanced beyond her tangible capital, our wealth would not be so enormous as it is.'f While both meta- physician and man of science trade on a system of credit, they do so with profoundly different views of its aid. The me- taphysician is a merchant who speculates boldly, but without * Mr. Batma, Molecular Mechanics, 1866, p. 3, speaks of those 'modem thinkers who despise the deductive method as a useless relic of the past.' Thej must bo very shallow thinkers who do not see that it is the Subjective, not the Deductive, Method which is the useless relic of the past. t Thomson: Outlines of the Laws of Thought, p. 312. that convertible capital which can enable him to meet his engagements. He gives bills, yet has no gold, no goods to answer for them ; these bills are not representative of wealth which exists in any warehouse. Magnificent as his specu- lations seem, the first obstinate creditor who insists on pay- ment makes him bankrupt. The man of science is also a venturesome merchant, but one fully alive to the necessity of soHd capital which can on emergency be produced to meet his bills ; he knows the risks he runs whenever that amount of capital is exceeded ; he knows that bankruptcy awaits him if capital be not forthcoming. § 25. Astronomy became a science when men began to seek the unknown through the known, and to interpret celestial phenomena by those laws which were recognised on the surface of the earth. Geology became possible as a science when its principal phenomena were explained by those laws of the action of water, visibly operating in every river, estuary, and bay. Except in the grandeur of its sweep, the mind pursues the same course in the interpretation of geological facts which record the annals of the universe, as in the interpretation of the ordinary incidents of daily life. To read the pages of the great Stone-book, and to perceive from the wet streets that rain has recently fallen, are the same intellectual processes. In the one case the mind traverses immeasurable spaces of time, and infers that the phenomena were produced by causes similar to those which have pro- duced similar phenomena within recent experience; in the other case, the mind similarly infers that the wet streets and swollen gutters have been produced by the same cause we have frequently observed to produce them. Let the inference span with its mighty arch a myriad of years, or span but a few minutes, in each case it rises from the ground of certain familiar indications, and reaches an antecedent known to be capable of producing these indications. Both inferences may be wrong : the wet streets may have been wetted by a water- cart, or by the bursting of a pipe. We cast about for some other indication of rain besides the wetness of the streets and Ut THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. lY i the turbid rush of gutters, which might equally have been produced by the bursting of a water-pipe. If we see passers- by carrying wet umbrellas, some still held above the head, our inference is strengthened by this indication, that rain, and no other cause, produced the phenomena. In like manner, the geologist casts about for other indications besides those of the subsidence of water, and as they accumulate, his con- viction strengthens. § 26. While this is the course of Science, the course of Metaphysics is very different. Its inferences start from no well-grounded basis; the arches they throw are not from known fact to unknown fact, but from some unknown to some other unknown. Deductions are drawn from the nature of God, the nature of Spirit, the essences of Things, and from what Eeason can postulate. Rising from such mists, the arch so brilliant to look upon is after all a rainbow, not a bridge. To make his method legitimate, the metaphysician must first prove that a co-ordinate correspondence exists between Nature and his Intuitional Reason,^ so that whatever is true of the one must be true of the other. The geologist, for example, proceeds on the assumption that the action of waters was essentially the same millions of years ago as it is in the present day ; so that whatever can be positively proved of it now, may be confidently asserted of it then. He subse- quefitly brings evidence to corroborate his assumption by showing that the assumption is necessary and competent to explain facts not otherwise to be consistently explained. But does the metaphysician stand in a similar position? Does he show any validity in his preliminary assumption ? Does he produce any evidence for the existence of a nexus between ♦ By Intuitional Reason I here wish to express what the Germans call Vernunft, which they distinguish from Verstand, as Coleridge tried to make Englishmen distinguish between Reason and Understanding. The term Reason is too deeply rooted in our language to be twisted into any new direction ; and I hope by the unusual ' Intuitional Reason ' to keep the reader's attention aliro to the fact that by it is designated the process of the mind engaged in transcendental inquiry. his Intuitional Reason and those noumena or essences, about which he reasons ; does he show the probability of there being such a correspondence between the two, that what is true of the one may be accepted as probable of the other ? Nothing of the kind. He assumes that it is so. He assumes, as a pre- liminary to all Philosophy, that Intuitional Reason is com- petent to deliver verdicts, even when the evidence is entirely furnished by itself. He assumes that his Intuitions are face to face with Existences, and have consequently immediate know- ledge of them. But this immense assumption, this gratuitous begging of the whole question, can only be permitted after a demonstration that the contrary assumption must be false. Now it is certain that we can assume the contrary, and assume it on evidence as cogent as that which furnishes his assump- tion. I can assume that Intuitions are not face to face with Existences ; indeed this assumption seems to me by far the most probable ; and it is surely as valid as the one it opposes? I call upon the metaphysician to prove the validity of his assumption, or the invalidity of mine. I call upon him for some principle of verification. He may tell me (as in past years the Hegelians used to tell me, not without impatience) that 'Reason must verify itself ;' but unhappily Reason has no such power ; for if it had. Philosophy would not be dis- puting about first principles ; and when it claims the power, who is to answer for its accuracy, quis custodiet ipsos custodes ? If Ontology is possible, its only basis rests on the assumed correspondence of the external and internal orders, a basis shown by Psychology to be excessively treacherous. If all concepts are reducible to percepts, and our widest generali- sations are only Re-presentations of what originally was Pre- sentation, Ontology has no standing place. Its data are figments — subjective constructions in which formal elements are transmuted into material elements, relations are trans- formed into objects, abstractions are personified and endowed with reality. § 27. The objects with which Ontology concerns itself do not admit of Presentation {Anschauung), consequently its lYi TJIE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. Ivii I! :i|( conclusions are incapable of being verified. We can never know whether the assumed correspondence between the order in our thoughts and the order in things is a real correspond- ence. For example. Cause is a concept constructed out of formal elements — an inference which posits the reality of something over and above the unconditional antecedence and sequence given in Experience. Let us admit the reality ; we cannot safely proceed beyond the inference ; we cannot justify our transformation of this inference into an object having knowable qualities ; we are not entitled to found in- ferences on this inference. Cause then remains a nebulous thought. If we attempt to define it our definitions will be arbitrary ; if attempt to deduce from it, our deductions will be figments. Herein lies the distinction between Mathematics and Metaphysics : the one can, and the other cannot, be re- duced to Presentation ; the one has, and the other has not, an objective basis and a constant verification. The material elements of Mathematics are physical facts gained through Sense ; the formal elements are simply serial dispositions of the objects ; and thus the widest reaches of mathematical speculation are only the tvriting out of objective knowledge, the development of identical propositions."* § 28. Metaphysicians proceed on the assumption that Intuitional Reason, which is independent of Experience, is absolute and final in its guarantee. The validity of its con- clusions is self-justified. Hegel boldly says, 'Whatever is rational is real, and whatever is real is rational, — das Ver- nunftige ist wirklich und das Wirkliche vemiinftig,' And writers of less metaphysical rigour frequently avow the axiom, and always imply it. Thus in a remarkable article on Sir W. Hamilton, which appeared in the/ Prospective Review,' wo read that Philosophy in England has dwindled down to mere Psychology and Logic, whereas its proper business is * On the contrast between Mathematics and Metaphysics, see the admirable eBsay of Kant : Untersuchungcn iiber die Deutlichkeit der Grundsdtze der naiurlicken Theologie und der Moral ; and Apelt : Die Metaphyaik, § 6. Compare Mansel : Metaphysics, p. 285. I have argued the point more fully in the cbipter on Spinoza, vol. ii. pp. 211-215. with the notions of Time, Space, Substance, Soul, God ; ' to pronounce upon the validity of these notions as revelations of real Existence, and, if they be reliable, use them as a bridge to cross the chasm from relative Thought to absolute Being. Once safe across, and gazing about it in that realm, the mind stands in presence of the objects of Ontology.' * Once safe across ; ' this is indeed the step which consti- tutes the whole journey; unhappily we have no means of getting safe across ; and in this helplessness we had better hold ourselves aloof from the attempt. If a man were to discourse with amplitude of detail and eloquence of con- viction respecting the inhabitants of Sirius, setting forth in explicit terms what they were like, what embryonic forms they passed through, what had been the course of their social evolution and what would be its ultimate stage, we should first ask. And pray. Sir, what evidence have you for these particulars ? what guarantee do you offer for the validity of these conclusions ? K he replied that Intuitional Reason assured him these things must be so from the inherent necessities of the case, he having logically evolved these conclusions from the data of Reason ; we should suppose him to be either attempting to mystify us, or to be hopelessly insane. Nor would this painful impression be removed by his proceeding to affirm that he never thought of trusting to such fallacious arguments as could be furnished by Obser- vation and Experiment — tests wholly inapplicable to objects so remote from all experience, and accessible only by Reason. In the present day, speculations on the Metaphysical Method are not, intrinsically, more rational than theories respecting the development of animated beings peopling Sirius ; nay, however masked by the ambiguities of language and old familiarities of speculation, the attempt is really less rational,* the objects being even less accessible. Psy- chology has taught us one lesson at least, namely, that we cannot know causes and essences, because Experience is limited to sequences and phenomena. Nothing is gained by despising Experience, and seeking refuge in Intuitional lyiii THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. lix Reason. The senses may be imperfect channels, but at anj rate they are in direct communication with their objects, and are true up to a certain point. The error arising from one sense may be corrected by another; what»to the eye appears round, the^hand feels to be square. But Intuitional Eeason has no such safeguard. It has only itself to correct its own errors. Holding itself aloof from the corroborations of Sense, it is aloof from aU possible verification, because it cannot employ the test of confrontation with fact. This conviction has been growing slowly. It could never have obtained general acceptance until the Metaphysical Method had proved its incapacity by centuries of failure. In the course of our History we shall see the question of Certi- tude continually forced upon philosophers, always producing a crisis in speculation, although always again eluded by the more eager and impatient intellects. Finally, these repeated crises disengage the majority of minds from so hopeless a pursuit, and set them free to follow Science which has Certitude. § 29. History with overwhelming evidence proves the incompetence of the Subjective Method ; Psychology with irresistible force displays the cause. It is a common mis- take to suppose that this Method is followed by metaphy- sicians exclusively ; they, indeed, have uniformly employed it, and were forced by the nature of their enquiries to employ it; but savans unhappily have shown a fatal facihty in employing it likewise, and have thereby obstructed the advance of knowledge. All we can say is that only on the Objective Method has Science been successful ; because only by the verification of conceptions can Truth — which is the correspondence of the internal and external orders — be reached. With the validity of the Subjective Method stands or falls the truth of Metaphysics, since that is the Method which alone can be employed in such enquiries. There are three grand divisions of Metaphysics, and these are Psychology, Cosmology, and Theology. It is possible to treat all three on the Objective Method by restricting them to their corre- sponding phenomena, and waiving all enquiry into essential causes; but this is Science, and for the present we are dealing with Metaphysics ; we will therefore follow Wolf, and adopt the scholastic terms Rational Psychology, Rational Cosmology, and Rational Theology. And as many of my readers will probably be more disposed to accept Mr. Mansel's criticism of these delusive eifforts to transcend Experience, than a criticism from the positive point of view, I will here borrow his remarks : — * The aim of Rational Psychology is to frame definitions exhibiting the essential nature of the soul and its properties, as realities conceived by the intellect, underlying and implied by the phenomena presented in consciousness ; and to prove by a demonstrative process that the notions thus defined necessarily flow one from another. Psychology is thus raised from a science of observation to one of demonstra- tion ; ' [more accurately, from a science of observation to one of inference and deduction from inferences] 'and its objects are transformed from phenomena presented in expe- rience to realities contemplated by the intellect. The soul, by virtue of its essential nature as a simple substance, is shown to possess, of necessity, certain attributes as rationally conceived and defined — such as sense, imagination, intelli- gence, will, spirituality, indestructibility, and so forth ; and the same conclusions are even demonstrated of other spiritual natures which partake of the generic attribute of the soul.' Mr. Mansel hereupon observes : — ' The weakness of the whole process is that it tacitly postulates as its startmg- point a principle which is neither evident in itself, nor such as can be made evident by any process of thought. It as- sumes, that is to say, a transcendental definition of the real nature of the soul beyond and above the facts and relations which are manifested in consciousness. But how is the truth of such a definition to be guaranteed ? Of the soul as a simple substance, apart from its particular modification, consciousness tells us nothing. How then is the abstract THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. 'II ¥\ I W conception of the nature of the soul to be verified? It cannot be self-evident ; for self-evidence is nothing more than the instantaneous assent of consciousness ; and the assumption in question cannot be submitted to the judgment of consciousness at all. It cannot be demonstrable; for it could only be demonstrated by the assumption of a higher notion of the same kind, concerning which the same ques- tion would then have to be raised. It cannot be generalised from experience ; for experience deals with the facts of con- sciousness only, and tells us not of what must he, but only of what is or seems to he. Unable to verify his fundamental definition by any reference to the reality which it is sup- posed to represent, the metaphysician is compelled to con- fine himself to the relations of the language by which it is represented.' ^ Mr. Mansel then examines Eational Cosmology, showing that it can ' contain nothing more than an analysis of general notions, and can lead to no conclusions but such as the philosopher has himself virtually assumed in his premises. The abstract notion of the world contains implicitly what- ever attributes we choose to assume as its constituents ; and the metaphysical or logical analysis of that notion can contain no more.' Still more incisive is his criticism on Rational Theology, which starts from a nominal definition of the Deity. * How do we know,' he asks, * that our conception at all corresponds to the nature of the Being whom it professes to represent ? ' § 30. It is the slow rise of the Objective Method and its gradual extension into regions formerly occupied by the Subjective Method which this History will have to exhibit ; and the exposition will be twofold, showing the failures of the one Method and the successes of its rival. Thus will be established the conclusion that no problem merits our attention unless its solution is verifiable, and all problems are unverifiable on the Subjective Method. * Mansel : Metaphysics, p. 293. THE OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE METHODS. Ixi But on what does Verification rest ? Before this can be answered it is requisite to discuss the much debated question of the origin of knowledge. Have we any higher source than Experience ? Is there a fountain of Truth which springs from a source independent of Experience ? I shall have to treat this question by and by, but it is needful first to consider the nature of our Test of Truth. i. ft. cii NECESSARY TRUTHS. » I i ; I i source in experience, a priori, simply because they are not drawn immediately from experience, but from a general rule, which was, nevertheless, drawn from experience. Thus we say of a man who undermined his house : He might have known a priori that the house would fall in, i.e., he need not have waited for the experience of its actual fall. Yet purely a priori, this could not have been known, for he must have learnt through experience that bodies are heavy, and fall when their supports are removed.' Nevertheless, although Kant saw this he still believed in the existence of a priori principles, which are demonstrably not less empirical. What misled him was, I think, the confusion between contingent • Knowledge and contingent Truth. He declared Experience to be empirical and contingent, because our experiences could never be necessary and universal; whereas universal and necessary Truths were a priori, because they could not be given in particulars, and hence were anterior to all Expe- rience. That they might be posterior to (i.e., evolved from) Experience, was an alternative he omitted to consider. With these preliminary explanations, let us now examine how far the Necessary Truths are, or are not, capable of re- duction to Experience. § 66, It appears to me, that all writers on this subject have failed to see a distinction which is so obvious when pointed out, that the neglect of it seems inexplicable : the distinction is between the (objective) fact and our (subjective) knowledge of the fact. We speak of sound sometimes meaning the undulation of the air without us, and sometimes meaning the sensation excited within us by that undulation pulsating on our tympanum. By a similar laxity, we speak of a Truth sometimes as the relations of an external fact, and sometimes as the conception we have formed of the fact. Now in the Truths classified as Contingent, the contingency is never applicable to the relations themselves, but solely to our conceptions of them. That 72 and 140 added to- gether will make 212 is a truth which, objectively, has no contingency whatever; but there is a subjective contin- gency in this as in all other unverified propositions, namely, NECESSARY TRUTHS. cui the contingency of our miscalculating — misconceiving the objective relations. That ' a body moving under certain con- ditions as if attracted by a force varying inversely as the square of the distance will describe an ellipse having the centre of attraction in one of the foci,' is a proposition which, once demonstrated, has no contingency, although we may easily misconceive the relations it expresses ; and that ' the earth is a body acted on by such a force imder such con- ditions,' is likewise a proposition which is contingent until verified, and is necessary when verified. Assuming that there is an external world, its order must be necessary, i.e., the re- lations must be what they are ; the contingency can only lie in the correctness or incorrectness of our appreciation of those relations. Hence, instead of confusedly speaking of Necessary and Contingent Truths, it will be less ambiguous to speak of Verified and Unverified Propositions. All truths are true, but all propositions do not correctly express the external relations, and the question arises, which propositions are to be accepted as correctly expressing the relations ? Ob- viously those only which have been verified by the equivalence of the internal and the external order, or the reduction to A = A. Several persons seated at a table are startled by shrill sounds, which they one and all infer to be the shrieks of a child in pain or terror. The fact that they hear the sounds is indisputable, and the expression of this fact is a truth as ' necessary,' as that ' two parallel lines cannot inclose space.' Nor is there any contingency in the fact, that these sounds are produced by pulsations of the air on their tympanum. Why is there none ? Simply because experience has found that the sensation of Sound is produced in this way— the objective relations have been verified. There is, however, some contingency in the proposition,— ' These sounds are caused by a child in terror or in pain ; ' not that there is the slightest contingency in the fact itself. On proceeding to the spot, the child is found to be struggling with an animal, and shrieking as it struggles. The truth of the proposition is now verified, and unless scepticism be extended so far as to !l av NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. 1 doubt whether all the phenomena are not the pageantry of a dream, we may affirm that the proposition is a necessary truth. It may surprise the reader to see an example of this kind cited as a necessary truth, but I have selected it for the very purpose of my argument, which is to prove that the question of contingency lies solely within the region of all unverified propositions. All verified propositions are necessary truths ; all unverified propositions are contingent. This is a com- plete reversal of the position maintained by metaphysicians, for they affirm that necessary truths are precisely those propositions which cannot be verified {i.e., exhibited in Expe- rience), and that all propositions dependent on the verifica- tion of Experience are contingent. §67. Let us now take another step. The advocates of Necessity, as an indication of a source of knowledge superior to Experience, are guilty of a confusion so misleading that I am surprised at neither friend nor foe having pointed it out. It is nothing less than changing one of the terms of the propo- sition, and then concluding as if the terms had reniained un- altered. Thus the one argument incessantly brought forward is, that some Truths are such as are seen to be not only true, but necessarily true ; whereas, there are other truths which, however true to-day, are contmgent, because changes may occur to-morrow which will reverse them. It is further added, that no amount of experience, no number of examples, can establish necessity, but only the fact of generality, and a life-long experience of uniformity cannot exclude the possi- bility of a sudden reversal. All that Experience can show is, that a certain order has been imiformly observed ; it cannot show that what has always been must always be.-*^ Philo- sophers have accepted this reasoning as if it were irresistible ; every one uses it without suspicion ; but no sooner do we ex- * ' Tous les exemples qui confirment une v^rit^ gen^rale, de qnelque nombre qu'ils soient, ne suffisent pas pour ^tablir la n^cessit^ universelle do cetto meme v^rite: car il ne suit pas que ce qui est arriv^ arrivera toujours de meme.* Leibnitz : Nouvcaiix Essais, preface. cv amine it closely than we find it rests on the unconscious substitution of one premiss for another. To say that ' what has occurred will occur again, will occur always,' is to say that ' imder precisely similar conditions precisely similar results will issue.' A is A ; and A is A for evermore. But to say that ' what has occurred may probably not occur again, will not occur always,' is to say that ' under (dissimilar condi- tions the results will not be similar.' This proposition is as absolutely true as the former ; but who does not see that it is a different proposition ? When we declare that the laws of Nature are not necessary truths, but only contingent truths, because the mind readily conceives the possibility of their reversal, readily imagines such a change in the external con- ditions as would arrest the earth's motion, and with it all the manifold phenomena now resulting from that motion, what is it that we have declared ? It is that, the relations of phe- nomena being altered, our conceptions to be true must alter with them. It is that, instead of the proposition, ' Such is the order of Nature, and such it will he so long as it is unal- tered,' we have silently substituted this proposition : ' Such is now the order of Nature, but if at any time it should he al- tered, it will be different.' The only necessity is that a thing is what it is ; the only contingency is, that we may be mis- taken as to what it is. The law of gravitation, or the ellip- tical orbits of the planets, may, or may not, be truths ; but if they are truths, they are necessary truths."^ To say that they are * observed facts, nothing more,' is all that is required by Necessity ; and when we add that there is no proof of the continuance of the observed order, we either deny that ' A is A,' or we silently change the proposition, and say ' if A be- * As CoNDiLiAC puts it : 'En effet, parce qu'on a vu qu'on raisonne mal lorsque, d'un cas particulier, on tire une conclusion g^n^rale qui renferme des cas tous differents, on s'est hkxA de rejeter toutes les demonstrations, ou Ton conclut du particulier au g^n^ral ; eton n'a pas remarqu^ qu'il n'y a point de d^faut dans une demonstration lorsque dans une conclusion g^n^rale on ne comprend que des cas parfaitement semblables a celui qui a ^t^ enonc^ dans une proposition particuli^re . . . una propriety qui constitue une proportion arithmetique est done une propriety qui les constitue toutes ; autreraent il faudrait supposer qu'il y a des proportions arithm^- tiques qui ne sont pas des proportions arithmetiquos.' Langue des Calculs, p. 113. ill CVl NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. evil ' i\ ' 'I 11 ' It I ii comes B, it will no longer be A ;' for, if the conditions con- tinue unchanged, the order must necessarily continue un- changed ; if the conditions alter, the order necessarily alters with them. § 68. The answer to this will probably be. That certain truths have such a- character as to render their negation in- conceivable, no alteration being conceivable in relations so absolute : and it is these truths that involve Necessity and a priori inspiration. This leads me to the only distinction between the truths of the two orders, namely, that in those classified as Necessary, the relations are abstracted from all conditions, and considered simply in themselves ; whereas in those classified as Contingent, the relations are mixed with the variable conditions ; and it is in this variability that the contingency lies. When we say '2x2 = 4,' or ' the internal angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles,' we abstract the relations of Number and Form from all other conditions whatever, and our propositions are true, whether the objects counted and measured be hot or cold, large or small, heavy or light, red or blue. Inasmuch as the truths express the abstract relations only, no change in the other conditions can affect these relations; and truths must always remain undisturbed until a change take place in their terms. Alter the number 2, or the figure triangle, by an infinitesimal degree, and the truth is thereby altered. When we say that bodies expand by heat, the proposition is a concrete one, including the variable conditions, but although these variable conditions prevent our saying that ' all bodies will, under all conditions, be always and for evermore expanded by heat,' the case is not really distinguished from the former one, since both the Contingent and the Necessary Truth can only be altered by an alteration in the terms. If a body which does not expand by heat (there are such) be brought forward as impugning the truth of our proposition, we at once recog- nise that this body is under different conditions from those which our proposition included. This is the introduction of a new truth, not a falsification of the old. Our error, if we ( erred, was in too hastily assuming that all bodies were under the same conditions. Hence the correct definition of a Contingent Truth is ' one which generalises the conditions ; ' while that of a Necessary Truth is * one which is an unconditional generalisation,^ The first affirms that whatever is seen to be true, under present conditions, will be true so long as these conditions remain unaltered. The second affirms that whatever is true now, being a truth irrespective of conditions, cannot suffer any change from interfering conditions, and must therefore be universally true. ' The belief in the uniformity of nature is not a necessary truth, however constantly guaranteed by our actual experience. We are not compelled to believe that because A is ascertained to be the cause of B at a particular time, whatever may be meant by that relation, A must therefore inevitably be the cause of B on all future occasions.'"^ This will command the assent of every one who fails to perceive the silent change in the terms of the proposition. Instead of saying ' on all like occasions,' which would give necessity to the proposition, Mr. Mansel renders it contingent by saying, ' on all future occasions,' and the contingency lies in this, that some of the future occasions may be i^Tilike, in which cases a new propo- sition replaces the old. ' That fire will ignite paper on all occasions when the two may be brought together,' is what no one but a child or a savage with limited experience would assert ; but that fire will always ignite paper on all future occasions which present conditions precisely similar to those that have once caused the ignition, is a truth having the character of necessity and universality which belongs to all identical propositions, and to those only. § 69. It will now be an easier task to criticise the argu- ments which profess to show that necessity and universality are irresistible marks of an origin superior to Experience. If what has already been said has found acceptance with the reader, he will recognise that every proposition being neces- * MAiiS£iL : Mdai)hydcSt 267* ■% mma^BT- CVUl NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. cix ^ r Lit sarily true, if it is true at all, the only question that can arise is. Is the proposition true ? The only answer that can decide this, is one which reduces it to an identical proposi- tion ; and as this reduction is the process of Verification, and all Verification is through Experience, the conclusion inevitably reached is one directly counter to the a priori li3rpothesis. Two positions require to be established. First, that we gain our conceptions of Mathematical, no less than Physical, relations through Experience. Secondly, that in those con- ceptions so gained are involved their characters of univer- sality and necessity. § 70. The argument could not indeed be conducted if we allowed Experience to be restricted to Sensation only, as the metaphysicians unwarrantably restrict it. Dr. Whewell finds no difficulty in showing that propositions ' obtained by mere observation of actual facts ' cannot be necessarily true ; for no proposition whatever can be thus obtained. His defi- nition of Experience is, 'the impressions of sense and our consciousness of our thoughts.'^ A far more accurate and philosophical thinker has defined its wider sense to be ' co- ex- tensive with the whole of consciousness, including all of which the mind is conscious as agent or patient, all that it does from within, as well as all that it suffers from without ; ' and he truly adds, ' in this sense the laws of thought, as well as the phenomena of matter, in fact, all knowledge whatever, may be said to be derived from experience.'f The reader, not familiar with Kant's, or Mr. Mansel's speculations, may, per- haps, marvel that, after so comprehensive and just a definition of Experience, Mr. Mansel escapes the conclusion he has himself pointed out as irresistible, and falls back into the a priori argument, restricting Experience to ' its narrower and more common meaning, as limited to the results of sensa- tion and perception only.' The explanation is, that Mr. Mansel adopts the Kantian conception of Forms of Thought, * Whewell: Hist, of Scientific Ideas, 1858, i. 131. t Mansel: Prolegomena Logica, 93. f as conditions of Experience, a conception I have attempted to refute. (Vol. ii. pp.'475 sq.) One passage is all that need be given : — ' That experience,' says Mr. Mansel, ' is the chronological antecedent of all our knowledge, even of the most necessary truths, is now generally admitted. But a distinction is fre- quently drawn between truths or notions of which experience is the source and those of which it is only the occasion, . . . Every general concept is in one sense empirical ; for every concept must be formed from an intuition, and every intu- ition is experienced. But there are some intuitions which, from our constitution and position in the world, we cannot help experiencing, and there are others which, according to circumstances, we may experience or not. The former will give rise to concepts which, without any great impropriety of language, may be called native or a priori', being such as though not coeval with the mind itself [an important admission] will certainly be formed in every man as he grows up, and such as it was pre-ordained that every man should have. The latter will give rise to concepts which, for a like reason, may be called adventitious or a posteriori ; being such as may or may not be formed according to the special experience of this or that individual.'"^ Inasmuch as I throughout interpret Experience according to the wider definition given by Mr. Mansel, and only differ from him in regarding the Forms of Thought as evolved through Experience, both in the race and the individual, whereas he (confounding, I think. Anatomy with Morphology) regards the Forms as conditions of experience, it will be needless to criticise his defence of Necessary Truths, having an a priori source, because the arguments I have urged against Kant are the arguments I should urge against Mr. Mansel. § 71. We may thus securely lay down the proposition that whatever can be learned must be learned by and through Experience ; and we have then to examine whether we learn * Oj). cit, p. 170. w*i>-»«l>'M« i W i» B cx NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. CXI I J Necessary Truths, or bring them with us into the world as the heritage of a higher life. That two parallel lines can never meet is a Necessary Truth. That is to say, it necessarily follows from the defini- tion of a straight line. To call it, however, an a priori truth, a truth independent of Experience, is a very imperfect analysis of the mind's operations. An attempt is made to prove that the idea could never have been gained through Experience because it commands universal assent, and because Experi- ence itself could never give it necessity. Dr. Whewell's argument is, that let us follow two parallel lines out as far as we can, we are still unable to follow them to infinity ; and, for all our experience can tell us to the contrary, these lines may possibly begin to approach immediately beyond the far- thest point to which we have followed them, and so finally meet. Now, what ground have we for believing that this possibility is not the fact ? In other words, how do we know the axiom to be absolutely true P Clearly not from Experi- ence, Says Dr. Whewell, following Kant. We answer. Yes ; clearly from Experience. For our expe- rience of two parallel lines is .precisely this : they do not enclose space. Dr. Whewell says that, for all our experience can tell us to the contrary, the lines may p©ssibly begin to approach each other at some distant point ; and he would correct this imperfect experience by d priori truth. The case is precisely the reverse. The tendency of the mind unquestionably is, to fancy that the two lines will meet at some point ; it is enlarged experience which corrects this tendency. There are many analogies in nature to suggest the meeting of the two lines. It is only our reflective ex- perience which can furnish us with the proof which Dr. Whewell refers to ideas independent of all Experience. What proof have we that two parallel lines cannot enclose space ? Why, this : as soon as they assume the property of enclosing space, they lose the property of parallelism: they are no longer straight lines, but bent lines* In carrying out ima- ginatively th<3 two parallel lines into infinity, we have a ten- dency to make them approach ; we can only correct this by a recurrence to our experience of parallel lines ; we must call up a distinct image of a parallel, and then we see that two such lines cannot enclose space. The whole difficulty lies in the clearness or obscurity with which the mind makes present to itself past experience. * Refrain from rendering your terms into ideas,' says Herbert Spencer, ' and you may reach any conclusion whatever. The whole is equal to its part, is a proposition that may be quite comfortably entertained so long as neither wholes nor parts are imagined.'^ But no sooner do we make present to our minds the meaning of parallel lines, than in that very act we make present the impossibility of their meeting, and only as the idea of these lines becomes wavering, does the idea of their meeting become possible. A is no longer A, but B. ' Necessary truths,' says Dr. Whewell, ' are those in which we not only learn that the proposition is true, but see that it miist be true ; in which the negation is not only false, but impossible ; in which we cannot, even by an effort of the imagination, or in a supposition, conceive the reverse of that which is asserted. That there are such truths cannot be doubted. We may take, for example, all relations of Num- ber. Three and two make five. We cannot conceive it other- wise. We cannot, by any freaJk of thought, imagine three and two to make seven.' That Dr. Whewell cannot, by any freak of thought, now imagine three and two to make seven, is very likely; but that he could never imagine this, is untrue. If he had been asked the question before he had learned to reckon, he would have imagined seven quite as easily as five : that is to say, he would not have known the relation of three and two. Children have no intuitions of numbers : they learn them as they learn other things. ^ The apples and the marbles,' says Herschel, * are put in requisition, and through the multitude of ginger- bread-nuts their ideas acquire clearness, precision, and ge- nerality.' But though, from its simplicity, the calculation * Principles of Psychology, p. 49. VOL. I. g :a(-^«»^»t«- -s^-*''' =i*i^«^"- czu NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. CXlll 1 i ll - 1 : 1 f 1 V J 1 f h fr > of three added to two is with a grown man an instantaneous act, yet if you ask him suddenly how many are twice 365, he cannot answer till he has reckoned. He might certainly, by a very easy ' freak of thought ' (i.e., by an erroneous calcula- tion), imagine the sum-total to be 720 ; and although, when he repeats his calculation, he may discover the error, and de- clare 730 to be the sum-total, and say, ' It is a Necessary Truth that 365 added to 365 make 730,' we should not in the least dispute the necessity of the truth, but presume that he had arrived at it through experience, namely, through his knowledge of the relations of numbers, a knowledge which he remembers to have laboriously acquired when a boy at school. Dr. Whewell maintains that whereas Contingent Truths are seen to be true only by observation, and could not before- hand have been detected, Necessary Truths are ' seen to be true by a pure act of thought.' But he overlooks the fact, that even the simple truths of Number are not seen to be true before these relations have been exhibited ; and if they are afterwards seen to be true by a pure act of thought, not less so are physical truths, once demonstrated, seen by a pure act of thought : neither can be seen beforehand. He declares that we cannot distinctly, although we may indistinctly, conceive the contrary of a Necessary Truth. Here again the oversio-ht is the same. We cannot conceive the contrary of a truth after its necessity has been demonstrated, but we can distinctly conceive that 174-9 = 25 before verification. So little does he apprehend the real case, that, referring to the mistakes of children and savages, he winds up with the serene remark, ' But I suppose no persons would, on such grounds, hold that these arithmetical truths are truths known only by experience.' ■ § 72. Let us now turn to another argument. Kant says : ' Experience, no doubt, teaches us that this or that object is constituted in such and such a manner, but not that it could not possibly exist otherwise.'. ..." Empirical uni- versality is only an arbitrary extension of the validity from that which may be predicated of a proposition valid in most cases to that which is asserted of a proposition which holds good in all. When, on the contrary, strict universality cha- racterises a judgment, it necessarily indicates another pecu- liar source of knowledge, namely, a faculty of cognition a priori. Necessity and strict universality, therefore, are infallible tests for distinguishing pure from empirical know- ledge, and are inseparably connected with each other.' "^^ And elsewhere : ' If we thought to free ourselves from the labour of these investigations by saying, " Experience is con- stantly offering us examples of the relation of cause and effect in phenomena, and presents us with abundant oppor- tunity of abstracting the conception of cause, and so at the same time of corroborating the objective validity of this con- ception " — we should in this case be overlooking the fact that the conception of cause cannot arise in this way at all ; that on the contrary it must either have a basis in the Un- derstanding, or be rejected as a mere chimera. For this conception demands that something (A) should be of such a nature that something else (B) should follow from it neces- sarily, and according to an absolutely universal law. We may certainly collect from phenomena a law, according to which this or that usually happens, but the element of neces- sity is not to be found in it. Hence it is evident, that to the synthesis of cause and effect belongs a dignity which is ut- terly wanting in any empirical synthesis.' f § 73. I answer that the very fact of our being compelled to judge of the unknown by the known — of our irresistibly anticipating the future to resemble the past — of our incapa- city to believe that similar effects will not always follow simi- lar causes — this fact is a proof that we have no ideas except such as are acquired through Experience, and that uniformity in Experience irresistibly determines our conceptions of the future. For if we had a priori ideas, these ideas being superior to Experience, would not always inevitably conform to it ; they would bring another standard by which to judge — < * Kajs't : Kritik : EinhiUmg, § ii. (Micklejohn's translation, p. 3). t Op. cit. Trmiscendental Logik, § 9 (Transl., p. 76). Ill' Hi 1 M 'If w if ! CXIV NECESSARY TRUTHS. NECESSARY TRUTHS. cxv a standard which was not that of the abeady known. Have we such a standard ? § 74. The school of a priori philosophers maintain that we have, and that the standard is the Necessity and Universality which certain truths involve, and which cannot be given in Experience. But we have had abundant evidence that every truth is necessarUy true, and the faUacy is, that of first using a proposition in one sense, ajid then concluding from it in a different sense. It is not Truth which is contingent, but con- ditions which are variable, and every truth becomes invariable so long as the conditions do not vary. The same argument proves universaHty. If a truth simply express an uncondi- tional generalisation— if it express an abstract relation, of course it is true for ever without possibility of change. In both cases we say A is A, and wiU be A for ever. When Kant says Experience cannot be universal, but only general, and cannot therefore bestow universaUty, because it cannot itself be universal ; he forgets that Experience itself is no more general than it is universal— it is particular, and re- peated. Now, just as a finite line may be produced to in- finity although the mind is finite, just as zero may be added to zero, and space to space, without end, by the simple pro- cess of repetition, so may a truth ' A is A,' though particular in itself, be transformed into an universal. I close here the discussion of one of the most important topics in the whole range of Metaphysics, and with it these Prolegomena. We are now to enter on the scene of History, and see men nobly striving to grapple with the Unknowable. The shadow of the unknown world everywhere mingles with the light of day. It is the dark background on which Phenomena are visible. It is always present, and always limiting— as sha- dows limit— the objects of our thought. Beyond the Known, stretches the vague Mystery, into which our eyes peer vaiuly yet persistently. The border-land is ill-defined, and it is so because the sphere of the Known is always becoming larger and larger. We always hope that the Unknown is not also the Unknowable. Hence Speculation is tempted to enter the realm of sha- dows, and will not admit the obvious fact that, on quitting terra firma, it abuts on vacancy, and peoples an airy void with airy nothings. Psychology has to check this groping amid shadows, by showing that the coast-line of the Knowable is sharply defined from the ocean of the Unknowable by the necessary limitation of human faculties. Between us and that ocean there stretches a vast and fertile region, where golden harvests have already been reaped, and where still richer harvests await the sickle— truths already gathered for the regulation of our Life, and wider truths which will hereafter be gathered for its renovation. ii lit I HISTORY 01 PHILOSOPHY. THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. •1 FIEST EPOCH. Philosophy separates itself from Theology, and attempts a rational explanation of cosmical phenomena. \^ I* I CHAPTEE I. THE PHYSICISTS. § I. Thales. TT is the distinguishing peculiarity of the Greeks, that they -^ were the only people of the ancient world who were prompted to assume a scientific attitude in explaining the mysteries which surrounded them. They were the first and only people who disengaged speculation jfrom theological guidance. This inestimable benefit will be the better appre- ciated, as men more and more learn, through the history of thought, how difficult it has been to keep the scientific attitude untrammelled, and how obstructive theological trammels have been to all effective progress. Europe has not yet entirely freed itself from these obstructions. In special inquiries, particularly in mathematical and physical in- quiries, the influence of Theology is no longer felt ; but in Biology, Psychology, and Sociology, it is still disastrously VOL. I. £ h' I 'I- ( i I) .i f ■;! if 2 THE PHYSICISTS. obstructive, waiTmg men's views, alarming tender con- sciences, and distorting the positive inductions of E^a^n into agreement with the arbitrary deductions of Faith. We have long learned that the provinces of Religion and Know- ledge are separate ; we have long learned that the inductions of Astronomy and Physics relate to the order of phenomena, and that our knowledge of this order is in no respect de- pendent on, or influenced by, our religious convictions ; but we have not yet learned that this is true of all phenomena, of all science. The Greeks separated the two ; and con- sequently it is to them that we owe the foundations of aU our scientific knowledge. Not only Mathematics and Logic do we owe to Greek invention, we also owe to it the first systematic conception of Political Science, of Education, and of the Natural Sciences. And the spirit in which these researches were pursued is even more remarkable than the results attained. As the primeval fire-mist, when condensed into a planet, graduaUy became a human habitation, so the vast aspi- rations of the Eastern mind when contracted into scientific research rapidly became available for human needs and human knowledge. Progress was soon visible everywhere. In Greece, owing to speculative activity being entirely untrammelled by Theology, Tradition, or Political Insti- tutions, and left to run its own free course, progress was so rapid that the brief period of three centuries saw the fuU development of aU the chief phases of philosophy, and the origination of all its fundamental solutions. The contrast between the impetuous progress of Grecian thought and the stationariness of Eastern thought may be more thoroughly appreciated by comparison with the slowness of European progress. Thought has moved in Europe with a rapidity unknown in the East ; but it has moved under fetters. It has had a greater momentum than the Grecian thought, but it has had also a greater friction to overcome. The brilliant period of its history has been the period in which the traditions of the Church have been most resolutely disregarded. THALES. 3 It is a suggestive fact that the dawn of scientific specu- lation in Greece should^ be coincident with a great religious movement in the East. The sixth century before Christ was not only the epoch when cosmical phenomena were extri- cated from theological explanations, but also the epoch when the doctrines of Bouddha gathered up the scattered beliefs of a fast-decaying polytheism into one energetic synthesis of monotheism; and (according to the German critics) it was about this time that the polytheism of the Hebrews gave place to monotheism, — Elohim to Jehovah. In fact the great wave of the sixth century is one of progress. But the progress of polytheism to monotheism was a continuous development, whereas the progress of theological philo- sophy to cosmical philosophy was a revolution. The first was a process of generalisation, the many Gods being re- solved into one. The second was a change of attitude ; though it also was carried along by a subtle process of generalisation wherein the various powers of nature were resolved into one. The monotheistic tendency is visible in Greece, as elsewhere ; the Gods gradually lose their independent autocratic position, and assume subordinate positions under Zeus, who in later systems becomes Intelligence and Goodness. Side by side with this tentative and growing monotheism there is a bold and unhesitating monodynamism^ the efforts of all the early thinkers being to reduce all the powers of nature to one principle. The early Greek had no real predecessor from whom to learn. He found himself in the presence of mysteries which he vainly endeavoured to explain by polytheistic agencies. He not only saw reason to disbelieve in these agencies, but saw that if they existed, their arbitrary and inscrutable volitions rendered all explanation and prediction impossible. He sought elsewhere. Thales and. the other Ionic thinkers fixed ujfon common agencies, water, fire, air, &c., and tried to reconstruct the world out of these. The attempt, we know, was unsuccessful; but, as Mr. Grote remarks, the memorable fact is that they made the attempt. B 2 ..J I :l t\ I m i i 4 THE PHYSICISTS. The chief interest therefore which belongs to the specu- lation of this school arises from the new mental attitude ; and, consequently the uncertainty which hangs over the records of the actual tenets is a matter of little moment. It is impossible now to ascertain what really were the opinions of the early thinkers ; or how the tenets which they are said to have held, presented a logical coherence to their minds ; if in the ensuing pages an attempt is made to give this logical coherence, I beg the reader to understand that it is merely a conjectural representation, not to be accepted as historical fact. For the purposes of History, it is enough if we can mark the leading movements of speculation, and the part which each epoch played in the evolution of Philosophy. The great fact respecting this First Epoch is that the belief in the phenomena of Nature as brought about by the volition of numerous unseen beings was quietly set aside ; the causes of all change were sought in conditions of things themselves. It is on this ground that Thales is considered to be the father of Greek Speculation. The step he took was small, but it was decisive. Accordingly, although the events of his life are shrouded in mystery, or belong to the domain of fable, and although we have record only of a few of his tenets, and those tenets fragmentary and incoherent, yet we know enough of the general tendency of his doctrines to speak of him as the originator of a school. Thales was bom at Miletus, a Greek colony in Asia Minor. The date of his birth is extremely doubtful ; but the first year of the 36th Olympiad (b. c. 636) is the date generally accepted. He belonged to one of the most illustrious families of Phoenicia, and took a conspicuous part in all the political affairs of his country. His immense activity in politics has been denied by later writers, as inconsistent with the tradition, countenanced by Plato,' of his having spent a life of solitude and meditation ; while on the other hand his affection for solitude has been questioned on the ground of his political activity. Yet the two things are perfectly THALES. 6 compatible. Meditation does not necessarily unfit a man for action ; nor does an active life absorb all his time, leaving him none for meditation. The wise man wiU strengthen himself by meditation before he acts ; and he will act, to test the truth of his meditations. Miletus was one of the most flourishing Greek colonies ; and at the period we are now speaking of, before either a Persian or a Lydian yoke had crushed the energies of its population, it was a fine field for the development of mental energies. Its commerce both by sea and land was immense. Its political constitution afforded opportunities for individual activity. It is more probable that Thales, both by birth and education would be induced to remain there, than that he would travel into Egypt and Crete for the prosecution of his studies, as some maintain, although upon no sufficient authority. The only ground for the conjecture is the fact of Thales having acquired mathematical knowledge ; and from very early times, as we see in Herodotus, it was the fashion to derive every branch of knowledge from Egypt. So little consistency is there however in this narrative of his voyages, that he is said to have astonished the Egyptians by showing them how to measure the height of the pyramids by their shadows. A nation so easily astonished by one of the sim- plest of mathematical problems could have had little to teach. Perhaps the strongest proof that he never travelled into Egypt — or that, if he travelled there, he never learned from the priests — is the absence of all trace, however slight, of any Egyptian doctrine in his philosophy which he might not have found equally well at home. The distinctive characteristic of the Ionian School, in its first period, was its inquiry into the constitution of the universe. Thales opened this inquiry. It is commonly said : ' Thales taught that the principle of all things was water.' On a first glance, this will perhaps appear a mere extravagance. But the serious student will be slow to accuse his predecessors of sheer and transparent absurdity. The history of Philosophy may be the history of errors ; it is not { 6 THE PHYSICISTS. I »! a history of transparent errors. All the systems which have gained acceptance have had a pregnant meaning, or they would not have been accepted. The meaning represented, and in some way, gave consistency to the opinions of the epoch, and as such is worth penetrating. Thales was one of the most extraordinary men that ever lived, and produced an extraordinary revolution. Such a man was not likely to have enunciated a philosophical thought which any child might have refuted. Let us endeavour to penetrate the meaning of his thought ; let us see if we cannot in some shape trace its rise and growth in his mind. Thales, speculating on the constitution of the universe, could not but strive to discover the one principle — the pri- mary Fact — the substance, of which all special existences were but the modes. Seeing around him constant transfor- mations — birth and death, change of shape, of size, and of mode of existence — he could not regard any one of these variable states of existence as Existence itself. He there- fore asked himself, What is that invariable Existence of which these are the variable states ? In a word, What is the beginning of things ? To ask this question was to open the era of philosophical inquiry. Hitherto men had contented themselves with accepting the world as they found it ; with believing what they saw ; and with adoring what they could not see. Thales felt that there was a vital question to be answered relative to the beginning of things. He looked around him, and the result of his meditation was the conviction that Moisture was the Beginning. He was impressed with this idea by examining 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 imiversal presence of water, he declared it to be the beginning of things. Thales would all the more readily adopt this notion from its harmonising with ancient opinions ; such for instance as THALES. 7 those expressed in Hesiod's Theogony, wherein Oceanus and Thetis are regarded as the parents of all such deities as had any relation to Nature. ' He would thus have performed for the popular religion that which modern science has performed for the book of Genesis : explaining what before was enigma- tical.' * It is this which gives Thales his position in Philosophy. Aristotle calls him 6 tt)* TOLavrrjs apxvyo^ (^iKxxro^ias', it was he who made the first attempt to establish a physical Beginning, without the assistance of myths. He has consequently been accused of Atheism by modern writers ; but Atheism is the growth of a much later thought, and one under no pretence to be attributed to Thales, except on the negative evidence of Aristotle's silence, which we conceive to be directly counter to the supposition, since it is difficult to suppose Aristotle would have been silent had he thought Thales believed or disbelieved in the existence of anything deeper than Water, and prior to it. Water was the apxrj, the beginning of all. When Cicero, following and followed by writers far removed from the times of Thales,t says that ' he held water to be the beginning of things, but that God was the mind which created things out of the water,' he does violence to the chronology of speculation. We agree with Hegel that Thales could have had no conception of God as pure Intelligence, since that is the conception of a more advanced philosophy. We doubt whether he had any concep- tion of a Formative Intelligence or of a Creative Power. Aristotle! very explicitly denies that the old Physicists made any distinction between Matter (tJ vXr) kol to imoKSLfievov) and the Moving Principle or Efficient Cause (17 dpxh ^vs Kivrjascos) ; and he further adds that Anaxagoras was the first who arrived at the conception of a Formative Intelligence. § Thales believed in the Gods and in the generation of the * Benj. Constant, Du PolytkHsme Eomain, i. 167. t And uncritically followed by many moderns who feel a difficulty in placing themselves at the point-of-view of ancient speculation. X Aeistot. Metaph. i. 3. § It will resent! be seen that Diogenes was the first to conceive this. fl 8 THE PHYSICISTS. ANAXIMENES. 9 ■ Gods : they, as all other things, had their origin in water. This is not Atheism, whatever else it may be, K it be true that he held all things to be living, and the world to be full of demons or Gods, there is nothing inconsistent in this with his views about Moisture as the origin, the starting-point, the primary existence. It is needless however to discuss what were the particular opinions of a thinker whose opinions have only reached us in fragments of uncritical tradition; all we certainly know is that the step taken by Thales was twofold in its prompting : — first, to discover the Beginning, the prima materia of all things (17 apxv) ; secondly, to select from among the elements that element which was most potent and omnipresent. To those acquainted with the history of the human mind both these notions will be significant of an entirely new era. § n. Anaximenes. Anaximander is by most historians placed after Thales. We agree with Ritter in giving that place to Anaximenes. The reasons on which we ground this arrangement are, first, that in so doing we follow our safest guide, Aristotle ; secondly, that the doctrines of Anaximenes are the development of those of Thales: whereas Anaximander follows a totally different line of speculation. Indeed, the whole ordinary arrangement of the Ionian School seems to have proceeded on the conviction that each disciple not only contradicted his master, but also returned to the doctrines of his master's teacher. Thus Anaximander is made to succeed Thales, though quite opposed to him; whereas Anaximenes, who only carries out the principles of Thales, is made the disciple of Anaximander. When we state that 212 years, i.e. six or seven generations, are taken up by the lives of the four philosophers said to stand in the relations of teacher and pupil, the reader wiU be able to estimate the value of the traditional relationship. 'Only the names of the great leaders in philosophy were thought worth preserving ; all those who merely applied or extended a doctrine were very properly consigned to oblivion. This is also the principle upon which the present history assigns the position of Anaximenes as second to Thales : not as his disciple, but as his historical successor: as the man who, taking up the speculation where Thales and his disciples left it, transmitted it to successors in a more developed form. Of the life of Anaximenes nothing further is known than that he was born at Miletus, probably in the 63rd Olympiad (b. c. 529), others say in the 58th Olympiad (b. c. 548), but there is no possibility of accurately fixing the date. He is said to have discovered the obliquity of the Ecliptic by means of the gnomon. Pursuing the method of Thales, he could not satisfy himself of the truth of his doctrine. Water was not to him the most significant element. He felt within him a something which moved him he knew not how, he knew not why ; something higher than himself; invisible but ever- present : this he called his life. His life he believed to be air. Was there not also without him, no less than within him, an ever-moving, ever-present, invisible air? The air which was within him, and which he called Life, was it not a part of the air which was without him? and, if so, was not this air the Beginning of Things ? He looked around him, and thought his conjecture was confirmed. The air seemed universal.^ The earth was as a broad leaf resting upon it. All things were produced from it ; all things were resolved into it. When he breathed, he drew in a part of the universal life. All things were nourished by air, as he was nourished by it. To Anaximenes, as to most of the ancients. Air breathed and expired seemed the very stream of life, holding together all the heterogeneous substances of which the body was * When Anaximenes speaks of Air, as whpn Thales speaks of Water, we must not understand these elements as they appear in this or that determinate form on earth, but as Water and Air pregnant with vital energy and capable of infinite transmutations. 10 THE PHYSICISTS. DIOGENES OF APOLLONIA. 11 II m ii' composed, giving them not only unity, but force, vitality. The belief in a living world — that is to say, of the universe as an organism — was very ancient, and Anaximenes, generalising from the phenomena of individual life to universal life, made both dependent on Air. In many respects this was an advance on the doctrine of Thales, and the reader may amuse himself by finding its coincidence with some specula- tions of modem science. A chemist can truly say, * Les Plantes et les Animaux derivent de Pair, ne sont que de I'air condense, ils viennent de Vair et y retoument»* § m. Diogenes of Apollonia. Diogenes of Apollonia is the proper successor to Anaxi- menes, although, from the uncritical arrangement usually adopted, he is made to represent no epoch whatever. Thus, Tennemann places him after Pythagoras. Hegel, by a strange oversight, says that we know nothing of Diogenes but the name. Diogenes wias bom at Apollonia, in Crete. More than this we are unable to state with certainty; but as he is said to have been a contemporary of Anaxagoras, we may assume him to have flourished about the 80th Olympiad (b.c. 460). His work On Nature was extant in the time of Simplicius (the sixth century of our era), who extracted some passages from it. Diogenes adopted the tenet of Anaximenes respecting Air as the origin of things ; but he gave a wider and deeper signifi- cation to the tenet by pointing out the analogy of Air with the Soul."^ Struck with the force of this analogy, he was led to push to its ultimate limits. What is it, he may have asked himself, which constitutes Air the origin of things ? Clearly its vital force. The air is a soul ; therefore it is living and intelligent. But this Force of Intelligence * By Soul i^l^vxfi) we must understand Life in its most general meaning rather than Mind in the modern sense. Thus the treatise of Aristotle wtpl ^ifuxvs is a treatise on the Vital Principle, including Mind, not a treatise on Psychology. is a higher thing than the Air, through which it manifests itself; it must consequently be prior in point of time; it must be the dpxn philosophers have sought. The Universe is a living being, spontaneously evolving itself, deriving its transformation from its own vitality. There are two remarkable points in this conception, both indicative of very great progress in speculation. The first is the attribute of Intelligence, with which the apxn is endowed. Anaximenes considered the primary substance to be an animated substance. Air was Life, in his system ; but the Life did not necessarily imply Intelligence. Diogenes saw that Life was not only Force, but Intelligence ; the Air which stirred within him not only prompted, but instructed. The Air, as the origin of all things, is necessarily an eternal, imperishable substance; but, as soul, it is also necessarily endowed with consciousness. *It knows much,' and this knowledge is another proof of its being the primary sub- stance; 'for without Eeason,' he says, 'it would be im- possible for aU to be arranged duly and proportionately ; and whatever object we consider will be found to be arranged and ordered in the best and most beautiful manner.' Order can result only from Intelligence ; the Soul is therefore the first {apxn) ' This conception was undoubtedly a great one ; but that the reader may not exaggerate its importance, nor suppose that the rest of Diogenes' doctrines were equally rational, we must for the sake of preserving historical truth advert to one or two of his applications of the conception. Thus: The world, as a living unity, must like other individuals derive its vital force from the Whole : hence he attributed to the world a set of respiratory organs, which he fancied he discovered in the stars. All creation and all material action were but respiration and exhalation. In the attraction of moisture to the sun, in the attraction of iron to the magnet, he equally saw a process of respiration. Man is superior to bmtes in intelligence because he inhales a purer air than bmtes who bow their heads to the ground. I '^^. •jfiSE 12 THE PHYSICISTS. 13 These attempts at the explanation of phenomena will suffice to show that although Diogenes had made a large stride, he had accomplished very little of the journey. The second remarkable point indicated by his system is the manner in which it closes the inquiry opened by Thales. Thales, starting from the conviction that one of the four elements was the origin of the world, and Water that element, was followed by Anaximenes, who thought that not only was Air a more universal element than Water, but that, being Hfe, it must be the universal Life. To him suc- ceeded Diogenes, who saw that not only was Air Life, but Intelligence, and that Intelligence must have been the First of Things. I concur therefore with Eitter in regarding Diogenes as the last philosopher attached to the Physical method ; and that in his system the method receives its consummation. Having thus traced one great line of speculation, we must now cast our eyes upon what was being contemporaneously evolved in another direction. CHAPTEE II. THE MATHEMATICIANS.- § I. Anaximandee of Miletus. ' A S we now, for the first time in the history of Greek XX Philosophy, meet with contemporaneous develop- ments, the observation will not perhaps be deemed super- fluous that in the earliest times of philosophy, historical evidences of the reciprocal influence of the two lines either entirely fail or are very unworthy of credit ; on the other hand, the internal evidence is of very limited value, because it is impossible to prove a complete ignorance in one, of the ideas evolved and carried out in the other ; while any argu- ment drawn from an apparent acquaintance therewith is far from being extensive or tenable, since all the olden philo- sophers drew from one common source — the national habit of thought. When indeed these two directions had been more largely pursued, we shall find in the controversial notices sufficient evidence of an active conflict between these very opposite views of nature and the universe. In truth, when we call to mind the inadequate means at the command of the earlier philosophers for the dissemination of their opinions, it appears extremely probable that their respective systems were for a long time known only within a very narrow circle. On the supposition, however, that the philo- sophical impulse of these times was the result of a real national want, it becomes at once probable that the various elements began to show themselves in Ionia nearly at the same time, independently and without any external con- nection.' ^ * RiTTEB : Hut. Phil. i. 265. \\ ' 14 THE MATHEMATICIANS. ANAXIMANDER OF MILETUS. 15 ' t l\ U Tlie chief of the school we are now about to consider was Anaximander, of Miletus, whose birth may be dated in the 42nd Olympiad (b. c. 610). He is sometimes called the friend and sometimes the disciple of Thales. His reputation both for political and scientific knowledge, was very great ; and many important inventions are ascribed to him, amongst others that of the sun-dial and the sketch of a geographical map. His calculations of the size and distance of the heavenly bodies were committed to writing in a small work which is said to be the earliest of all philosophical writings. He was passionately addicted to mathematics, and framed a series of geometrical problems. He was the leader of a colony to ApoUonia ; and he is also reported to have resided at the court of the Tyrant Polycrates, in Samos, where also lived Pythagoras and Anacreon. No two historians are agreed in their interpretation of Anaximander's doctrines; few indeed are agreed as to the historical position he is to occupy, Anaximander is stated to have been the first to use the term apxn for the Beginning of things. What he meant by this term principle is variously interpreted by the ancient writers ; for, although they are unanimous in stating that he called it the infinite {to awsipov), what he imderstood by the infinite is yet undecided.^ On a first view, nothing can well be less intelligible than this tenet : ' The Infinite is the origin of all things.' It either looks like the monotheism of a far later date,t or like the word-jugglery of mysticism. It is neither more nor less difficult of comprehension than the tenet of Thales, that ' Water is the origin of all things.' Let us cast ourselves back in imagination into those early days, and see if we cannot account for the rise of such an opinion. * RiTTER : Hist. Phil. i. 267. t Which it certainly could not have been. To prevent any misconception of the kind, we may merely observe that the Infinite here meant, was not even the Limitless power, much less the Limitless mind, implied in the modern conception. In Anaxagoras, who lived a century later, we find rh Airupov to be no more than vastness.— See SiMPLicrcs, Phys. 33, 6, quoted in Rittkb. On viewing Anaximander side by side with his great pre- decessor and friend, Thales, we cannot but be struck with the exclusively abstract tendency of his speculations. Thales, whose famous maxim, ' Know thyself,' directed the mind to objects essentially concrete, may serve as a contrast to Anaximander, whose axiom, ' The Infinite is the origin of all things,' is a pure effort of abstraction. Let us concede to him this tendency; let us see in him the geometrician rather than the moralist or physicist; let us endeavour to understand how all things presented themselves to his mind in the abstract form, and how mathematics was to him the science of sciences, and we shall then perhaps be able to understand his tenets. Thales, in searching for the origin of things, found it in Water. But Anaximander, accustomed to abstractions, could not accept so concrete a thing as Water : something more ultimate in the analysis was required. Water itself, which in common with Thales he held to be the material of the universe, was it not subject to conditions ? What were those conditions? This Moisture, of which all things are made, does it not cease to be moisture in many instances ? And can that which is the origin of all ever change, ever be confounded with individual things ? Water itself is a Thing ; but a Thing cannot be All Things. The apxn, he said, was not Water ; it must be the Unlimited AU, to aTrsipov. Vague and profitless enough this theory will doubtless appear. The abstraction ' All ' will seem a mere distinction in words. But in Greek Philosophy, as we shall repeatedly notice, distinctions in words were generally equivalent to distinctions in things. And if the reader reflects how the mathematician, by the very nature of his science, is led to regard abstractions as entities — to separate form, and treat of it as if it alone constituted body — there will be no difficulty in conceiving Anaximander's distinction between all Finite Things and the Infinite All. It is thus only we can explain his tenet ; and this expla- nation seems borne out by the testimony of Aristotle and # 16 THE MATHEMATICIANS. lii ( ! Theophrastus, wlio agree that by the Infinite he understood the multitude of elementary parts out of which individual things issued by separation. ' By separation : ' the phrase is significant. It means the passage from the, abstract to the concrete — the All realising itself in the Individual Thing. Call the Infinite by the name of Existence and say, ' There is Existence per se, and Existence per aliud ; the former is the ever-living fountain whence flow the various existing Things,' In this way we may, perhaps, make Anaximander's meaning intelligible. ' Anaximander,' says Ritter, ' is represented as arguing that the primary substance must have been infinite to be all- sufficient for the limitless variety of produced things with which we are encompassed. Now, although Aristotle espe- cially characterises this infinite as a mixture, we must not think of it as a mere multiplicity of primary material ele- ments ; for to the mind of Anaximander it was a Unity immortal and imperishable — an ever-producing energy. This production of individual things he derived from an eternal motion of the Infinite.' The primary Being, according to Anaximander, is unques- tionably a Unity. It is One yet All. It comprises within itself the multiplicity of elements from which all mundane things are composed ; and these elements only need to be separated from it to appear as separate phenomena of nature. Creation is the decomposition of the Infinite. How does this decomposition originate ? By the eternal motion which is the condition of the Infinite. ' He regarded,' says Ritter, ' the Infinite as being in a constant state of incipiency, which, however, is nothing but a constant secretion and concretion of certain immutable elements ; so that we might well say the parts of the whole are constantly changing, while the whole is unchangeable.' The idea of elevating an abstraction into a being, and making it the origin of all things, is questionable enough ; it is as if we were to say, ^ There are numbers 1, 2, 3, 20, 80, 100 ; but there is also Number in the abstract, of which ANAXIMANDER OF MILETUS. 17 these individual numbers are but the concrete realisation : without Number there- would be no numbers.' Yet so dif- ficult is it for the human mind to divest itself of its own abstractions, and to consider them as abstractions, that this error lies at the root of the majority of metaphysical systems. Anaximander separated himself from Thales by regarding the abstract as of higher significance than the concrete : and in this tendency we see the origin of the Pythagorean or mathematical school. The speculations of Thales aimed at discovering the material constitution of the universe ; they were founded, in some degree, upon an induction from observed facts, however imperfect that induction might be. The speculations of Anaximander were wholly deductive ; and, as such, tended towards mathematics, the science of pure deduction. As an example of this mathematical tendency we may allude to his cosmical speculation. The central point in his cosmopoeia was the earth, which, being of a cylindrical form, with a base in the ratio 1 : 3 to its altitude, was retained in its centre by the aid and by the equality of its distances from all the limits of the world. From the foregoing we may judge of the propriety of the ordinary historical arrangement which places Anaxi- mander as the successor of Thales. It is clear that he originated one of the great lines of speculative inquiry, and that one, perhaps, the most curious in all antiquity. By Thales, Water, the origin of things, was held to be a real physical element, which in the hands of his successors became gradually transformed into a merely representative emblem of something wholly different (Life or Mind) ; and the element which lent its name as the representative was looked upon as a secondary phenomenon, derived from that primary force of which it was the. emblem. Water was the real primary element with Thales ; with Diogenes, Water (having pre- viously been displaced for Air) was but the emblem of Mind. Anaximander's conception of the All, though abstract, is nevertheless to a great degree physical : it is All Things. VOL. I. c IS THE MATHEMATICIANS. PYTHAGORAS. 19 ii^ If 41 His conception of the Infinite was not purely ideal ; it had not passed into the state of a symbol ; it was the primary fact of existence; above all, it involved no conception of intelligence except as a mundane finite thing. His to dirsipov was the Infinite Existence, but not the Infinite Mind. This later development we shall meet with hereafter in the Eleatics. § n. Pythagoras. The life of Pythagoras is shrouded in the dim magnifi- cence of legends, from which it is hopeless to attempt to extricate it. Certain general indications are doubtless to be trusted ; but they are few and vague. As a specimen of the trouble necessary to settle any one point in this biography, we will here cite the various dates given by ancient authors and modem scholars as the results of their inquiries into his birth. Diodorus Siculus says 61st Olympiad ; Clemens Alex., 62nd 01. ; Eusebius, 63rd or 64th 01. ; Stanley, 53rd 01. ; Gale, 60th 01. ; Dacier, 47th 01. ; Bentley, 43rd 01.; Lloyd, 43rd 01.; Dodwell, o2nd 01.; Eitter, 49th 01. ; Thirlwall, 51st 01. ; so that the accounts vary within the limits of eighty-four years. If we must make a choice, we should decide with Bentley ; not only out of respect for that magnificent scholar, but because the date he assigns agrees with the probable date of the birth of one known to have been Pythagoras's friend and contemporary, Anaximander. Pythagoras is usually classed amongst the great founders of Mathematics ; and this receives confirmation from what we know of the general scope of his labours, and from the statement ihat he was chiefly occupied with the determination of extension and gravity, and measuring the ratios of musical tones. His science and skill are exaggerated, as indeed is every portion of his life. Fable assigns him the place of a saint, a worker of miracles, and a teacher of more than human wisdom. His very birth was marvellous, some ac- counts making him the son of Hermes, others of Apollo : in proof of the latter, he is said to have exhibited a golden thigh. With a word he tamed the Daunian bear, which was laying waste the country ; with a whisper he restrained an ox from devouring beans. He was heard to lecture at dif- ferent places, such as Metapontum and Taurominium, on the same day and at the same hour. As he crossed the river, the river-god saluted him with ' Hail, Pythagoras ! ' and to him the harmony of the spheres was audible music. Fable enshrines these wonders. But that they could exist, even as legendary lore, is significant of the greatness of Pythagoras. It is well said by Sir L3rfcton Bulwer that ' not only all the traditions respecting Pythagoras, but the certain fact of the mighty effect that in his single person he after- wards wrought in Italy, prove him also to have possessed that nameless art of making a personal impression upon mankind, and creating individual enthusiasm, which is ne- cessary to those who obtain a moral command, and are the founders of sects and institutions. It is so much in confor- mity with the manners of the time and the objects of Pytha- goras, to believe that he diligently explored the ancient religious and political systems of Greece, from which he had been long a stranger, that we cannot reject the traditions (however disfigured with fable) that he visited Delos, and affected to receive instructions from the pious ministrants of Delphi.'^ Whenever we find romantic or miraculous deeds narrated we may be certain that the hero was great enough at least to sustain the weight of this crown of fabulous glory. But the greatness thus indicated is thought to be dimi- nished by the tradition of his having borrowed all his learning and philosophy from the East. Could not so great a man dispense with foreign teachers ? Assuredly ; but this is no proof that he did dispense with them. The question of fact is not to be thus disposed of. The historian will ask for better evidence. Unfortunately the evidence on this subject is of little worth. Not until a century and a half had elapsed * Athens, its Rise and Fall, ii. 412. C 2 so THE MATHEMATICLVNS. PYTHAGORAS. 21 m (I from the death of Pythagoras was there any statement, now recoverable, made respecting this voyage into Egypt, and then it occurred in an oration by Isocrates, in which the constitution of Lacedsemon is also derived from Egypt. "^^ This is obviously untrustworthy. Aristotle, a better authority, never alludes to Egypt. Nor did the notion gain general acceptance until fifty years or so after Isocrates, when the Greeks had come into frequent connection with the East, and all marvels were supposed to have their origin there. The imaginative Greeks were peculiarly prone to invest the distant and the foreign with striking attributes. They could not believe in wisdom springing up from amongst them ; they turned to the East as to a vast and unknown region, whence all novelty, even of thought, must come. When we consider, as Ritter observes, how Egypt was peculiarly the wonder-land of the olden Greeks, and how, even in later times, when it was so much better known, it was still, as it is to this day, calculated to excite awe by the singular character of its people, which, reserved in itself, was always obtruding on the observer's attention through the stupendous structures of national architecture, we can easily imagine how the Greeks were led to establish some connec- tion between this mighty East and their great Pythagoras. If Pythagoras had travelled into Egypt, or indeed listened to the relations of those who had done so, he would indeed have thereby obtained as much knowledge of Egyptian customs as appears in his system without his having had the least instniction from the Priesthood. The doctrine of me- tempsychosis was a public doctrine with the Egyptians; though, as Eitter says, he might not have been indebted to them even for that. Funeral customs and abstinence from particular kinds of food were things to be noticed by any traveller. But the fundamental objection to Pythagoras having been instructed by the Egyptian Priests, is to be sought in the constitution of the priestly caste itself. If the * Zelleh; Vvrtrlige uvd Abhandlungen gcschkhllicken lahalts, 1865, p. 46. priests were so jealous of instruction as not to bestow it even on the most favoured of their countrymen beyond their caste, how unreasonable to suppose that they would bestow it on a stranger, and one of a different religion ! The ancient writers were sensible of this objection. To get rid of it they invented a story which we shall give as it is given by Brucker. Polycrates was in friendly relations %vith Amasis, King of Egypt, to whom he sent Pythagoras, with a recommendation to enable him to gain access to the Priests. The King's authority was not sufficient to prevail on the Priests to admit a stranger to their mysteries : they referred Pythagoras therefore to Thebes, as of greater anti- quity. The Theban Priests were awed by the Royal mandate, but were loath to admit a stranger to their rites. To disgust the novice, they forced him to undergo several severe cere- monies, amongst which was circumcision. But he could not be discouraged. He obeyed all their injunctions with such patience that they resolved to take him into their confidence. He spent two-and-twenty years in Egypt, and returned perfect master of all science. This is not a bad story : the only objection to it is that it has not a fact to rest on. To Pythagoras the invention of the word philosopher is ascribed. When he was in Peloponnesus he was asked by Leontius, what was his art. ' I have no art ; I am a philo- sopher,' was the reply. Leontius never having heard the name before, asked what it meant. Pythagoras gravely answered, ' This life may be compared to the Olympic games : for as in this assembly some seek glory and the crowns ; some by the purchase or by the sale of merchandise seek gain ; and others, more noble than either, go there neither for gain nor for applause, but solely to enjoy this wonderful spectacle, and to see and know all that passes. We, in the same manner, quit our country, which is Heaven, and come into the world, which is an assembly where many work for profit, many for gain, and where there are but few who, despising avarice and vanity, study nature. It is these last whom I call philosophers ; for as there is nothing more noble than to I! li 22 THE MATHEMATICIANS. PYTHAGORAS. 23 I be a spectator without any personal interest, so in this life the contemplation and knowledge of nature are infinitely more honourable than any other application.' It is necessary to observe that the ordinary interpretation of philosopher, as Pythagoras meant it, a ' lover of wisdom,' is only accurate where the utmost extension is given to the word ' lover.' Wisdom must be the * be-all and the end-all here ' of the philosopher, and not simply a taste or a pursuit. It must be his mistress, to whom a life is devoted. This was the meaning of Pythagoras. The word which had before designated a wise man was (To6s, But he wished to distin- guish himself from the Sophoi, or philosophers of his day, by name, as he had done by system. What was the meaning of Sophos ? Unquestionably what we mean by a wise man, as distinct from a philosopher ; one whose wisdom is practical, and turned to practical purposes ; one who loves wisdom not for its own sake so much as for the sake of its uses. Now Pythagoras loved wisdom for its own sake. Contemplation was to him the highest exercise of humanity: to bring wisdom down to the base purposes of life was desecration. He called himself therefore a philosopher — a lover of Wisdom — to demarcate himself from those who sought Wisdom only as a power to be used for ulterior ends. This interpretation of the wor^S^hilosopher may explain some of his opinions. Above all, it explains the constitution of his Secret Society, into which no one was admitted except after a severe initiation. For five years the novice was con- demned to silence. Many relinquished the task in despair ; they were unworthy of the contemplation, of pure wisdom. Others, in whom the tendency to loquacity was observed to be less, had the period commuted. Various humiliations had to be endured : various experiments were made of their powers of self-denial. By these Pj-thagoras judged whether they were worldly-minded, or whether they were fit to be admitted into the sanctuary of science. Having purged their souls of the baser particles by purifications, sacrifices and initiations, they were admitted to the sanctuary, where the higher part of the soul was purged by the knowledge of truth, which consists >in the knowledge of immaterial and eternal things. For this purpose Pythagoras commenced philosophy with Mathematics, because, as they just preserve the medium between corporeal and incorporeal things, they can alone draw off the mind from Sensible things and conduct them to Intelligibles. By his later disciples he was venerated as a God, He who could transcend all earthly struggles, and the great ambitions of the greatest men, 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, majesti- cal, 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, Hesiod, and Thales, or listening to the harmony of the spheres. And to a lively, talkative, quibbling, active, versatile people like the Greeks, what a grand phenomencn must this solemn, earnest, silent, meditative man have ap- peared ? ' Pythagoras,' says Sir Lytton Bulwer, ' arrived in Italy during the reign of Tarquinius Superbus, according to the testimony of Cicero and Aulus • Gellius, and fixed his resi- dence in Croton, a city in the bay of Tarentum, colonised by Greeks of the Acha3an tribe. If we may lend a partial credit to the extravagant fables of later disciples, endeavour- ing to extract from florid superaddition some original germ of simple truth, it would seem that he first appeared in the character of a teacher of youth, and, as was not unusual in those times, soon rose from the preceptor to the legislator. Dissensions in the city favoured his objects. The Senate (consisting of a thousand members, doubtless of a different race from the body of the people ; the first the posterity of the settlers, the last the native population) availed itself of the arrival and influence of an eloquent and renowned philo- sopher. He lent himself to the consolidation of aristocracies. 24 THE MATHEMATICIANS. and was equally inimical to democracy and tyranny. But his policy was that of no vulgar ambition. He refused, at least for a time, ostensible power and office, and was con- tented with instituting an organised and formidable society, not wholly dissimilar to that mighty Order founded by Loyohi in times comparatively recent. The disciples admitted into this society underwent examination and probation : it was through degrees that they passed into its higher honours, and were admitted into its deeper secrets. Eeligion made the basis of the fraternity, but religion connected with human ends of advancement and power. He selected the three hundred who at Croton formed his Order, from the noblest families, and they were professedly reared to know themselves, that so they might be fitted to command the world. It was not long before this society, of which Pythagoras was the head, appears to have supplanted the ancient Senate, and obtained the legislative administration. In this Institution Pythagoras stands alone ; no other founder of Greek philo- sophy resembles him. By all accounts he also differed from the other sages of his time in his estimation of the import- ance of women. He is said to have lectured to, and taught them. His wife was herself a philosopher, and fifteen dis- ciples of the softer sex rank among the prominent orna- ments of his school. An Order based upon so profound a knowledge of all that can fascinate or cheat mankind could not fail to secure a temporary power. His influence was un- bounded in Croton : it extended to other Italian cities ; it amended or overturned political constitutions; and had Pythagoras possessed a more coarse and personal ambition, he might perhaps have founded a mighty dynasty, and en- riched our social annals with the result of a new experiment. But his was the ambition not of a hero, but a sage. He wished rather to establish a system than to exalt himself. His immediate followers saw not all the consequences that might be derived from the fraternity he founded ; and the political designs of his gorgeous and august philosophy, only for awhile successful, left behind them but the mummeries PYTHAGORAS. 25 of an impotent freemasonry, and the enthusiastic ceremonies of half-witted ascetics. - * It was when this power, so mystic and so revolutionary, had, by the means of branch societies, established itself throughout a considerable portion of Italy, that a general feeling of alarm and suspicion broke out against the sage and his sectarians. The anti-Pythagorean risings, according to Porphyry, were sufficiently numerous and active to be remembered long generations afterwards. Many of the sage's friends are said to have perished, and it is doubtful whether Pythagoras himself fell a victim to the rage of his enemies, or died, a fugitive, amongst his disciples at Meta- pontum. Nor was it until nearly the whole of Lower Italy was torn by convulsions, and Greece herself drawn into the contest as pacificator and arbiter, that the ferment was allayed. The Pythagorean institutions were abolished, and the timocratic democracies of the Achseans rose upon the ruins of those intellectual but ungenial oligarchies. ' Pythagoras committed a fatal error when, in his attempt to revolutionise society, he had recourse to aristocracies for his agents. Revolutions, especially those influenced by religion, can never be worked out but by popular emotions. It was from this error of judgment that he enlisted the people against him ; for by the accoimt of ISTeanthes, related by Porphyry, and indeed from all other testimony, it is clearly evident that to popular not party commotion his fall must be ascribed. It is no less clear that after his death, while his philosophical sect remained, his political code crumbled away. The only seeds sown by philosophers which spring up into great States, are those that, whether for good or evil, are planted in the hearts of the Many.' We cannot omit the story which so long amused the world, respecting his discovery of the musical chords. Hearing one day, in the shop of a blacksmith, a number of men striking successively a piece of heated iron, he remarked that all the hammers, except one, produced harmonious chords, viz. the octave, the fifth, and the third; but the LT-^J-'ll r.r.qBgf' *>rfwiiW« 26 THE MATHEMATICIANS. ^ sound between the fifth and the third was discordant. On entering the workshop, he found the diversity of sounds was owing to the difference in the weight of the hammers. He took the exact weights, and on reaching home suspended four strings of equal dimensions, and hanging a weight at the end of each of the strings equal to the weight of each hammer, he struck the strings, and found the sounds cor- respond with those of the hammers. He then proceeded to the formation of a musical scale. This story is significant of the lax credulity which allows historical fictions to become current without any attempt being made to ascertain whether they have even a basis in fact. A story should be shown to be within the limits of possibility ; that is the least demand we can make. But, in the present case, * Though both hammers and anvil have been swallowed by ancients and modems with most ostrich- like digestion, yet upon examination and experiment it appears that hammers of different size and weight will no more produce different tones upon the same anvil, than bows or clappers of different size wiU from the same string or bell.'^ ^ § III. Philosophy of Pythagoras. There is no system more difficult to seize and represent accurately than that commonly called the Pythagorean. It has made prodigious noise in the world ; and is consequently often confounded with its distant echoes. An air of mysterj^, always inviting to a large class, surrounds it. The mar- vellous relations concerning its iUustrious founder, the sup- posed assimilation it contains of various elements of Eastern speculation, and the supposed symbolical nature of its doctrines, have aU equally combined to render it attractive and contradictory: Every dogma in it has been traced to some prior phHosophy. Not a vestige wiU remain to be caUed the property of the teacher himself, if we restore to the Jews, Indians, Egyptians, Chaldeans, Phoenicians, nay even * BuENEY, Hist, of Music. PHILOSOPHY OF PYTHAGORAS. 27 Thracians, those various portions which he is declared to have borrowed from them. All this pretended plagiarism we incline to think ex- tremely improbable : Pythagoras was a consequence of Anax- imander; and his doctrines, in as far as we can gather their leading tendency, were but a continuation of that abstract and deductive philosophy of which Anaximander was the originator. At the outset we must premise, that whatever interest there may be in following out the particular opinions recorded as belonging to Pythagoras, such a process is quite incompatible with our plan. The greatest uncertainty still exists, and must for ever exist amongst scholars, respecting the genuineness of those opinions. Even such as are re- corded by trustworthy authorities are always vaguely attri- buted by them to Hhe Pythagoreans,' not to Pythagoras. Modem criticism has clearly shown that the works attributed to Timaeus and Archytas are spurious; and that the supposed treatise of Ocellus Lucanus on the 'Nature of the All' cannot even have been written by a Pythagorean. Plato and Ai'istotle, the only ancient writers who are to be trusted in this matter, do not attribute any peculiar doctrines to Pythagoras. The reason is simple. Pythagoras taught in secret ; and never vn-ote. What he taught his disciples it is impossible accurately to learn from what those disciples themselves taught. His influence over their minds was unquestionably immense; and this influence Avould com- municate to his school a distinctive tendency, but not one accordant doctrine ; for each scholar would carry out that tendency in the direction which best suited his tastes and powers. The extreme difficulty of ascertaining accurately what Pythagoras thought, or even what his disciples thought, will not embarrass us if we can but ascertain the general tendency of their speculations, and, above all, the peculiarity of their method. For this difficulty— which, to the critical historian insuperable, only affects us indirectly — renders indeed our ^"i 28 THE MATHEMATICIANS. PHILOSOPHY OF PYTHAGORAS. 29 endeavour to seize the characteristic method and tendency more hazardous and more liable to contradiction; but it does not compel us to interrupt our march for the sake of storm- ing every individual fortress of opinion we may encounter on our way. We have to trace out the map of the philosophical world ; we must be careful to ascertain the great outlines of each country: this we may be enabled to do without absolutely being acquainted with the internal varieties of that country, for geographers are not bound to be also geo- logists. What were the method and tendency of the Pythagorean school? The method, purely deductive; the tendency, wholly towards the consideration of abstractions as the only true materials of science. Hence the name not unfrequently given to that school, of ^ the Mathematical.' The list of Pythagoreans embraces the greatest names in mathematics and astronomy,— Archytas and Philolaus, and subsequently Hipparchus and Ptolemy.''^ We may now perhaps, in some sort, comprehend what Pythagoras meant when he taught that Numbers were the principles of Things : Toi;9 apiOfjLoijs airlovs ehai rrJ9 odala9,f or, to translate more literally, « Numbers are the cause of the material existence of Things : ' ovaia being here evidently the expression of concrete existence. This is confirmed by the wording of the formula given elsewhere by Aristotle, that Nature is realised from Numbers: Tr)p olical meaning ; a belief Aristotle had certainly no suspicion of. I have trans- lated all the passages bearing on this point at the close of this Section. 32 TilE MATHEMATICIANS. PHILOSOPHY OF PYTHAGORAS. 33 i inspection exhibit the real meaning of Pythagoras to be directly the reverse of symbolical. Symbols are arbitrary marks, bearing no resemblance to the things they represent ; a, h, c, X are but letters of the alphabet ; the mathematician makes them the symbols of quantities, or of things ; but no one would call x the copy of an unknown quantity. But what is the meaning of Things being copies of Numbers, if they are Numbers in essence ? The meaning we must seek in anterior explanations. We shaU there find that Things are the con- Crete existences of abstract Existence ; and that when Numbers are said to be the principia, it is meant that the forms of material things, the original essences, which remain in- variable, are Numbers.^ Thus a stone is one stone ; as such it is a copy of One ; it is the realisation of the abstract One into a concrete stone. Let the stone be ground to dust, and the particle of dust is still a copy, another copy of the One. The reader will bear in mind that we have only a few mystical expressions, such as, * Number is the principle of Things,' handed down to us as the doctrines of a thinker who created a considerable school, and whose influence on philosophy was undeniably immense. We have to interpret these expressions as we best can. Above all, we have to give them some appearance of plausibility ; and this not so much an appearance of plausibility to modem thinkers as what would have been plausible to the ancients. Now, as far as we have familiarised ourselves with the antique modes of thought, our interpretation of Pythagoras is one which, if not the true, is at any rate very analogous to it : by such a logical process he might have arrived at his conclusions, and for our purpose this is almost the same as if he had arrived at them by it. This history has but to settle two questions respecting * Hence we must caution against supposing Pythagoras to have anticipated the theory of * definite proportions.' Numbers are not the laws of combination, nor the expression of those laws, but the essences which remain invariable under every variety of combination. Pythagoras : first, did he regard Numbers as symbols merely, or as entities ? Second*, if he regarded them as entities, how could he have arrived at such an opinion ? The second of these questions has been answered in a hypothetical manner in the remarks just made ; but of course the explanation is worthless if the first question be negatived, and to that question therefore we now turn. If we are to accept the authority of Aristotle, the question is distinctly and de- cisively answered, as we have seen, in favour of the reality of Numbers. It is true that doubts are thrown on the authority of Aristotle, who is said to have misunderstood or mis- represented the Pythagorean doctrine ; but when we consider the comprehensiveness and exactness of Aristotle's mighty intellect ; when we consider further that he had paid more than his usual attention to the doctrines of the Pythagoreans, having written a special treatise thereon, we shall be slow to reject any statement he may make, unless better evidence is produced ; and where can better evidence be sought ? Either we must accept Aristotle, or be silent on the whole matter ; unless, indeed, we prefer — as many prefer — our own sagacity to his authority. It may be stated as a final consideration, that the view taken by the Stagirite is in perfect conformity with the opinions of Anaximander ; so that, given the philo- sophy of the master, we might a priori deduce the opinions of the pupil. The nature of this Work forbids any detailed account of the various opinions attributed to Pythagoras on subsidiary points. But we may instance his celebrated theory of the music of the spheres as a good specimen of the deductive method employed by him. Assuming that everything in the great Arrangement [Koafios), which he called the world, must be harmoniously arranged, and assuming that the planets were at the same proportionate distances from one another as the divisions of the monochord, he concluded that in passing through the ether they must make a sound, and that this sound would vary according to the diversity of their magnitude, velocity, and relative distance. Saturn gave the VOL. I, n 34 THE MATHEMATICIANS. I I N f deepest tone, as being the furthest from the earth ; the Moon gave the shrillest, as being nearest to the earth. It may be necessary just to state that the attempt to make Pythagoras a Monotheist is utterly without solid basis, and unworthy of detailed refutation. His doctrine of the Transmigration of Souls has been re- garded as symbolical ; with very little reason, or rather with no reason at all. He defined the soul to be a Monad (unit) which was self-moved."^ Of course the soul, inasmuch as it was a number, was One, i. e. perfect. But all perfection, in as far as it is moved, must pass into imperfection, whence it strives to regain its state of perfection. Imperfection he called a departure from unity ; two therefore was accursed. The soul in man is in a state of comparative imperfection. f It has three elements. Reason {vovs). Intelligence (priv), and Passion (Ovfios) : the two last man has in common with brutes ; the first is his distinguishing characteristic. It has hence been concluded that Pythagoras covdd not have main- tained the doctrine of transmigration, his distinguishing man from brutes being a refutation of those who charge him with the doctrine. t The objection is plausible, and points out a contradiction ; but there is abundant evidence for the belief that transmigration was taught.§ The soul, being a self-moved monad, is One, whether it connect itself with two or with three ; in other words the essence remains the same whatever its manifestations. The One soul may have two aspects. Intelligence and Passion, as in brutes ; or it may have the three aspects, as in man. Each of these aspects may predominate, and the man will then become eminently rational, or able, or sensual. He will be a philosopher, a man of the world, or a beast. Hence the importance of the * Abistot., De Animd, i. 2. t Thus Aristotle expresses himself when he says that the Pythagoreans main- tained the soul and intelligence to be a certain combination of numbers, i^ S* TOiocSl {sc. ruv apienatv rrados) ^vxh Ka\ povs. — Metaph., \. 5. \ PiEKKE Leroux, De tHumanite, i. 390-426. § Plato distinctly mentions the transmigration into beasts.— P^priv) to become merely sensual and concupiscible, does not this abdication of Eeason and Intelligence distinctly prove them to be only variable manifestations (phenontiena) of the in- variable Essence ? Assuredly ; and those who argue for the Soul of the World as an Intelligence in the Pythagorean doctrine, must renounce both the doctrine of transmigration and the central doctrine of the system, the invariable Number as the Essence of things. Pythagoras represents the second epoch of the second Branch of Ionian Philosophy; he is parallel with Anaximenes. Translations from the hth Chapter of Booh I. of Aristotle's Metaphysics, 'In the age of these philosophers [the Eleats and Atomists], and even before them, lived those called Pytha- goreans, who at first applied themselves to mathematics, a science they improved ; and, having been trained exclusively in it, they fancied that the principles of mathematics were the principles of all things. * Since numbers are by nature prior to all things, in Numbers they thought they perceived greater analogies with that which exists and that which is produced {ofjLOLcofjLara TToXXA To2s ovcTL Kul yiyvofi^vois) than in fire, earth, or water. So that a certain combination of Numbers was justice ; and a certain other combination of Numbers was Reason and Intelligence; and a certain other combination of Numbers was opportunity (Kaipos) ; and so of the rest. * Moreover they saw in Numbers the combinations of har- mony. Since therefore all things seemed formed similarly to Numbers, and Numbers being by nature anterior to things, they concluded that the elements {aToixela) of Numbers are the elements of things, and that the whole heaven is a harmony and a Number. Having indicated the great ana- logies between Numbers and the phenomena of heaven and its parts, and with the phenomena of the whole world {rrjv oKr)v SiaKoo-fMijaLv) they formed a system ; and if any gap was apparent in the system, they used every effort to restore the connection. Thus, since Ten appeared to them a perfect number, potentially containing all numbers, they declared that the moving celestial bodies (ret (pspo/Msva Kara top ovpavov) were ten in number; but because only nine are visible they imagined {iroLovaL) a tenth, the Antichthone, * We have treated of all these things more in detail else- where. But the reason why we recur to them is this — that we may learn from these philosophers also what they lay down as their first principles, and by what process they hit upon the causes aforesaid. ' They maintained that Number was the Beginning (Prin- ciple, apxr)) of things, the cause of their material existence, and of their modifications and different states. The elements {(TTOLx'sla) of Number are Odd and Even. The Odd is finite, the Even Infinite. Unity, the One, partakes of both these, and is both Odd and Even. All number is derived from the One. The heavens, as we said before, are composed of num- bers. Other Pythagoreans say there are ten Principia, those called co-ordinates : — The finite and the infinite. The odd and the .even. The one and the many. The right and the left. The male and the female. The quiescent and the moving. The right line and the curve. Light and darkness. Good and evil. The square and the oblong. *. . . All the Pythagoreans considered the elements as material ; for the elements are in all things, and constitute the world. ... * . . . The finite, the infinite, and the One they maintained V :l 38 THE MATHEMATICIANS. 89 li I • 14^ f to be not separate existences, such as are fire, water, etc. ; but the abstract Infinite and the abstract One are respectively the substance of the things of which they are predicated, and hence, too. Number is the substance of all things (avro TO dirsipov, Kol avro to 'sv, ova Lav slvai tovtov). .They began by attending only to the Form, and began to define it ; but on this subject they were very imperfect. They define super- ficially ; and that which suited their definition they declared to be the essence (causa materialis) of the thing defined ; as if one should maintain that the double and the number two are the same thing, because the double is first found in the two. But two and the double are not equal (in essence), or if so, then the one would be many; a consequence which follows from their (the Pythagorean) doctrine.' {Here also a passage from the 7th Chapter of the same Boole) *The Pythagoreans employ the Principia and Elements more strangely than even the Physiologists ; the cause of which is that they do not take them from sensible things [avras ovK E^ ala6rjT(ov), However aU their researches are physical ; all their systems are physical. They explain the production of heaven, and observe that which takes place in its various parts, and its revolutions; and thus they employ their Principles and Causes, as if they agreed with the Physio- logists, that whatever is is material {alaOrjTov), and is that which contains what we call heaven. ' But their Causes and Principles we should pronounce sufficient {Uavds) to raise them up to the conception of Intellio-ible things — of things above sense {eTravafirjvai Kal hrl ra avcoTspco rtov ovrcov) ; and would accord with such a conception much better than with that of physical things.' This criticism of Aristotle's is a refutation of those who see in Pythagoras the traces of symbolical doctrine. Aristotle sees how much more rational the doctrine would have been had it been symbolical ; but this very remark proves that it was not so. CHAPTER III. THE ELEATICS. i § I. Xenophanes. THE contradictory statements which so long obscured the question of the date of Xenophanes' birth, may now be said to be satisfactorily cleared up. M. Victor Cousin's essay on the subject will leave few readers unconvinced.^ We may assert therefore with some probability, that Xenophanes was bom in the 40th Olympiad (b. c. 620-616), and that he lived nearly a hundred years. His birth-place was Colophon, an Ionian city of Asia Minor ; a city long famous as the seat of elegiac and gnomic poetry ; the poet Mimnermus was among its celebrated men. Xenophanes cultivated poetry from youth upwards ; it was the joy of his youth, the consolation of his manhood, and support of his old-age. Banished from his native city, he wandered over Sicily as a Ehapsodist ; f a profession he exercised apparently till his death, though, if we are to credit Plutarch, with very little pecuniary benefit. He lived poor, and died poor. But he coidd dis- pense with riches, having within him treasures inexhaustible : his soul was absorbed in the contemplation of grand ideas, and his vocation was the poetical expression of those ideas. He had no pity for the idle and luxurious superstitions of his time; he had no tolerance for the sunny legends of Homer, defaced as they were by the errors of polytheism. * Cousin: Nouveaux Fragrnens Philosophiqiies. See also Kaesten : Xenophanis Carminum Rdiquice. t The Rhapsodists were the Minstrels of antiquity. They learned poems by heart, and recited them to assembled crowds on the occasions of feasts. Homer was a rhapsodist, and rhapsodised his own yerses. l! 1 'I 8 40 THE ELEATICS. He, a pcet, was fierce in the combat he perpetually waged with the first of poets : not from petty envy ; not from petty ignorance ; but from the deep sincerity and enthusiasm of reverence. He who believed in one God, supreme in power, goodness, and intelligence, could not witness without pain the . degradation of the Divine in the common religion. Alive to the poetic beauty of the Homeric fables, he was also keenly alive to their religious falsehood. Plato, whom none will accuse of wanting poetical taste, had the same feeling. The latter portion of the second and the beginning of the third books of Plato's Republic are but expansions of these verses of Xenophanes : — Such things of the Gods are related by Homer and Hesiod As would be shame and abiding disgrace to any of mankind ; Promises broken, and thefts, and the one deceiving the other. He who firmly believed in One God, of all beings divine and human the greatest, Neither in body alike unto mortals, neither in spirit,* could not but see, ' more in sorrow than in anger,' the gross anthropomorphism of his fellows : — But 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. f In confirmation of which satire he referred to the Ethio- pians, who represent their gods with flat noses and black * This is too important a position to admit of our passing over the original : — Eh 6€hs iv T€ dtoiai /col avdpdyiroiffi fifyiffros, Oin€ ^fjjas 6vt]ro1(Tiv bfio'iios oijrf pdrifxa. — Fragm. i., ed. Kjlrsten. WiGGERS, in his Life of Socrates, expresses his surprise that Xenophanes was allowed to speak so freely respecting the State Keligion in Magna Graecia, when philosophical opinions much less connected with religion had proved so fatal to Anaxagoras in Athens. But the apparent contradiction is perhaps reconciled when we remember that Xenophanes was a poet, and poets have in all ages been somewhat privileged persons. t Fragments v. and vi. are here united, as in Ritter ; the sense seems to demand this conjunction. But Clemens Alexandrinus quotes the second Fragment as if it occurred in another part of the poem ; introducing it with koX raKw at>piK6s of the Greeks is the rotundus of the Latins. It is a metaphorical expression such as that of square, meaning perfect; an expression which, though now become trivial, had at the birth of mathematical science something noble and elevated in it, and is found in most elevated compositions of poetry. Simonides speaks of a " man square as to his feet, his hands, and his mind," meaning an accomplished man ; and the metaphor is also used by Aristotle. It is not therefore surprising that Xenophanes, a poet as weU as a philosopher, writing in verse, and incapable of finding the metaphysical expression which answered to his ideas, should have borrowed from the language of imagination the expres- sion which would best render his idea.' We should be tempted to adopt this explanation could we be satisfied that the Physics of Xenophanes were precisely what it is said they were, or that they were such at the epoch in which he maintained the sphericity of God. This latter difficulty is insuperable, but has been unobserved by all critics. A man who lives a hundred years necessarily changes his opinions on such subjects ; and when opinions are so lightly grounded as were those of philosophers at that epoch, it is but natural to admit that the changes may have been frequent and abrupt. In this special instance, scholars have been aware of the very great and irreconcilable contra- dictions existing between certain opinions equally authentic ; showing him to have been decidedly Physical in one depart- ment, and as decidedly Mathematical in another. As to the case in point, Aristotle's express statement of Xenophanes having ' looked up at heaven, and pronounced The One to be God,' is manifestly at variance with any belief in the infinity of the lower regions of the earth. The One must be the Lifinite. 46 THE ELEATICS. THE PHILOSOPHY OF XENOPHANES. 47 \U To return, however, to his Monotheism, or more properly Pantheism, which is the greatest peculiarity of his doctrine : he not only destroyed the notion of a multiplicity of Gods, but he proclaimed the Self-existence and Intelligence of The One. God must be Self-existent; for to conceive Being as in- cipient is impossible. Nothing can be produced from Nothing. Whence, therefore, was Being produced? From itself? No; for then it must have been already in existence to produce itself, otherwise it would have been produced from nothing. Hence the primary law : Being is self-existent. K self- existent, consequently eternal. As in this it is implied that God is all-powerful and all- wise and all-existent, a multiplicity of Gods is inconceivable. It also follows that God is immovable, when considered as The All:— Wholly unmoved and unmoving it ever remains in the same place, Without change in its place when at times it changes appeamnce. The All must be unmoved ; there is nothing to move it. It cannot move itself; for to do so it must be external to itself. We must not suppose that he denied motion to finite things because he denied it to the Infinite. He only maintained that The All was unmoved. Finite things were moved by God : ' without labour he ruleth all things by reason and insight.' His monotheism was carefully distinguished from anthropomorphism, as the verses previously quoted have already exemplified. Let us only further remark on the passage in Diogenes Laertius, wherein he is said to have maintained that ' God did not resemble man, for he heard and saw aU things without respiration,' This is manifestly an allusion to the doctrine of Anaximenes that the soul was air. The intelligence of God, being utterly unlike that of man, is said to be independent of respiration."^ ♦ Only by thus connecting one doctrine with another can we hope to unders^fand ancient philosophy. It is in vain that we puzzle ourselves with the attempt to penetrate the meaning of these antique fragments of thought unless we view them in relation to the opinions of their epoch. It is necessary to caution the reader against the supposi- tion that by the One God Xenophanes meajit a Personal God distinct from the universe. He was a monotheist in contra- distinction to his polytheistical contemporaries; but his monotheism was pantheism. Indeed this point would never have been doubted, notwithstanding the ambiguity of lan- guage, if modems had steadily kept before their minds the conceptions held by the Greeks of their Gods as personifica- tions of the Powers of Nature. When Xenophanes argued against the polytheism of his contemporaries, he argued against their personifying as distinct deities the various aspects of The One ; he was wroth with their degradation of the divine nature by assimilating it to human nature, by making these powers persons, and independent existences — conceptions irreconcilable with that of the unity of God. He was a monotheist therefore, but his monotheism was pantheism ; he could not separate God from the world, which was merely the manifestation of God ; He could not conceive God as the One Existent, and admit the existence of a world not God. There could be but One Existence with many modes ; that one was God. There is another tenet of almost equal importance in his system, and one which marks the origin of that sceptical philosophy which we shall see henceforward running through all the evolutions of this history, always determining a crisis in speculation. Up to the time of Xenophanes philosophy was unsuspectingly dogmatical ; it never afterwards recovered that simple position. He it was who began to doubt, and to confess the incompetence of Reason to solve doubts and compass the exalted aims of philosophy. Yet the doubt was moral rather than psychological. It was no systematic scepticism : an earnest spirit struggling after Truth, when- ever he obtained, or thought he obtained, a glimpse of her celestial countenance he proclaimed his discovery, however 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 ^ 48 THE ELEATICS. THE PHILOSOPHY OF XENOPHANES. 49 ^1 ' I ^ I •I'ji desirous of solving — these working together produced in his mind a scepticism of a noble, somewhat touching sort, wholly unlike that of his successors. It was the combat of contra- dictory opinions in his mind, rather than disdain of know- ledge. His faith 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 imable to reduce to a consistent formula. There is deep sadness in these verses : — Surely never hath been, nor ever shall be a mortal 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. In vain M. Cousin attempts to prove that these verses are not sceptical ; many of the recorded opinions of Xenophanes are of the same tendency. The man who had lived to find his most cherished convictions turn out errors, might well be sceptical of the truth of any of his opinions. But this scepticism was vague; it did not prevent his proclaiming what he held to be the truth ; it did not prevent his search after truth. For although Truth could never be compassed in its totality by man, glimpses could be caught. !\\\A XP^^^ ^r)TovvTss i(f>svpLaKovaLv dfisivov : we cannot indeed be certain that our knowledge is absolute ; we can only strive our utmost, and believe our opinions to be probable. This is not scientific scepticism ; it does not ground itself on an investi- gation of the nature of Intelligence and the sources of our knowledge : it grounds itself solely on the perplexities into which philosophy is thrown. Thus reason (i. e. the logic of his day) taught him that God the Infinite could not be infinite, neither could he be finite. Not infinite, because non-being alone, as having neither beginning, middle, nor end, is unlimited (infinite). Not finite, because one thmg can only be limited by another, and God is one, not many. In like manner did logic teach him that God was neither moved nor unmoved. Not moved, because one thing can only be moved by another, and God is one, not many ; not Tmmoved, because non-being alone is unmoved, inasmuch as it neither goes to another, nor does another come to it. With such verbal quibbles as these did this great thinker darken his conception of the Deity. They were not quibbles to him; they were the real conclusions involved in the premises from which he reasoned. To have doubted their validity would have been to doubt the possibility of philo- sophy. He was not quite prepared for that ; and Aristotle in consequence calls him ' somewhat clownish,' aypoiKOTspos (Met. i. 5) ; meaning that his conceptions were rude and imdigested, instead of being systematised. Although in the indecision of Xenophanes we see the germs of later scepticism, we are disposed to agree with M. Cousin in discrediting his absolute scepticism — resting on the incomprehensibility of all things — dKaTokTpjrla irdvTcop. Nevertheless some of M. Cousin's grounds appear to us questionable."*^ The reader will, perhaps, have gathered from the fore- going, that Xenophanes was too much in earnest to believe in the incomprehensibility of all things, however the contra- dictions of his logic might cause him to suspect his own and other people's conclusions. Of course, if carried out to their legitimate consequences, his principles lead to absolute scepticism ; but he did not so carry them out, and we have no right to charge him with consequences which he himself did not draw. Indeed, it is one of the greatest and com- monest of polemical errors, to charge the originator or sup- porter of a doctrine with consequences which he did not see, or would not have accepted had he seen them. Because they may be contained in his principles, it by no means * E. g. he say8 : * It appears that Sotion, accoi'ding to Diogenes, attributed to Xenophanes the opinion, all things are incomprehensible; but Diogenes adds that Sotion was wrong on that point.' {Fragmens, p. 89.) Now this is altogether a mis-statement. Diogenes says : ' Sotion pretends that no one before Xenophanes maintained the incomprehensibility of all things, but he is wrong.' Diogenes here does not deny that Xenophanes held the opinion, but that any one held it before him. VOL. I. E -i4'"*i***V 50 THE ELEATICS. PARMENIDES. 5] I n follows that he saw them. A man would be ridiculed if he attributed to the discoverer of any law of nature the various discoveries which the application of that law might have produced ; nevertheless these applications were all potentially existing in the law ; but as the discoverer of the law was not aware of them, he does not get the credit. Why, then, should a man have the dis-credit of consequences contained, indeed, in his principles, but which he himself could not see ? On the whole, although Xenophanes was not a clear and systematic thinker, it cannot be denied that he exercised a very remarkable influence on the progress of speculation ; as we shall see in his successors. § m. Parmenides. The readers of Plato will not forget the remarkable dia- logue in which he pays a tribute to the dialectical subtlety of Parmenides ; but we must at the outset caution them against any belief in the genuineness of the opinions attri- buted to him by Plato. If Plato could reconcile himself to the propriety of altering the sentiments of his beloved master, Socrates, and of attributing to him such as he had never entertained ; with far greater reason could he put into the mouth of one long dead, sentiments which were the invention of his own dramatic genius. Let us read the Parmenides, therefore, with extreme caution ; let us prefer the authority of Aristotle and the verses of Parmenides which have been preserved. Parmenides was bom at Elea, somewhere about the 61st Olympiad (b.c. 536). This date does not contradict the rumour which, according to Aristotle, asserted him to have been a disciple of Xenophanes, whom he might have listened to when that great rhapsodist was far advanced in years. The most positive statement, however, is that by Sotion, of his having been taught by Ameinias and Diochcstes the Pythagorean. But both may be true. Bom to wealth and splendour, enjoying the esteem and envy which always follow splendour and talents, it is con- jectured that his early career was that of a dissipated voluptuary ; but Diochoetes taught him the nothingness of wealth (at times, perhaps, when satiety had taught him the nothingness of enjoyment), and led him from the dull monotony of noisy revelry to the endless variety and excite- ment of philosophic thought. He forsook the feverish pursuit of enjoyment, to contemplate 'the bright countenance of Tmth, in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.' * But this devotion to study was no selfish seclusion. It did not prevent his taking an active share in the political affairs of his native city. On the contrary, the fruits of his study were shown in a code of laws which he drew up, and which were deemed so wise and salutary, that the citizens at first yearly renewed their oath to abide by the laws of Parmenides. And something greater did his worth obtain, For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. The first characteristic of his philosophy, is the decided distinction between Tmth and Opinion: in other words, between the ideas obtained through the Eeason, and those obtained through Sense. In Xenophanes we noticed a vague glimmering of this notion; in Parmenides it attained to something like clearness. In Xenophanes it contrived to throw an uncertainty over all things ; which, in a logical thinker, would have become absolute scepticism. But he was saved from scepticism by his moral earnestness. Par- menides was saved from it by his philosophy. He was perfectly aware of the deceitful nature of opinion ; but he was also aware that within him there were certain ineradi- cable convictions, in which, like Xenophanes, he had perfect faith, but which he Wished to explain by reason. Thus was he led in some sort to anticipate the celebrated doctrine of irmate ideas. These ideas were concerning necessary truths ; they were tme knowledge ; all other ideas were uncertain. The Eleatics, as Eitter remarks, believed that they recog- nised and could demonstrate that the tmth of all things is * Milton. b2 52 THE ELEATICS. one and unchangeable ; perceiving, however, that human thought is constrained to follow the appearance of things, and to apprehend the changeable and the many, they were forced to confess that we are unable fully to comprehend the divine truth in its reality, although we may rightly appre- hend a few general principles. Nevertheless, to suppose, in conformity with human thought, that there is actually both a plurality and a change, would be but a delusion of the senses. While, on the other hand, we must acknowledge, that in all that appears to us as manifold and changeable, including all particular thought as evolved in the mind, the Godlike is present, unperceived indeed by human blindness, and become, as it were beneath a veil, indistinguishable. We may make this conception more intelligible if we recall the mathematical tendency of the whole of this school. The knowledge of Physics was regarded as contingent — delusive. The knowledge of Mathematics eternal — self- evident. Parmenides was thus led by Xenophanes on the one hand, and Diochcetes on the other, to the conviction of the duaKty of human thought. His Reason, i. e. the Pytha- gorean logic, taught him that there is nought existing but The One (which he did not, with Xenophanes, call God ; he called it Being). His Sense, on the other hand, taught him, that there were Many Things, because of his manifold sen- suous impressions. Hence he maintained two Causes and two Principles : the one to satisfy the Reason ; the other to accord with the explanations of Sense. His work on ' Nature ' was therefore divided into two parts : in the first is expounded the absolute Truth, as Reason proclaims it; in the second, human Opinion, accustomed to Follow the rash eye, and ears with singing sounds confused, and tongue, which is but a mere seeming (Bo^a, appearance) ; nevertheless there is a cause of this seeming ; there is also a principle, consequently there is a doctrine appropriate to it. It must not be imagined, that Parmenides had a mere vague and general notion of the uncertainty of human know- PARMENIDES. SS ledge. He maintained that thought was delusive because dependent upon organisation. He had as distinct a con- ception of this celebrated theory as any of his successors ; this may be seen in the passage presei-ved by Aristotle in the 5th chapter of the 4th book of his Metaphysics, where, speaking of the materialism of Democritus, in whose system sensation was thought, he adds, that others have shared this opinion, and proceeds thus : ' Empedocles affirms, that a change in our condition (t^v s^iv) causes a change in our thought. Thought grows in men according to the impression of the moment ; * and, in another passage, he says : — It is always according to the changes which take place in men That there is change in their thoughts. Parmenides expresses himself in the same style : Such as to each man is the nature of his many-jointed limbs, Such also is the intelligence of each man ; for it is The nature of limbs (organization) which thinketh in men. Both in one and in all ; the highest degree of organization gives the highest degree of thought.f Now, as thought was dependent on organisation, and as each organisation differed in degree from every other, so t The last sentence, 'the highest degree of organization gives the highest degree of thought,' is a translation for which, differing from that of every other I have seen, and being, as I believe, of some importance in the interpretation of Parmenides' system, it is necessary to state my reasons. Here is the original of the verses in the text : — 'Xis yap %Ka(Tros ^x^i Kpaaiv /xfXecev iroKvKdnwruv^ Tm pSos avdpiinroicrt trapdffTTiKfv. Th yhp ainb "Eariv SiTfp (ppovffi ^fKeuv »' having reference only to the feet, whereas the simile in Parmenides is meant to apply to the whole man. The meaning of the verses is, therefore, that the intelligence of man is formed according to his many-jointed frame, i.e. dependent on his organisation. • Oh. Renouvier: Manuel de la Philosophie Ancienne, i. 162, who cites Plutarch : Opin. de* Philos. iv. 5. which the faculty of Intelligence, or Thought, derived from Sense, was concerned, and which may be called the science of Appearance. On the science of Being, Parmenides did not differ much from his predecessors, Xenophanes and Pythagoras. He taught that there was but one Being ; non-Being was im- possible. The latter assertion amounts to saying that non- existence cannot exist: a position which may appear ex- tremely trivial to the reader not versed in metaphysical speculations; but which we would not have him despise, inasmuch as it is a valuable piece of evidence respecting the march of human opinion. It is only one of the many illus- trations of the tendency to attribute positive qualities to words, as if they were things, and not simply marks of things : a tendency admirably exposed by James Mill, and subse- quently by his son."*^ It was this tendency which so greatly puzzled the early thinkers, who, when they said that ' a thing is not,' believed that they nevertheless predicated existence, viz. the existence of non-existence. A thing is ; and a thing is not ; these two assertions seemed to be affirm- ations of two different states of existence; an error from which, under some shape or other, later thinkers have not always been free. Parmenides, however, though affirming that Being alone existed, and that non-Being was impossible, did not see the real ground of the sophism. He argued that Non-Being could not be, because Nothing can come out of Nothing (as Xenophanes taught him) ; if therefore Being existed, it must embrace all existence. Hence he concluded that The One was all Existence, iden- * * Many volumes might be filled with the frivolous speculations concerning the nature of Being {rh tJv, oucrio. Ens, Entitas, Essentia, and the like), which have arisen from overlooking this double meaning of the words to be ; from supposing that when it signifies to exist, and when it signifies to be some specified thing, as to ^ a man, to be Socrates, to be seen, to ^ a phantom, or even to be a. nonentity, it must still at the bottom answer to the same idea ; and that a meaning must be found for it which shall suit all these cases.' — John Mill, St/stem of Logic, i. 4, first ed. 56 THE ELEATICS. m ZENO OF ELEA. W tical, unique, neither born nor dying, neither moving nor changing. It was a bold step to postulate the finit j of The One, Xenophanes having declared it to be necessarily infinite. But there is abundant evidence to prove that Parmenides regarded The One as finite. Aristotle speaks of it as the distinction between-Parmenides and Melissus ; ' The unity of Parmenides was a rational unity {tov kutA Xoyov hos) ; that of Melissus was a material unity (tov Kara ti;V vXrjv). Hence the former said that The One was finite {neTrepaa^i^ov), but the latter said it was infinite (airsipov),' From which it appears that the ancients conceived the Eational unity as limited by itself; a conception it is difficult for us to under- stand. Probably it was because they held The One to be spherical : aU the parts being equal : having neither begin- ning, middle, nor end : and yet self-limited. The conception of the identity of thought and existence is expressed in some remarkable verses by Parmenides, of which, as a very different interpretation has been drawn from them, we shall give a literal translation. Thought is the same thing as the cause of thought : For without the thing in which it is announced You cannot find the thought ; for there is nothing, nor shaU he— Except the existing. Now, as the only Existence wa^ The One, it follows that The One and Thought are identical ; a conclusion which by no means contradicts the opinion before noticed of the identity of human thought and sensation, both of these being merely transitory modes of Existence. Eespecting the second or physical doctrine of Parmenides, we may briefly say that, believing it necessary to give a science of Appearances, he sketched out a programme ac- cording to the principles reigning in his day. He denied motion as a reality, but admitted that according to ap- pearance there was motion. Parmenides represents the logical and more rigorous side of the doctrine of Xenophanes, from which the physical element is almost banished by being condemned to the region of uncertain Sense. Although he preserved himself from scepticism, as we saw, nevertheless the tendency of his doctrine was to forward scepticism. In his exposition of the uncertainty of knowledge, he retained a saving clause — that, namely, of the certainty of Reason. It only remained for successors to apply the same scepticism to the ideas of Reason, and Pyrrhonism was complete. § lY. Zeno op Elea. Zeno, by Plato called the Palamedes of Elea, must not be confoimded with Zeno the Stoic. He was on all accounts one of the most distinguished of the ancient philosophers ; as great in his actions as in his works ; and remarkable in each for a strong, impetuous, disinterested spirit. Born at Elea about the 70th Olympiad (b.c. 500), he became the pupil of Parmenides, and, as some say, his adopted son. The first period of his life was spent in the calm solitudes of study. From his beloved friend and master he had learned to appreciat^e the superiority of intellectual pleasures — the only pleasures that do not satiate. From him also he had learned to despise the splendours of rank and fortune, without becoming misanthropical or egoistical. He worked for the benefit of his fellow-men, but declined the recom- pense of rank, or worldly honours, with which they would have repaid their labours. His recompense was the voice of his own heart beating calmly in conscious integrity. The absence of ambition in so intrepid and exalted a mind, might well have been the wonderment of antiquity ; for it was no sceptical indifference, no disdain for the opinions of his fellow-men, which made him shun office. He was a delicate no less than an impetuous man, extremely sensitive to praise and blame ; as may be seen in his admirable reply to one who asked him why he was so hui-t by blame : * If the blame of my fellow-citizens did not cause me pain, their approba- tion would not cause me pleasure.' In timid minds, shrink- ing from the coarse ridicule of fools and knaves, this sensi- 58 THE ELEATICS. tiveness is fatal ; but in those brave spirits who fear nothing- but their own consciences, and who accept no approbation but such as their consciences c^ ratify, this sensitiveness lies at the root of all heroism and noble endeavour. One of those men was Zeno. His life was a battle, but the battle was for Truth ; it ended tragically, but it was not fought in vain. Perhaps of all his moral qualities his patriotism has been the most renowned. He lived at the period of the awakening of liberty, when Greece was everywhere enfranchising her- self, everywhere loosening the Persian yoke, and endeavouring to foimd national institutions on freedom. In the general effervescence and enthusiasm Zeno was not cold. His political activity we have no means of judging; but we learn that it was great and beneficial. Elea was but a small colony ; but Zeno preferred it to the magnificence of Athens, the luxurious, restless, quibbling, frivolous, passionate, and im- principled citizens of which he contrasted with the provincial modesty and honesty of Elea. He did, however, occasionally visit Athens, and there promulgated the doctrines of his master, as we see by the opening of Plato's dialogue, the Parmenides, There he taught Pericles. On the occasion of his last return to Elea, he found it had fallen into the hands of the tyrant Nearchus (or Diomedon, or Demylos: the name is differently given by ancient writers). He conspired against him, failed in his project, and was captured. It was then, as Cicero observes, that he proved the excellence of his master's doctrines, and proved that a courageous soul fears only that which is base, and that fear and pain are for women and children, or men who have feminine hearts. When Nearchus interrogated him as to his accomplices, he threw the tyrant into an agony of doubt and fear by naming all the courtiers : a masterstroke of audacity, and in those days not discreditable. Having thus terrified his accuser, he turned to the spectators, and exclaimed, * If you can consent to be slaves from fear of what you see me now suffer, I can only wonder at your ZENO OF ELEA. 69 cowardice.'* The people were so roused that they fell upon Nearchus and slew him. There are considerable variations in the accounts of this story by ancient writers, but all agree in the main narrative given above. Some say that Zeno was pounded to death in a huge mortar. We have no trustworthy account of his death. As a philosopher, Zeno's merits are peculiar. He was the inventor of that logic so celebrated as Dialectics. This, which, in the hands of Socrates and Plato, became a powerful weapon of offence, is, by the universal consent of antiquity, ascribed to Zeno. It may be defined as ' A refutation of error by the reductio ad ahsurdum as a means of establishing the truth.' The truth to be established in Zeno's case was the system of Parmenides ; we must not, therefore, seek in his arguments for any novelty beyond the mere exercise of dialectical subtlety. He brought nothing new to the system ; but he invented a great method of polemical exposition. The system had been conceived by Xenophanes ; precision had been given to it by Parmenides ; and there only remained for Zeno the task of fighting for and defending it ; which task he admirably fulfilled. ' The destiny of Zeno was alto- gether polemical. Hence, in the external world, the im- petuous existence and tragical end of the patriot ; and, in the internal world, the world of thought, the laborious cha- racter of Dialectician.'t It was this fighter's destiny which caused him to perfect the art of offence and defence. He very naturally wrote in prose ; of which he set the first example : for, as the wild and turbulent enthusiasm of Xenophanes would instinctively ex- press itself in poetry, so would the argumentative subtlety of Zeno naturally express itself in prose. The great rhapsodist wandered from city to city, intent upon earnest and startling \n * It is a pity to destroy the story of his having concluded this harangue by biting his tongue off and spitting it in the tyrant's face; but that is one of those epigrams in action which ill withstand criticism. t Cousin, Fragmens Philosophiqiies, art. Zenon cTElie. , 60 THE ELEATICS. ZENO OF ELEA. 61 enunciation of the mighty thoughts stirring confusedly within him; the great logician was more intent upon a convincing exposition of the futility of the arguments alleged against his system, than upon any propaganda of the system itself; for he held that the truth must be accepted when once error is exposed. ' Antiquity,' says M. Cousin, ' attests that he wrote not poems, like Xenophanes and Parmenides, but treatises, and treatises of an eminently prosaic character : that is to say, refutations.' The reason of this may be easily guessed. Coming as a young man to Athens, to preach the doctrine of Parmenides, he must have been startled at the opposition which that doctrine met with from the subtle, quick-witted, and em- pirical Athenians, who had already erected the Ionian philo- sophy into the reigning doctrine. Zeno, no doubt, was at first stunned by the noisy objections which on all sides surrounded him ; but, being aJso one of the keenest of wits, and one of the readiest, he would soon have recovered his balance, and in turn assailed his assailers. Instead of teach- ing dogmatically, he began to teach dialectically. Instead of resting in the domain of pure science, and expounding the ideas of Reason, he descended upon the ground occupied by his adversaries,— -the ground of daily experience and sense- knowledge,— and turning their ridicule upon themselves, forced them to admit that it was more easy to conceive The Many as a produce of The One, than to conceive The One on the assumption of the existing Many. ' The polemical method entirely disconcerted the partisans of the Ionian philosophy,' says M. Cousin, ' and excited a lively curiosity and interest for the doctrines of the ItaHan (Pythagorean) school ; and thus was sown in the capital of Greek civiHsation the fruitful germ of a higher development of philosophy.' Plato has succinctly characterised the difference between Parmenides and Zeno by saying, that the master estabhshed the existence of The One, and the disciple proved the non- existence of The Many. I When he argued that there was but One thing really existing, all the others being only modifications or appear- ances of that One, he did not deny that there were many appearances, he only denied that these appearances were real existences. So, in like manner, he denied motion, but not the appearance of motion. Diogenes the Cynic, who to refute his argument against motion rose and walked, entirely mis- took the argument ; his walking was no more a refutation of Zeno, than Dr. Johnson's kicking a stone was a refutation of Berkeley's denial of matter. Zeno would have answered : Very true : you walk : according to Opinion (to ho^aoTov), you are in motion ; but according to Reason you are at rest. What you call motion is but the name given to a series of similar conditions, each of which, separately considered, is rest. Thus, every object filling space equal to its bulk is necessarily at rest in that space ; motion from one spot to another is but a name given to the sum-total of all these intermediate spaces in which the object at each moment is at rest. Take the illustration of the circle : a circle is composed of a number of individual points, or straight lines ; not one of these lines can individually be called a circle ; but all these lines, considered as a totality, have one general name given th'em, viz. a circle. In the same way, in each individual point of space the object is at rest; the sum- total of a number of these states of rest is called motion. The original fallacy is in the Supposition that Motion is a thing superadded, whereas, as Zeno clearly saw, it is only a condition. In a falling stone there is not the ' stone ' and a thing called * motion ; ' otherwise there would be also an- other thing called ^ rest.' But both motion and rest are names given to express conditions of the stone. Even rest is a positive exertion of force. Rest is force, resisting an equi- valent and opposing force ; Motion is force triumphant. It follows that matter is always in motion ; which amounts to the same as Zeno's saying, there is no such thing as Motion. The other arguments of Zeno against the possibility of i| J B ""' "■«% 62 THE ELEATICS. ZENO OF ELEA. 63 I ) I Motion (and he maintained four, the third of which we have above explained), are given by Aristotle ; but they seem more like the ingenious puzzles of dialectical subtlety than the real arguments of an earnest man. It has, therefore, been asserted, that they were only brought forward to r ridicule the unskilfulness of his adversaries. We must not, however, be hasty in rescuing Zeno from his own logical net, into which he may have fallen as easily as others. Greater men than he have been the dupes of their own verbal dis- tinctions. Here are his two first arguments :— 1. Motion is impossible, because before that which is in motion can reach the end, it must reach the middle point ; but this middle point then becomes the end, and the same objection applies to it, — since to reach it the object in motion must traverse a middle point ; and so on ad infinitwm, seeing that matter is infinitely divisible. Thus, if a stone be cast four paces, before it can reach the fourth it must reach the second ; the second then becomes the end, and the first pace the middle : but before the object can reach the first pace it must reach the half of the first "pace, and before the half it must reach the half of that half; and so on ad infinitum 2. This is his famous Achilles puzzle. We give both the statement and refutation as we find it in Mill's Logic (ii. 453). The argument is, let Achilles run ten times as fast as a tortoise, yet, if the tortoise has the start, Achilles will never overtake him : for, suppose them to be at first separated by an interval of a thousand feet ; when Achilles has run these thousand feet the tortoise will have run a hundred, and when Achilles has run those hundred the tortoise will have got on ten, and so on for ever : therefore Achilles may run for ever without overtaking the tortoise. Now the ' for ever ' in the conclusion means, for any length of time that can be supposed ; but in the premisses ' for ever ' does not mean any length of time — it means any number of subdivisions of time. It means that we may divide I a thousand feet by ten, and that quotient again by ten, and so on as often as we please ; that there never need be an end to the subdivisions of the distance, nor, consequently, to those of the time in which it is performed. But an un- limited number of subdivisions may be made of that which is itself limited. The argument proves no other infinity of duration than may be embraced within five minutes. As long as the five minutes are not expired, what remains of them may be divided by ten, and again by ten, as often as' we like, which is perfectly compatible witb. their being only five minutes altogether. It proves, in short, that to pass through this finite space requires a time which is infinitely divisible, but not an infinite time ; the confounding of which distinction Hobbes had already seen to be the gist of the fallacy. Although the credit of seeing the ground of the fallacy is given by Mill to Hobbes, we must also observe that Aristotle had clearly seen it in the same light. His answer to Zeno, which Bayle thinks ' pitiable,' was, that a foot of space being only potentially infinite, but actually finite, it could be easily traversed in sl finite time. We cannot here follow Zeno in his various arguments against the existence of a multitude of things. His position may be briefly summed up thus: There is but one Being existing necessarily indivisible and infinite. To suppose that The One is divisible, is to suppose it finite. If divisible, it must be infinitely divisible. But, suppose two things to exist, then there must necessarily be an interval between those two : something separating and limiting them. What is that something? It is some other thing. But then, if not the same thing, it also must be separated and limited ; and so on ad infinitum. Thus only One thing can exist as the substratum for all manifold appearances. These arguments, as Mr. Grote observes,"'*' are memorable because they are the earliest known manifestations of Grecian dialectic, and are probably equal in acuteness and ingenuity * Geotk : Plato i. 102. 64 THE ELEATICS. 65 to anything which it ever produced. Their bearing is not always acutely conceived. Most of them are argumenta ad hominem : consequences contradictory and inadmissible, but shown to follow legitimately from a given hypothesis, and therefore serving to disprove the hypothesis itself. The result of Zeno's reasoning, implied rather than expressed, is that neither of the contradictory hypotheses is capable of supply- ing a real basis for the phenomenal world. His purport is mistaken when it is supposed that he wished to delude his hearers by proving both sides of a contradictory proposition. It was to disprove the premises. It was the serious intro- duction into philosophy of that sceptical negative element which the dogmatists had disregarded. And in this respect it marks the close of an epoch, and the opening movement of a new one. Zeno closes the second great line of independent inquiry, opened by Anaximander, and continued by Pythagoras, Xenophanes, and Parmenides, which we may characterise as the Mathematical. Its opposition to the Physical or Empirical inquiry was radical and constant. But, up to the coming of Zeno, these two systems had been developed almost in parallel lines, so little influence did they exert upon each other. The two systems clashed together on the arrival of Zeno at Athens. The result of the conflict was the creation of a new method,— Dialectics. This method created the Sophists and the Sceptics. It also greatly in- fluenced all succeeding schools, and may be said to have constituted one great peculiarity of Socrates and Plato, as will be shown. We must however previously trace the intermediate steps which philosophy took before the crisis of Sophistry which preceded the era of Socrates. f SECOND EPOCH. The failure of Cosmological speculations directs the efforts of Philosophy to the psychological problems of the origin and limits of Knowledge, CHAPTER I. § I. Hebaclitus. TTORACE WALPOLE'S epigram, ^ Life is a comedy to those JJ- who think, a tragedy to those who feel,' may be applied to Democritus and Heraclitus, celebrated throughout an- tiquity as the laughing and the weeping philosophers ; One pitied, one condemn'd the woful times : One laugh'd at follies, and one wept o'er crimes. Modem criticism has indeed pronounced both these cha- racteristics to be fabulous ; but fables themselves are often only exaggerations of truth, ahd there must have been something in the lives of each of these philosophers which formed the nucleus round which the fables grew. Of Hera- cHtus it has been weU said, ' The vulgar notion of him as the crying philosopher must not be wholly discarded, as if it meant nothing, or had no connection with the history of his speculations. The thoughts which came forth in his system are like fragments torn from his own personal being, and not torn from it without such an effort and violence as must needs have drawn a sigh from the sufferer. If Anaximenes discovered that he had within him a power and principle which ruled over aU the acts and functions of his bodily VOL. I. p 66 HERACLITUS. i \l \ frame, Heraclitns found that there was a life within him which he could not call his own, and yet it was, in the very highest sense, himself, so that without it he would have been a poor, helpless, isolated creature ; — a universal life, which connected him with his fellow-men, — with the absolute source and original fountain of life.' ^ Heraclitus was the son of Blyson, and was bom at Ephe- sus, about the 69th Olympiad (b.c. 503). Of a haughty, melancholy temper, he refused the supreme magistracy which his fellow-citizens offered him ; on account of their dissolute morals, according to Diogenes Laertius ; but, as he declined the offer in favour of his brother, his rejection was probably grounded on some other reason. Is not his rejection of magistracy in perfect keeping with what else we know of him ? For instance : playing with some children near the temple of Diana, he answered those who expressed surprise at seeing him thus occupied, ' Is it not better to play with children, than to share with you the administration of affairs ? ' The contempt which pierces through this reply, and which subsequently grew into confirmed misanthropy, may have been the result of morbid meditation, rather than of virtuous scorn. Was it because the citizens were corrupt that he refused to exert himself to make them virtuous? Was it because the citizens were corrupt, that he retired to the mountains, and there lived on herbs and roots, like an ascetic ? If Ephesus was dissolute, was there not the rest of Greece for him to make a home of? He fled to the moun- tains, there, in secret, to prey on his own heart. He was a misanthrope, and misanthropy issues more from the morbid consciousness of self, than from the sorrowful opinion formed of others. In a contemptuous letter he thus declined the courteous invitation of Darius to spend some time at his court. * Maurice, Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy. HERACLITUS. 67 * Heraclitus of Ephesus to the King Barius, son of Hystaspes, health ! * All men depart from the paths of truth and justice. They have no attachment of any kind but avarice ; they only aspire to a vain-glory with the obstinacy of folly. As for me, I know not malice ; I am the enemy of no one. I utterly despise the vanity of courts, and never will place my foot on Persian ground. Content with little, I live as I please.' The Philosophy of Heraclitus was delivered in such enig- matical terms, that he was called 'the Obscure.' A few fragments have been handed down to us.^ From these it would be vain to hope that a consistent system could be evolved; but from them, and from other sources, we may gather the general tendency of his doctrines. The tradition which assigns him Xenophanes as a teacher, is borne out by the evident relation of their systems. Hera- clitus is somewhat more Ionian than Xenophanes : that is to say, in him the physical explanation of the universe is more prominent. At the same time, Heraclitus is neither frankly Ionian nor Italian ; he wavers between the two. The pupil of Xenophanes would naturally regard human knowledge as a mist of error, through which the sunlight only gleamed at intervals. But the inheritor of the Ionian doctrines would not adopt the conclusion of the Mathematical school, namely, that the cause of this uncertainty of knowledge is the un- certainty of sensuous impressions; and that consequently Reason is the only fountain of truth. He maintained that the senses are the sources of all true knowledge, for they drink in the universal intelligence. The senses deceive only when they belong to barbarian souls : in other words, the ill- educated sense gives false impressions, the rightly-educated sense gives truth. Whatever is common is true ; whatever is remote from the common, i. e. the exceptional, is false. The * ScHLEiEEMACHEB has Collected, and endeavoured to interpret them, in Wolp and Buttmann's Museum der Alkrthumsunssenschaften, vol. i. part iii. r 2 _ ._^^ AgiySiM;. j'^t^jiaU: iAtt^Mii 68 HERACLITUS. HERACLITUS. $9 a Dl True is the Unhidden."^ Those whose senses are open to re- ceive the Unhidden, the Universal, attain truth. As if to mark the distinction between himself and Xeno- phanes more forcibly, he says : ' Inhaling through the breath the Universal Ether, which is Divine Reason, we become con- scious. In sleep we are unconscious, but on waking we again become intelligent ; for in sleep, when the organs of sense are closed, the mind within is shut out from aU sympathy with the surrounding ether, the universal Reason ; and the only connecting medium is the breath, as it were a root, and by this separation the mind loses the power of recollection it be- fore possessed. Nevertheless on awakening the mind repairs its memory through the senses, as it were through inlets ; and thus, coming into contact with the surrounding ether, it re- sumes its intelligence. As fuel when brought near the fire is altered and becomes fiery, but on being removed again be- comes quickly extinguished ; so too the portion of the all- embracing which sojourns in our body becomes more irrational when separated from it; but on the restoration of this con- nection, through its many pores or inlets, it again becomes similar to the whole.' Can anything be more opposed to the Eleatic doctrine ? That system rests on the certitude of pure Reason; this declares that Reason left to itself, i. e. the mind when it is not nourished by the senses, can have no true knowledge. The one system is exclusively rational, the other exclusively sensuous ; but both are pantheistical, for in both it is the universal Intelligence which becomes conscious in man, — a conception pushed to its ultimate limits by Hegel. Accord- ingly Hegel declares that there is not a single point in the Logic of Heraclitus which he, Hegel, has not developed in his own Logic. t The reader will remark how in Heraclitus, as in Par- menides, there is opened the great question which for so * 'AA7J06S Tb fii) Krjdov. This kind of play upon words is very characteristic of metaphysical thinkers in all ages, t Hegel : Gcsch. dcr Phil. i. 301. long agitated the schools, and which still agitates them, — the question respecting the origin of our ideas. He will also remark how the two great parties, into which thinkers have divided themselves on the question, are typified in these two early thinkers. In Parmenides the idealist school, with its disregard of sense ; in Heraclitus the sensational school, with its disregard of everything not derived from sensation. With Xenophanes, Heraclitus agreed in denouncing the perpetual delusion which reigned in the mind of man ; but he placed the cause of that delusion in the imperfection of human Reason, not, as Xenophanes had done, in the im- perfection of Sense. He thought that man had too little of the Divine Ether (soul) within him. Xenophanes thought that the senses clouded the intellectual vision. The one counselled man to let the Universal mirror itself in his soul through the senses ; the other counselled him to shut him- self up within himself, to disregard the senses, and to com- mune only with ideas. It seems strange that so palpable a contradiction between two doctrines should ever have been overlooked. Heraclitus is often said to have regarded the world of Sense as a per- petual delusion : and this is said in the very latest and not the least critical of Histories. Whence this opinion ? Simply from the scepticism of both Heraclitus and Xenophanes with respect to Phenomena (appearances). It is true they both denied the certainty of human knowledge, but they denied this on different grounds. ' Man has no certain knowledge,' said Heraclitus, ' but God has ; and vain man learns from God just as the boy from the man.' In his conception, human intelligence was but a portion of the Universal In- telligence ; but a part can never be otherwise than imperfect. Hence it is that the opinion of all mankind upon any subject (common sense) must be a nearer approximation to the truth than the opinion of any individual ; because it is an accumulation of parts, making a nearer approach to the whole. Men erred by following their individual judgement as if it 70 HEIL\CLITUS. HERACLITUS. 71 'I J If were the absolute judgement, as if reason belonged to each individually. But the real way of reaching truth was to get free from this individual bias, and to follow the universal reason. Each man must familiarise his mind with that common process which directs the world ; in sleep he leaves the individual world and retires into the universal reason. No man really understands, no man is possessed of universal reason, unless he has discovered the general scheme of things, namely its perpetual altematimi, its unity of con- traries. Whoever had risen to this height had mastered the universal reason. While therefore he maintained the uncertainty of all knowledge, he also maintained its certainty. Its origin was Sense; being sensuous and individual, it was imperfect, because individual ; but it was true as far as it went. The ass, he scornfully said, prefers thistles to gold. To the ass gold is not so valuable as thistle. The ass is at once right and wrong. Man is equally right and wrong in all positive affirmations; for nothing truly is, about which a positive affirmation can be made. * All is,' he said, ' and all is not ; for though in truth it does come into being, yet it forthwith ceases to be.' We are here led to his celebrated doctrine of all things as a ' perpetual flux and reflux ; ' which Hegel declares to be an anticipation of his own celebrated dogma, Seyn und Nichtseyn ist dasselhe : ' Being and Non-being is the same.' * Heraclitus conceived the principle— a/?;^7^of all things to be Fire. To him Fire was the type of spontaneous force and activity ; not flame, which was only an intensity of Fire, but a warm, dry vapour — an Ether ; this was the beginning. He says : ' The world was neither by Godf nor man ; and it was, and is, and * Much of the ridicule which this logical canon has excited, especially in England, has been prompted by the blindest misunderstanding. The laughers, misled by verbal ambiguity, have understood Hegel to say that Existence and Non-Existence was one and the same, as if by Nichtseyn he meant Nothing in the common acceptation of that word. By Nothing he meant no thing— no discreet determined object— existence pure and simple, free from all conditions. t This IS the translation given in Ritteb : it is not however exact ; o6rf ra Ofwu ever shall be, an ever-living fire in due measure self-enkindled and in due measure self-extinguished.' That this is but a modification of the Ionian system, the reader will at once dis- cern. The fire, which here stands as the semi-symbol of Life and Intelligence, because of its spontaneous activity, is but a modification of the Water of Thales and the Air of Anaxi- menes ; moreover, it is only semi-symbolical. Those who accept it as a pure symbol overlook the other parts of the system. The system which proclaims the senses as the source of aU knowledge necessarily attaches itself to a material element as the primary one. At the same time this very system is in one respect a deviation from the Ionian; in the distinction between sense-knowledge and reflective knowledge. Hence we placed Diogenes of Apollonia as the last of the pure lonians ; although chronologically he came some time after Heraclitus, and his doctrine is in many respects the same as that of Heraclitus. This Fire which is for ever kindling into flame, and passing into smoke and ashes ; this restless, changing flux of things which never are, but are ever becoming; this Heraclitus proclaimed to be God, or the One. Take his beautiful illustration of a river: 'No one has ever been twice on the same stream ; for different waters are constantly flowing down ; it dissipates its waters and gathers them again — it approaches and it recedes — it overflows and falls.' This is evidently but a statement of the flux and reflux, as in his aphorism that ' all is in motion ; there Is no rest or quietude.' Let us also add here what Ritter says :— ' The notion of life implies that of alteration, which by the ancients was generally conceived as motion. The Universal Life is therefore an eternal motion, and therefore tends, as every motion must, towards some end, even though this end, in the course of the evolution of life, present itself to us as a mere transition to some ulterior end. Heraclitus on this ground supposed a certain longing to be inherent in Fire, to is the original, i. e. * neither one of the Gods,' meaning of course one of the poly- theistic Deities. 72 HERACLITUS. i| gratify which it constantly transformed itself into some de- terminate form of being, without, however, any wish to maintain it, but in the mere desire of transmuting itself from one form into another. Therefore, to make worlds is Jove's pastime.' He explained phenomena as the concurrence of opposite tendencies and efforts in the motion of the ever-living Fire, out of which results the most beautiful harmony. All is composed of contraries, so that the good is also evil, the living is dead, etc. The harmony of the world is one of conflicting impulses, like that of the lyre and the bow. The strife between opposite tendencies is the parent of all things : iroXsfios TrdvTcov /msp Trarrjp iarl TrdvTcov Be ffaaiXsm, kul rovs fisv 6eov9 sSsi^s T0V9 8e dv6pco7rov5 tovs fiev hovXovs eiroLrjai tovs Be iXsvOipovs. Nor is this simple, metaphor : the strife here spoken of is the splitting in two of that which is in essence one ; the contradiction which necessarily lies between the particular and the general, the result and the force. Being and Non-Being. All life is change, and change is strife. Heraclitus was the first to proclaim the absolute vitality of Nature, the endless change of matter, the mutability and perishability of all individual things, in contrast with the eternal Being, the supreme Harmony which rules over all. The view here taken of his doctrines will at once explain the position in which we have placed them. Heraclitus stands with one foot on the Ionian path, and with the other on the Italian ; but his attempt is not to unite these two ; his ojfice is negative ; he has to criticise both. § n. Anaxagoras. Anaxagoras is generally said to have been bom at Cla- zomense in Lydia, not far from Colophon. Inheriting from his family a splendid patrimony, he seemed bom to figure in the State; but, like Parmenides, he disregarded all such external greatness, and placed his ambition elsewherp. Early in life, so early as his twentieth year, the passipft for ^1 ANAXAGORAS. 73 philosophy engrossed him. Like all yoimg ambitious men, he looked with contempt upon the intellect exhibited in his native city. His soul panted for the capital. The busy activity and the growing importance of Athens solicited him. He yearned towards it as the ambitious youth in a provincial town yearns for London ; as all energy longs for a fitting theatre on which to play its part. He came to Athens. It was a great and stirring epoch. The countless hosts of Persia had been scattered by a hand- ful of resolute men. The political importance of Greece, and of Athens the Queen of Greece, was growing to a climax. The Age of Pericles, one of the most glorious in the annals of mankind, was dawning. The Poems of Homer formed the subject of literary conversation. The early triumphs of -^Eschylus had created a Drama, such as still remains the wonder and delight of scholars and critics. The young Sophocles, that perfect flower of antique art, was then in his bloom, meditating on that Drama which he was here- after to bring to perfection in the Antigone and the (Edipus Rex. The Ionian philosophy had found a home at Athens ; and the young Anaxagoras shared his time with Homer and Anaximenes."^ Philosophy soon obtained the supreme place in his affec- tions. He yielded himself to the fascination, and declared that the aim and purpose of his life was to contemplate the heavens. All care for his affairs was given up. His estates ran to waste, whilst he was solving problems. But the day he found himself a beggar, he exclaimed, ' To Philosophy I owe my worldly ruin, and my soul's prosperity.' He commenced teaching, and among illustrious pupils counted Pericles, Euripides, and Socrates. ♦ By this we no more intimate that he was a disciple of Anaximenes (as some historians assert) than that he was a friend of Homer. But in some such ambiguous phrase as that in the text, must the error of calling him the disciple of Anaximenes have arisen. Beucker's own chronology is strangely at variance with his statement : for he places the birth of Anaximenes, 56th Olympiad ; that of Anaxogaras, 70th Olympiad: thus making the master fifty-six years old at the birth of the pupil ; and the pupil had reached the middle of his life before seeking the supposed master, who must then have been a century old. 74 ANAXAGORAS. ANAXAGORAS. 76 ll^ I*' He was not long without paying the penalty of success. The envy and uncharitableness of some, joined the bigotry of others in an accusation of impiety against him. He was tried, and condemned to death; but owed the mitigation of his sentence into banishment, to the eloquence of his friend and pupil, Pericles. Some have supposed that the cause of his persecution was this very friendship of Pericles ; and that the statesman was struck at through the unpopular philo- sopher. The supposition is gratuitous, and belongs rather to the ingenuity of modem scholarship, than to the sober facts of history. In the persecution of Anaxagoras there is nothing but what was very natural ; it was the persecution which occurred afterwards in the case of Socrates, and has subsequently occurred a thousand times in the history of man- kind, as the simple effect of outraged convictions. Anaxa- goras attacked the religion of his time : he was tried and condemned for his temerity. After his banishment he resided in Lampsacus, and there preserved tranquHlity of mind until his death. ' It is not I who have lost the Athenians ; it is the Athenians who have lost me,' was his proud reflection. He continued his studies, and was highly respected by the citizens, who, wishing to pay some mark of esteem to his memory, asked him on his death- bed in what manner they could do so. He begged that the day of his death might be annually kept as a holiday in aU the schools of Lampsacus. For centuries this request was fulfilled. He died in his seventy-third year. A tomb was erected to him in the city, with this inscription :— This tomb great Anaxagoras confines, Whose mind explored the heavenly paths of Truth. His philosophy contains so many contradictory principles, or perhaps it would be more correct to say so many contra- dictory principles are attributed to him, that it would be vain to attempt a systematic view of them. We may, as usual, confine ourselves to leading doctrines. On the great subject of the origin and certainty of our knowledge, he differed from Xenophanes and Herax)litus. He thought, with the former, that all sense -knowledge is delusive ; and, with the latter, that all knowledge comes through the senses. Here is a double scepticism brought into play. It has usually been held that these two opinions con- tradict each other ; that he could not have maintained both. Yet both opinions are tenable. His reason for denying certainty to the senses was the incapacity of distinguishing all the real objective elements of which things are composed. Thus the eye discerns a complex mass which we call a flower ; but discerns nothing of that of which the flower is composed. In other words, the senses perceive jph&nomenay but do not and cannot observe noumena,^ — an anticipation of the greatest discovery of psychology, though seen dimly and con- fusedly by Anaxagoras. Perhaps the most convincing proof of his having so conceived knowledge is in the passage quoted by Aristotle : * Things are to each according as they seem to him' {oTL Tocavra avrols ra ovra, ola av vTroXd^coai), What is this but the assertion of all knowledge being confined to phenomena ? It is further strengthened by the passage in Sextus Empiricus, that ' phenomena are the criteria of our knowledge of things beyond sense,' i. e. things inevident are evident in phenomena {rfjs twv ahrjkoav KaTa\rjylrsQ)9, rh (f)aLv6- fjLSva) . It must not, however, be concluded, from the above, that Anaxagoras regarded Sense as the sole origin of Knowledge. He held that the Reason (\6y09) was the regulating faculty of the mind, as Intelligence (i/oDs) was of the universe. The senses are accurate in their reports ; but their reports are not accurate copies of Things. They reflect objects ; but they reflect them as these objects appear to Sense. Reason has to control these impressions, to verify these reports. * Noumenon is the antithesis to Phenomenon, which means Appearance ; Nou- menon means the Substratum, or, to use the scholastic word, the Substance. Thus, as matter is recognised by us only in its manifestations (phenomena), we may logically distinguish those manifestations from the thing manifested (noumenon). And the former will be the materia circa quam ; the latter, the materia in qud. Noumenon is therefore equivalent to the Essence ; Phenomenon to the Mani- festations. 76 ANAXAGORAS. ANAXAGORAS. 77 Let us now apply this doctrine to the explanation of some of those apparently contradictory statements which have puzzled critics. For instance, Anaxagoras says that snow is not white but black, because the water of which it is com- posed is black. Now, in this he could not have meant that snow did not appear to our senses white ; his express doctrine of sense-knowledge forbids such an interpretation. But Reason told him that the Senses gave inaccurate reports ; and, in this instance, Eeason showed him how their report was contradictory, since the water was black, yet the snow white. Here, then, is the whole theory of knowledge ex- emplified : Sense asserting that snow is white ; Eeflection asserting that snow made from black water could not he white, only seem white. He had another illustration :~Take two liquids, white and black, and pour the one into the other drop by drop ; the eye will be unable to discern the actual change as it is graduaUy going on ; it will only discern it at certain murked intervals. Thus did he separate himself at once from Xenophanes and HeracHtus. From the former, because admitting Sense to be the only criterion of things, the only source of knowledge, he could not regard the Xoyos as the unfailing source of truth' but merely as the reflective power, whereby the reports of sense were controUed. From the latter, because reflection convinced him that the reports of the senses were subjectively true, but objectively false.^ Both Xenophanes and HeracHtus ha^ principles of absolute certitude ; the one proclaimed * Reason, the other Sense, to be that principle. Anaxagoras opposed the one by showing that the Reason was dependent oh the Senses for materials ; and he opposed the other by showing that the materials were fallacious. ♦ Subjective and objective are now almost naturalised terms : it may not be S7rl"wf ''r'' '' '"P'"° ^'^"- ^^' "'^'^^^ "^-- ' ^he Mind of the Iliinker (Ego), the object means the ' Thing thought of (Non-Effo). The above tnily inform us of their 2mpresmons ; but these impressions are not at all like the actual o^^ec.. (as may be shown by the ^.>t.. appearance of a stick. haK of which IS dipped in water), and therefore the reports are objectively false Having thus, not without considerable difficulty, brought his various opinions on human knowledge under one system, let us endeavour to do the same for his cosmology. The principle of his system is thus announced : — ^Wrongly do the Greeks suppose that aught begins or ceases to be ; for nothing comes into being or is destroyed ; but all is an aggregation or secretion of pre-existent things : so that all becoming might more correctly be called becoming-mixed, and all corruption becoming-separate.' He denied a Creation, admitting only an Arrangement : instead of one first element, there was an infinite number of elements. These elements were the celebrated honweomerice : — • Ex aurique putat micis consistere posse Aurura, et de terris terram concrescere parvis, Ignibus ex ignem, humorem ex humoribus esse ; Caetera consimili fingit ratione putatque.* This singular opinion, which maintains that flesh is made of molecules of elementary flesh, and bones of elementary bones, and so forth, is intelligible on his theory of knowledge. Sense discerns elementary differences in matter, and Reflection confirms the -truth of this observation. Nothing can proceed from Nothing ; the universe can be only an Arrangement of existing things ; but when in this Arrangement certain things are discovered to be radically distinguished from each other, gold from blood for example, — either the distinction observed by the Senses is altogether false, or else the things distin- guished must be elements. But the first horn of the dilemma is avoided by the sensuous nature of all knowledge ; ;Lf the Senses deceive us in this respect, and Reason does not indicate the deception, then is all knowledge a delusion ; therefore, unless we adopt scepticism, we must abide by the testimony of the Senses as to the essential distinction of things. But, * Lucretius, i. 839. That gold from parts of the same nature rose, That earths do earth, fires fire, airs air compose, And so in all things else alike to those.' — Creech. There seems to be good reason to believe that not Anaxagoras, but Aristotle, was the originator of the word homoeomcria. See Kitter, i. 286. — '-■■ ■- ...t.-,..^ mt^ II Hi 78 ANAXAGORAS. I' I ' having granted the distinction, we must grant that the things distinguished are elements; if not, whence the distinction? Nothmg can come of Nothing ; blood can only become blood gold can only become gold, mix them how you wiU; if blood can become bone, then does bone become something out of nothing for it was not bone before, and it is bone now. But, as blood can only be blood, and bone only be bone, whenever they are mmgled it is a mingling of two elements, homceomerice. In the beginning therefore there was the Infinite composed of homceomeriw, or elementary seeds of infinite variety So far from The All being The One, as Parmenides and Thales equaUy taught, Anaxagoras proclaimed The All to be The Many. But the mass of elements were as yet unmixed What was to mix them ? What power caused them to become arranged m one harmonious aU-embracing system ? This power Anaxagoras declared to be Intelligence (vom) the moving force of the Universe. He had, on the one hand' rejected Fate, as an empty name ; on the other, he rejected Chance, as being no more than the Cause unperceived by human reasoning (r^. rijxvv, ahrjXov alrlav ^vOpc^-rrlv^ Xoyt^^xoi) This IS another remarkable glimpse of what modem philo- sophy was to establish. Having thus disclaimed these two powers, so potent in early speculation. Fate and Chance he had no other course left than to proclaim InteUigence 'the Arranging Power.^ This seems to us, on the whole, the most remarkable speculation of aU the pre-Socratic epoch; and indeed is so very near the philosophic precision of modern times, that it IS with difficulty we preserve its original simplicity. We wiU cite a portion of the fragment preserved by Simplicius wherem Intelligence is spoken of :-^ Intelligence {vovs) is infinite, and autocratic ; it is mixed up with nothing, but exists alone in and for itself. Were it otherwise, were it mixed up with anything, it would participate in the nature openea thus . Formerly aU things were a confused mass ; afterwards InteUi gence coming, arranged them into worlds.' ^erwaras, intelli- ANAXAGORAS. 79 of all things ; for in all there is a part of all ; and so that which was mixed with intelligence would prevent it from exercising power over all things.'^ — In this passage we may fancy we read an anticipation of the modern conception of the Deity acting through invariable laws, but in no way mixed up with the matter acted on. Nevertheless a deeper acquaintance with ancient Specula- tion discloses that Anaxagoras had no thought of making Noils the representative of the supreme Deity, or even as a God among Gods. It was only the abstract form of the vital principle animating animals and plants. ' It is one substance or form of matter among the rest' says Mr. Grote 'but thinner than all of them (thinner even than fire or air) and distinguished by the peculiar characteristic of being unmixed. It has moving power and knowledge, like the Air of Diogenes the Apolloniate ; it initiates movement ; and it knows about all things which will pass into or out of combination.' It was not, like the Demiurgus of Plato, an extra mundane Ar- chitect nor, like the Nature of Aristotle, an intra mundane immanent instinct, but simply one among the numerous agents, material like the rest, and only differing from them by being pure.f The homoeomerise are coetemal with if not anterior to the Nous, having laws of their own which they follow without waiting for the dictation of the Nous. Aristotle objects to Anaxagoras, that ' he uses Intelligence as a machine, t in respect to the formation of the world ; so that, when he is embarrassed how to explain the cause of this or that, he introduces Intelligence ; but in all other things * This passage perfectly accords with what Aristotle says, De AniTnd, i. 2, and Metaph. i. 7. t See on this point Hegel : Gesch. d. Phil. i. 356. * Hierbei miissen wir uns nicht den subjectiven Gedanken vorstellen ; wir denken beim Denken sogleich an unser Denken, wie es im Bewusstsein ist. Hier ist dagegen der ganz objective Gedanke gemeint Der NoCs ist also nicht ein denkendes Wesen draussen, das die Welt eingerichtet . . . ein denkendes sogenanntes Wesen ist kein Gedanke mehr, ist ein Subject.* \ This is an allusion to the theatrical artifice of bringing down a God from Olympus, to solve the difficulty of the denouement, — the Deus ex machind of Horace. We make this remark to caution the reader against supposing that the objection is to a mechanical intelligence. 80 ANAXAGOBAS. Pi H I'l it is any cause but Intelligence which produces things.' Anaxagoras assigned to Intelligence the great Arrangement of the homceomerice ; but of course he supposed that subor- dinate arrangements were carried on by themselves. The Christian thinker some centuries back believed that the Deity created and ordained all things ; nevertheless when he burnt his finger the cause of the bum he attributed to fire, and not to God ; but when the thunder muttered in the sky he attri- buted that to no cause but God. Is not this similar to the conception formed by Anaxagoras ? What he can explain, he does explain by natural causes ; whatever he is embar- rassed to explain, whatever he does not understand, he at- tributes fo Nous. It is here we see the force of his opinion respecting Chance as an unascertained cause : what others called the effect of Chance, he called the effect of the universal Intelligence. Those who have read the PAop(?o,—and who has not read it in some shape or other, either in the original, or in the dim and misty version of some translator ?— those who have read the Ph(Bdo, we say, wiU doubtless remember the passage in which Socrates is made to express his poignant disappoint- ment at the doctrine of Anaxagoras, to which he had at first been so attracted. This passage has an air of authenticity. It expresses a real disappointment, and the disappointment of Socrates, not merely of Plato. We believe firmly that Socrates is here expressing his own opinion ; and it is rarely that we can say this of opinions promulgated by Plato under the august name of his master. Here is the passage in the misty version of Thomas Taylor. ' But having once heard a person readmg from a certain book, composed as he said by Anaxagoras, when he came to that part in which he says that intellect orders and is the cause of aU things, I was delighted with this cause, and thought that in a certain respect it was an exceUent thing for inteUect to be the cause of aU ; and I considered if this was the case, disposing intellect would adorn aU things, and place everything in that situation m which it would subsist ANTAXAGOKAS. gi in the best manner. If any one therefore should be wiUing to discover the cause through which everything is generated or corrupted, or is, he ought to discover how it may subsist in the best manner, or suffer, or perform anything else. In consequence of this therefore, it is proper that a man should consider nothing else, either about himself or about others, except that which is the most excellent and the best ; but it is necessary that he who knows this should also know that which is subordinate, since there is one and the same science of both. But thus reasoning with myself, I rejoiced, thinking that I had found a preceptor in Anaxagoras, who would instruct me in the causes of things . agreeable to my own conceptions ; and that he would inform me in the first place whether the earth is flat or round, and afterwards explain the cause of its being so, adducing for this purpose that which is better, and showing that it is better for the earth to exist in this manner. And if he should say that it is situated in the middle, that he would besides this show that it was better for it to be in the middle— and if he should render all this apparent to me, I was so disposed as not to require any other species of cause ; for I by no means thought, after he had said that all these were orderly dis- posed by intellect, he would introduce any other cause for their subsistence except that which shows that it is better for them to exist in this manner, Hence I thought that in rendering the cause common to each particular and to aU things, he would explain that which is best for each, and is the common good of aU. And indeed I would not have exchanged these hopes for a mighty gain ! But having ob- tained his books with prodigious eagerness, I read them with great celerity, that I might with great celerity know that which is best and that which is base. ' But from this admirable hope, my friend, I was forced away, when in the course of my reading I saw him make no use of inteUect, nor employ certain causes for the purpose of orderly disposing particulars, but assign air, aether, and water, and many other things equally absurd, as the causes VOL. I. Q i... f i! I \ i! ANAXAGORAS. of things. And he appeared to me to be affected in a manner similar to him who should assert that all the actions of Socrates are produced by intellect ; and afterwards, endea- vouring to relate the causes of each particular action, should say that I now sit here because, in the first place, my body is composed of bones and nerves, and that the bones are solid, and are separated by intervals from each other ; but that the nerves, which are by nature capable of intension and remission, cover the bones together with the skin in which they are contained. The bones, therefore, being suspended from their joints, the nerves, by straining and relaxing them, enable me to bend my limbs as at present ; and through this cause I here sit in an inflected position. And again, should assign other such like causes of my now conversing vdth you, namely, voice and air and hearing, and a thousand other particulars, neglecting the true cause, that since it appeared to the Athenians better to condemn me on this account, it also appeared to me better and more just to sit here, and thus abiding, sustain the punishment which they have ordained me ; for otherwise, by the dog, as it appears to me, these bones and nerves would have been carried long ago either into Megara or Bceotia through an opinion of that which is best, if I had not thought it more just and becoming to sustain the punishment ordered by my country, whatever it might be, than to withdraw myself and run away. But to call things of this kind causes is extremely absurd. Indeed, if any one should say that without pos- sessing such things as bones and nerves I could not act as I do, he would speak the truth ; but to assert that I act as I do at present through these, and that I operate with this intellect, and not from a choice of what is best, would be an assertion full of extreme negligence and sloth : for this would be the consequence of not being able to collect by division that the true cause of a thing is very different from that without which a cause would not be a cause.' Now this reasoning we take to be an ignoratio elenchi. The illustration made use of is nothing to the purpose, and ANAXAGORAS. 83 would be admitted by Anaxagoras as true, without in the least impugning his argument. The Intelligence, which Anaxagoras conceived, was, as we saw, in no wise a moral Intelligence : it was simply the primum mobile, the all-knowing and motive force by which the arrangement of the elements was effected. Men are still so accustomed to conceive the divine Intelligence as only a more perfect and exalted human Intelligence, that where they see no traces of the latter they are prone to question the existence of the former. When Anaxagoras says that Nous was the creative principle, men instantly figure to themselves a Nous similar to human intelligence. On ex- amination they find that such an intelligence has no place in the doctrine, whereupon they declare that Intelligence has no place there ; the Nous, they aver, means no more than Motion, and might have been called Motion. But fortunately Simplicius has preserved a long passage from the work of Anaxagoras ; we have already quoted a portion of it, and shall now select one or two sentences in which the Nous, as a cognitive power, is distinctly set forth ; and we quote these the more readily because Eitter, to whom we are indebted for the passage, has not translated it : — ' In- telligence is, of all things, the subtlest and purest, and has entire knowledge of all. Everything which has a soul, whether great or small, is governed by the Intelligence {vovs Kparsc), Intelligence knows all things (TrdpTa eyvco vovs), both those that are mixed and those that are separated ; and the things which ought to be, and the things which were, and those which now are, and those which will be ; all are arranged by Intelligence {wavTa SisKocrfiTjae voDs^).' The relation in which the system of Anaxagoras stands to other systems may be briefly characterised. The Infinite Matter of the lonians became in his hands the hoTnceomerice. » It would be needless after this to refer to the numerous expressions of Aristotle in confirmation. The critical reader wiU do well to consult Teen- DELENBURO, AHsfot. dc Anim., p. 466 et seq. Plato, in speaking of the povs adds Kai y\>vxh.^Cratylu8, p. 400. " a 2 84 ANAXAGORAS. ANAXAGORAS. 85 ij i !l Instead of one substance, such as Water, Air, or Fire, he saw the necessity of admitting Many substances. At the same time, he carried out the Pythagorean and Eleatic prin- ciple of The One ; thus avoiding the dialectical thrusts of Zeno against the upholders of The Many. Hegel and M. Cousin would call this eclecticism ; and in one sense they would be correct; but inasmuch as Anaxagoras was led to his doctrine by the development which the Ionian and the Eleatic principles had taken, and was not led to it by any eclectical method, we must protest against the appli- cation of such a name. There was a truth dimly recognised by the lonians, namely, that the material phenomena are all reducible to some noumenon, some dpxn* What that Beginning was, they variously sought. Anaxagoras also sought it ; and his doctrine of perception convinced him that it could not be One principle, but Many ; hence his honweo- merice. So far he was an Ionian. But there was also a truth dimly seen by the Eleatics, namely, that The Many could never be resolved into One ; and as without One there could not be Many, and with the Many only there could not be One ; in other words, as God must be The One from whom the multiplicity of things is derived, the necessity of admitting The One as The All and the Self-existent was proved. Tliis reasoning was accepted by Anaxagoras. He saw that there were Many things ; he saw also the necessity for The One. In so far he was an Eleatic. Up to this point the two doctrines had been at variance : a chasm of infinite depth yawned between them. Zeno's in- vention of Dialectics was a result of this profound difference. It was reserved for Anaxagoras to bridge over the chasm which could not be filled up. He did so with consummate skill. He accepted both doctrines, with some modifications, and proclaimed the existence of the Infinite Intelligence who was the Architect of the Infinite Matter. By this means he escaped each horn of the dilemma : he escaped that which gored the lonians, namely, as to how and why the Infinite Matter became fashioned into worlds and beings, since Matter by itself can only be Matter. He escaped that which gored the Eleatics, as to how and why the Infinite One, who was pure and immixed, became the Infinite Many, impure and mixed, since one thing could never be more than one thing : it must have some other thing on which to act, for it cannot act upon itself. Anaxagoras escaped both by his dualistic theory of Mind fashioning, and Matter fashioned. A similar bridge was thrown by him over the deep chasm separating the Sensationalists from the Rationalists, with respect to the origin of knowledge. He admitted both Sense and Reason ; they had only admitted either Sense or Reason. These two points entitle Anaxagoras to a very high rank in the history of Philosophy. § III. Empedocles. I am forced to differ from all historians I have consulted, except De Gerando, who hesitates about the matter, respect- ing the place occupied by Empedocles. Brucker classes him among the Pythagoreans ; Ritter, amongst the Eleatics ; Zeller and Hegel, as the precursor of the Atomists, who precede Anaxagoras; Renouvier, as the precursor of Ana- xagoras ; Tennemann places Diogenes of ApoUonia between Anaxagoras and Empedocles, but makes Democritus precede them. When I come to treat of the doctrines of Empedocles, I shall endeavour to show the filiation of ideas from Ana- xagoras. Meanwhile it is necessary to examine the passage in Aristotle, on which very contradictory opinions have been grounded. In the 3rd chapter of the 1st book of Aristotle's Meta^ physics, after a paragraph on the system of Empedocles, occurs this passage : ' But Anaxagoras of Clazomense being superior to him (Empedocles) in respect of age, but inferior to him in respect of opinions, said that the number of prin- ciples was infinite.' In the words ' superior ' and ' inferior ' If ') 86 EMPEDOCLES. EMPEDOCLES. 87 1 !i the antithesis of the original is preserved ; but it would be less equivocal to say ' older ' and ' inferior.' There are two other interpretations of this passage. One of them is that of M. Cousin (after Hegel), who believes that the antithesis of Aristotle is meant to convey the fact that Anaxagoras, although older in point of time, is more recent in point of published doctrine than Empedocles, having written after him. This is his translation : ' Anaxagoras, qui naquit avant ce dernier, mais qui ecrivit apres lui.' The second is that adopted by M. Renouvier from M. Ravaisson, who interprets it as meaning that the doctrine of Anaxagoras, though more ancient in point of publication, is more recent in point of thought : i, e. philosophically more developed, although historically earlier. I believe both these interpretations to be erroneous. There is no ground for them except the antithesis of Aristotle ; and the original of this disputed passage is, ^Ava^ayopas Se 6 K.Xa^o/j,svL09 ifi fikv rjXtKia TrpoTspos a)u tovtov, tols 8' spyoLS vcrrspos : which is rendered by MM. Pierron and Zevort : ^Anaxagore de Clazomene, I'alne d'Empedocle, n'etait pas arrive a un systeme aussi plausible,'^ This agrees with my version. I confess, however, that on a first glance M. Cousin's version better preserves the force of the antithesis ry jjlsv rjXLKia irporspos — to?9 8* ^pyois vcrrspos. But other reasons prevent a concurrence in this interpre- tation. MM. Pierron and Zevort, in their note on the pas- sage, remark : ' Mais les mots spyw, spyotSy dans une opposition, ont ordinairement une signification vague, comme re, revera, chez les Latins, et, chez nous, en fait, en realiteJ* The force of the objection does not strike me. If Anaxagoras was in fact, in reality, posterior to Empedocles, we can only under- stand this in the sense M. Cousin has understood Aristotle ; and moreover, MM. Pierron and Zevort here contradict their translation, which says that, in point of fact, the system of Anaxagoras was not so plausible as that of Empedocles. * La Metaphysique d^Aristote, i. 233. More weight must be laid on the meaning oivarspos, which certainly cannot be exclusively taken to mean posterior in point of time. In the 11th chapter of Aristotle's 5th book he treats of all the signifieations of irpojspos and varspos. One of these significations is superiority and inferiority. In the sense of inferiority varspos is often used by the poets. Thus Sophocles : — ''fl fiiaphv ^005, KoX yvvaiKhs tanpov ! O shameful character, below a woman ! ' Inferior ' is the primitive meaning ; in English we say, * second to none,' for ' inferior to none.' This meaning of varspos, namely, of inferiority, is the one always understood by the old commentators on the pas- sage in question ; none of them understood a chronological posteriority. Uporspos indicates priority in point of time; varepos inferiority in point of merit. Thus Philoponus : ' Prior quidem tempore, sed posterior et mancus secundum opinionem ' (fol. 2 a) ; and the anonymous scholiast of the Vatican MS. : irporspos yovv tw ')(p6v(p, a\X' varspos Kal iXXsl- ircjv Kara rr^v ho^av — ' first indeed in time, but second and inferior in point of doctrine.' The only question which now remains to be answered in order to establish the truth of the foregoing interpretation of varspos, is this : Did Aristotle regard the system of Anaxa- goras as inferior to that of Empedocles ? This question can be answered distinctly in the affirmative. The reader wiU remember the passage in which Aristotle blames Anaxagoras for never employing his First Cause (Intelligence) except upon emergencies. Aristotle continues thus : ' Empedocles employs his causes more abundantly, though not indeed sufficiently, — Kal E/x7r£8oAcX?)s JttI irkiov fisv rovrq) Xf'V'^^'' '^^^^ alrioLS, ov firj ovts l/cav&s, — Met i. 4. Anaxagoras was bom about the 70th Olympiad ; Em- pedocles, by general consent, is said to have flourished in the 84th Olympiad : this would make Anaxagoras at least fifty- six years old at the time when Empedocles published his doctrine, after which age it is barely probable that Anaxa- 88 EMPEDOCLES. i goras would have begun to write ; and even this probability vanishes when we look back upon the life of Anaxagoras, who was teaching in Athens about the 76th or 77th Olympiad, and who died at Lampsacus, in exile, in the 88th Olympiad, viz. sixteen years after the epoch in which Empedocles is said to have flourished. Empedocles was bom at Agrigentum, in Sicily, and flou- rished about the 84th Olympiad (b. c. 444). Agrigentum was at that period at the height of its splendour, and was a formidable rival to Syracuse. Empedocles, descended from a wealthy and illustrious family, acquired a high reputation by his resolute adherence to the democratic party. Much of his wealth is said to have been spent in a singular but honour- able manner : namely, in bestowing dowries on poor girls, and marrying them to young men of rank and consequence. Like most of the early philosophers, he is supposed to have been a great traveUer, and to have gathered in distant lands the wondrous store of knowledge which he displayed. It was assumed that only in the far East could he have learned the potent secrets of Medicine and Magic ; only from the Egyptian Magi could he have learned the art of Prophecy. It is probable, however, that he did travel into Italy, and to Athens. But in truth we can mention little of his personal history that is not open to question. His name, like that of Pythagoras, passed easily into the regions of fable. The same august majesty of demeanour and the same marvellous power over nature are attributed to both. Miracles were his pastimes. In prophecy, in medicine, in power over the winds and rains, his wonders were so numerous and so renowned, that when he appeared at the Olympic Games aU eyes were reverentially fixed upon him. His dress and demeanour accorded with his reputation. Haughty, impassioned, and eminently disinterested in character, he refused the govern- ment of Agrigentum when freely offered him by the citizens ; but his love of distinction showed itself in priestly garments,' a golden girdle, the Delphic crown, and a numerous train of attendants. He proclaimed himself to be a God whom men EMPEDOCLES. 89 and women reverently adored. But we must not take this literally: he probably only ^assumed by anticipation an honour which he promised all soothsayers, priests, physicians, and princes of the people.' Fable has also taken advantage of the mystery which over- hangs his death, to create out of it various stories. One relates that, after a sacred festival, he was drawn up to heaven in a splendour of celestial effulgence. Another and more popular one is, that he threw himself headlong into the crater of Mount ^tna, in order that he might pass for a God, the cause of his death being unknown ; but one of his brazen sandals, thrown out in an eruption, revealed the secret. A similar uncertainty exists as to his teachers and his writings. Pythagoras, Parmenides, Xenophanes, and Ana- xagoras have all been positively named as his teachers. Unless we understand the word teachers in a figurative sense, we must reject these statements. Diogenes Laertius, who reports them, does so with an absence of criticism which would be remarkable in another."*^ Considering that there was, at least, one hundred and forty years between Pytha- goras and Empedocles, we need no further argument to disprove any connection between them. Diogenes, on the authority of Aristotle (as he says), at- tributes to Empedocles the invention of Ehetoric ; and Quinctilian (iii. c. 1) has repeated the statement. We have no longer the work of Aristotle ; but, as Eitter says, the assertion must have arisen from a misunderstanding, or have been said in jest by Aristotle, because Empedocles was the teacher of Gorgias : most likely from a misunderstanding, since Sextus Empiricus mentions Aristotle as having said that Empedocles first incited or gave an impulse to Ehetoric.f Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, declares that Corax and Tisias were the first to publish a written Treatise on Eloquence. * Diogenes is one of the stupidest of the stupid race of compilers. His work is useful because containing extracts, but can rarely be relied on for anytliing else, t UpwTov KiKivriKdycu. — Adv. Mat. vii. 90 EMPEDOCLES. •Hli fl 1 We feel the less hesitation in rejecting the statement of Diogenes, because in the very passage which succeeds he is guilty of a very gross misquotation of Aristotle, who, as he says, 'in his book of The Poets speaks of Empedoclea as Homeric, powerful in his eloquence, rich in metaphors, and other poetical figures.'* Now this work of Aristotle on the Poets is fortunately extant, and it proclaims the very reverse of what Diogenes alleges. Here is the passage : — * Custom, indeed, connecting the poetry or making with the metre, has denominated some elegiac poets, other epic poets : thus dis- tinguishing poets, not according to the nature of their imitation, but according to that of their metre only ; for even they who composed treatises of Medicine, or Natural Philo- sophy in verse, are denominated Poets : yet Homer and Empedocles have nothing in common except their metre; the former, therefore, just merits the name of Poet ; the other should rather be called a Natural Philosopher than a Poet.'t The diversity of opinion with respect to the position of Empedocles, indicated at the opening of this chapter, is not without significance. That men such as Hegel, Eitter, Zeller, and Tennemann should see reasons for different classification cannot be without importance to the historian. Their arguments destroy each other ; but it does not there- fore follow that they all build upon false grounds. Each view has a certain truth in it ; but not the whole truth. The cause of the difference seems to be this : Empedocles has some of the Pythagorean, Eleatic, Heraclitic, and Anaxagorean in his system ; so that each historian, detecting one of these elements, and omitting to give due importance to the others, has connected Empedocles with the system to which that one element belongs. Eitter and Zeller have, however, been * DioG. Laebt. lib. viii. c. ii. § 3. t Be Poet., c. i. It is indeed quite possible that Diogenes may have had before him a book -wtpl -woirtrSiv, perhaps one of the many spurious treatises current under Aristotle's name ; but it is not probable that Aristotle would have expressed an opinion so contrary to the one given in his authentic work. EMPEDOCLES. 91 aware of some of the complex relations of the doctrine, but failed, we think, in giving it its true position. Eespecting human knowledge, Empedocles belongs partly to the Eleatics. With them, he complained of the im- perfection of the Senses ; and looked for truth only in Reason, which is partly human and partly divine : it is partly clouded by the senses. The divine knowledge is opposed to sensuous knowledge ; for man cannot approach the divine, neither can he seize it with the hand nor the eye. Hence Empedocles conjoined the duty of contemplating God in the mind. But he appears to have proclaimed the existence of this divine knowledge without attempting to determine its relation to human knowledge. In this respect he resembles rather Xenophanes than Parmenides."*^ We have no clear testimony of his having studied the works of Anaxagoras ; but, if we had, it might not be difficult to explain his inferior theory of knowledge ; for, in truth, the theory of Anaxagoras was too far in advance of the age to be rightly apprehended. Empedocles adhered to the Eleatic theory. With Xenophanes, he bewailed the delusion of the senses and experience. Listen to his lament : Swift-fated and conscious, bow brief is life's pleasureless portion ! Like the wind-driven smoke, they are carried backwards and forwards, Each trusting to nought save what his experience vouches, On all sides distracted ; 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. These verses seem to indicate a scepticism of Reason as well as of the Senses ; but other passages show that he upheld the integrity of Reason, which he thought was only prevented from revealing the whole truth because it was imprisoned in the body. Mundane existence was, in his system, the doom of such immortal souls as had been dis- graced from Heaven. The Fall of Man he thus distinctly enunciated : * HaWng quoted Aristotle's testimony of the sensuous nature of knowledge in tho Empedoclean theory, we need only here refer to it ; adding that in this respect Empedocles ranks with Parmenides rather than with Xenophanes. li i; i|i t I > i < i 92 EMPEDOCLES. This is the law of Fate, of the Otxis an olden enactment, If with guilt or murder a Daemon * polluteth his members, Thrice ten thousand years must he wander apart from the blessed. Hence, doomed I stray, a fugitive from Gods and an outcast, To raging strife submissive. But he had some more philosophical ground to go upon when he wished to prove the existence of Eeason and of the Divine Nature. He maintained that like could only be known by like : through earth we learn the earth, through fire we learn fire, through strife we learn strife, and through love we learn love. If, therefore,! like could only be known by like, the Divine could only be known by Divine Eeason ; and, inasmuch as the Divine is recognised by man, it is a proof that the Divine exists. Knowledge and Existence mutually imply each other. Empedocles resembles Xenophanes also in his attacks on anthropomorphism. God, he says, has neither head adjusted to limbs like human beings, nor legs, nor hands : He is, wholly and perfectly, mind ineffable, holy, With rapid and swift-glancing thought pervading the whole world. We may compare these verses with the line of Xenophanes— Without labour he ruleth all things by reason and insight. Thus far Empedocles belonged to the Eleatics. The traces of Pythagoras are fewer ; for we cannot regard as such aU those analogies which the ingenuity of some critics has detected. J In his life, and in his moral precepts, there is a strong resemblance to Pythagoras ; but in his philosophy we see none beyond the doctrine of metempsychosis, and the consequent abstinence fi-om animal food. Heraclitus had said there was nothing but a perpetual flux of things, that the whole world of phenomena was as a * An immortal soul. t We are here thinking for Empedocles ; we have no other authority for this statement, than that something of the kind is wanting to make out a plausible explanation of what is only implied in the fragments extant. The fragments tell us that he believed in Reason as the transcendent faculty ; and also that Reason did in some way recognise the Divine. All we have done is to supply the link wanting. '' t See them noticed in Zeller, Phihs. der Gnechen, pp. 169-173 (1845). EMPEDOCLES. 93 flowing river, ever-changing yet apparently the same. Ana- xagoras had also said that there was no creation of elements but only an arrangement. Empedocles was now to amal- gamate these views. ' Fools ! ' he exclaims, 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 a separation of the mingled. Which are called a birth and death by ignorant mortals.' f So distinct a relationship as these verses manifest towards both Heraclitus and Anaxagoras will account for the classi- fication adopted by Hegel, Zeller, and Renouvier; at the same time it gives greater strength to our opinion of Empe- docles as the successor of these two. The differences are however as great as the resemblances. Having asserted that all things were but a mingling and a separation, he must have admitted the existence of certain primary elements which were the materials mingled. Heraclitus had aflSrmed Fire to be both the principle and the element; both the moving, mingling force, and the mingled matter. Anaxagoras, with great logical consistency, affirmed that the primary elements were homoeomericB, since nothing could proceed from nothing, and whatever was arranged must, therefore, be an arrangement of primary elements. Empedocles affirmed that the primary elements were Four, viz. Earth, Air, Fire, and Water : out of these all other things proceed ; all things are but the various minglings of these four. Now, that this is an advance on both the preceding con- ceptions will scarcely be denied ; it bears indubitable evi- dence of being a later conception, and a modification of its predecessors. Nevertheless, although superior as a physical view, it has not the logical consistency of the view maintained * Compare Anaxagoras, as quoted p. 77 : * Wrongly do the Greeks suppose that aught begins or ceases to be.' t Compare Anaxagoras : ' So that all-becoming might more properly be called becoming mixed, and all-corruption becoming separate.' 94 EMPEDOCLES. EMPEDOCLES. 95 r ii i> II by Anaxagoras ; for, as Empedocles taught that like can only be known by like, i. e. that existence and knowledge were identical and mutually implicative, he ought to have main- tained that whatever is recognised by the mind as distinct, must be distinct in esse. With respect to the Formative Power, we see the traces of Heraclitus and Anaxagoras in about the same proportion. Heiuclitus maintained that Fire was impeUed by irresistible Desire to transform itself into some determinate existence. Anaxagoras maintained that the infinite InteUigence was the great Architect who arranged aU the material elements, the Mind that controUed and fashioned Matter. The great dis- tinction between these two systems is, that the Fire trans- forms itself, the Nous transforms something which is radicaUy different from itself. Both these conceptions were amal- gamated by Empedocles. He taught that Love was the creative power. Wherever there is a mixture of different elements Love is exerted. Here we see the Desire of Heraclitus subHmed into its highest expression, and the Nous of Anaxagoras reduced to its moral expression. Love. The difficulties of the HeracHtean doctrine, namely, as to how Fire can ever become anything different from Fire, are avoided by the adoption of the Ana- xagorean dualism ; while the difficulties of the Anaxagorean doctrine, namely, as to how the great Arranger was moved and incited to arrange the primary elements, are in some measure avoided by the natural desire of Love (Aphrodite). But there was a difficulty stiU to be overcome. If Love was the creator, that is, the Mingler, what caused separation ? To explain this, he had recourse to Hate. As the perfect state of supramundane existence was harmony, the imperfect state of mundane existence was Discord. Love was, therefore, the Formative Principle, and Hate the Destructive. Hence he said that All the members of God war together, one after the other. This is but the phrase of Heraclitus, ^ Strife is the parent of an thmgs. It IS nevertheless most probable that Empedocles regarded Hate as only a mundane power, as only operating on the theatre of the world, and nowise disturbing the abode of the Gods.-^ For, inasmuch as Man is a fallen and per- verted God, doomed to wander on the face of the earth, sky- aspiring, but sense-clouded ; so may Hate be only perverted Love, struggling through space. Does not this idea accord with what we know of his opinions ? His conception of God, that is, of the One, was that of a ' sphere in the bosom of harmony fixed, in calm rest, gladly rejoicing.' This quies- cent sphere, which is Love, exists above and aroimd the moved World. Certain points are loosened from the com- bination of the elements, but the unity established by Love continues. Bitter is convinced that ' Hate has only power over the smaller portion of existence, over that part which, disconnecting itself from the whole, contaminates itself with crime, and thereby devolves to the errors of mortals.' Our account of Empedocles will be found to vary con- siderably from that in Aristotle ; but our excuse is furnished by the great Stagirite himself, who is constantly telling us that Empedocles gave no reasons for his opinions. Moreover, Aristotle makes us aware that his own interpretation is open to question ; for he says, that this interpretation can only be obtained by pushing the premises of Empedocles to their legitimate conclusions ; a process which destroys all his- torical integrity, for what thinker does push his premises to their utmost limits ? § rv. Democritus. The laughing Philosopher, the traditional antithesis to Heraclitus, was bom at Abdera (the new settlement of the Teians after their abandonment of Ionia), in the 80th Olym- piad (B.C. 460). His claim to the title of Laugher, o rysXa- gIvos, has been disputed, and by modems generally rejected. Perhaps the native stupidity of his countrymen, who were renowned for abusing the privilege of being stupid, afforded * An opinion subsequently put forth by Plato in the Thcedrus. i 96 ■ M 4ii ii i' >4 I DEMOCRITUS. him incessant matter for laughter. Perhaps he was by nature satirical, and thought ridicule the test of truth. He was of a noble and wealthy family, so wealthy that it enter- tained Xerxes at Abdera. Xerxes in recompense left some of his Magi to instruct the young Democritus. Doubtless it was their tales of the wonders of their native land, and of the deep unspeakable wisdom of their priests, which inspired him with the passion for travel. ' I, of all men,' he says, * of my day, have travelled over the greatest extent of country, exploring the most distant lands ; most climates and regions have I visited, and listened to the most experienced and wisest of men ; and in the calculations of line-measuring no one hath surpassed me, not even the Egyptians, amongst whom I sojourned five years.' In travel he spent his patri- mony : but he exchanged it for an amount of knowledge which no one had previously equalled. The Abderites, on his return, looked on him with vague wonder. The sun- burnt traveller brought with him knowledge which, to them, must have appeared divine. He exhibited a few samples of his lore, foretold unexpected changes in the weather, and was at once exalted to the summit of that power to which it is a nation's pride to bow. He was offered political supre- macy, but wisely declined it. It would be idle to detail here the various anecdotes which tradition hands down respecting him. They are mostly either impossible or improbable. That, for instance, of his having put out his eyes with a burning-glass, in order that he might be more perfectly and undisturbedly acquainted with his reason, is in violent contradiction to his theory of the eye being one of the great inlets to the soul. Tradition is less questionable in its account of his having led a quiet sober life, and of his dying at a very advanced age. More. we cannot credit. Respecting his Philosophy there is some certain evidence ; but it has been so variously interpreted, and is in many parts so obscure, that historians have been at a loss to give it its due position in relation to other systems. Eeinhold, Brandis, DEMOCRITUS. 97 Marbach, and Hermann view him as an Ionian ; Buhle and Tenneman, as an Eleatic ; Hegel, as the successor of Hera- clitus, and the predecessor of Anaxagoras; Eitter, as a Sophist ; and Zeller, as the precursor of Anaxagoras. Of all these attempts at classification, that by Eitter seems to me the worst. Because Democritus has an occasional phrase implying great vanity— and those mentioned by Eitter seem to us to imply nothing of the kind— he is said to be a Sophist ! Democritus is distmguished from the lonians by the denial of all sensible quality to the primary elements ; from the Eleatics by his affirmation of the existence of a multiplicity of elements ; from Heraclitus on the same ground ; from Anaxagoras, as we shall see presently ; and from Empedocles, by denying the Four Elements, and the Formative Love. All these differences are radical. The resemblances, such as they are, may have been coincidences, or derived from one or two of the later thinkers : Parmenides and Anaxagoras, for example. What did Democritus teach ? This question we will en- deavour to answer somewhat differently from other historians ; but our answer shall be wholly grounded on precise and certain data, wi~h no other novelty than that of developing the system from its central principles. To commence with Knowledge, and with the passage of Aristotle, universally accredited though variously interpreted : ' Democritus says, that either nothing is true, or what is true is not evident to us. Universally, in his system, the sensation constitutes the thought, and as at the same time it is but a change [in the sentient being], the sensible pheno- mena (i.e. sensations) are of necessity true.' * This pregnant passage means, I think, that sensation, inasmuch as it is sensation, must be true : that is, true subjectively ; but sen- sation, inasmuch as it is sensation, cannot be true objectively. M. Eenouvier thinks that Democritus was the first to intro- iTiV y.\v rhu a1a0r,?■- *« - .■««t— " :z ^i-Xi-v Ko*i^'- 98 DEMOCRITUS. duce this distinction ; but our readers will remember that it was tlie distinction established by Anaxagoras. Sextus Empiricus quotes the very words of Democritus : The sweet exists only in form, the bitter in form, the hot in form, the cold in form, colour in form ; but in causal reality {alTirj) * only atoms and space exist. The sensible things which are supposed by opinion to exist have no real existence, but only atoms and space exist.' t When he says that sweetness, heat, colour, etc., exist in form only, he means that they are sensible images constantly emanating from things ; a notion we shall explain presently. A little further on, Sextus reports the opinion, that we only perceive that which falls in upon us according to the disposition of our bodies ; all else is hidden from us. Neither Condillac nor Destutt de Tracy has more distinctly identified sensation and thought, than Democritus has in the above passages. But he does so in the spirit of Kant rather than that of Condillac ; for, although with the latter ho would say, ' Penser, c'est sentir,' yet he would with the former draw the distinction between phenomenal and nou- menal perception. But did sensation constitute all knowledge ? Was there nothing to guide man but the reports of his senses ? Demo- critus said there was Reflection.X Eeflection was not the source of absolute truth, but ful- filled a controlling office, and established certitude, as far as there could be certitude in human knowledge. Democritus, aware that most of our conceptions are derived through the Senses, was also aware that many of them were utterly in- dependent, and in seeming defiance of the Senses. Thus the ' infinitely small ' and the ' infinitely great ' escape Sense, but are affirmed by Eeflection. So also the atoms, which his Reason told him were the primary elements of things, could never have become known by Sense. • Modern editors read ir€r}, * in reality.* We are inclined however to preserve the old reading, as more antithetical to v6fKfi. f Adv. Mathem. vii. 163. X Aidyoia : etymology, no less than psychology, justifies this translation. DEMOCRITUS. 99 He was not content with the theory of Anaxagoras. There were difficulties which remained unsolved by it; which, indeed, had never been appreciated. Democritus set himself to solve the grand problem. How do we perceive external things ? It is no satisfactory answer to say that we perceive them by the Senses. This is no better an explanation than that of the occult quality of opium, given by Moliere's phy- sician : ' L'opium endormit parcequ'il a une vertu soporifique.' The question arises :—How is it that the Senses perceive ? No one had asked this question ; to have asked it, was to form an era in the history of Philosophy. Men began by reasoning on the reports of the Senses, unsuspicious of error : when they saw anything, they concluded that what they saw existed and existed as they saw it. Afterwards came others who began to question the accuracy of the Senses. Lastly, came those who denied that accuracy altogether, and pro- nounced the reports to be mere delusions. Thus the ques- tion forced itself on the mind of Democritus— In what manner could the Senses perceive external things ? Once settle the modus operandi, and then the real efficacy of the Senses may be estimated. ^ The hypothesis by which he attempted to explain percep- tion was both ingenious and bold; and many centuries elapsed before a better one was suggested. He supposed that all things were constantly throwing off images of them- selves {£iBx 2^^^3*'*^^^'''-?*'^' -.4i^fei*^W««''*' 104 SUMMARY OF THE TWO FIRST EPOCHS. p mental effort required to select some known agency and to connect it by a chain of reasoning with the result, all this is a new phenomena in the human mind.' * The Second Result was a conviction of the uncertainty of Knowledge, dependent upon the Senses ; and the consequent necessity of a thorough investigation of the tools with which any further attempt could be made. The failure of philo- sophers in solving the problem led them to examine the causes of the failure. From investigating cosmical facts they turned to the investigation of mental facts. Psychology was commenced. The objective and subjective worlds thus became the domain of Philosophy. Ontology and Psychology were then, as now, its two great objects of research ; and were then, as now, investigated on the same Method, with but slightly varying differences in the nature of the conclusions. Demo- critus is at the standing-point of Leibnitz ; Heraclitus is at the standing-point of Hegel: a striking lesson of the in- competence of the Method ! The Third Eesult is the institution of Dialectics. The in- vestigation into the sources and validity of Knowledge having proved the Senses to be fallacious and the Reason fallible, led to the necessity of a criticism of the modes of human thought, and a systematic exposition of the sources of error. Logic, or the science of philosophical tools, thus took its place beside Ontology and Psychology. In these three departments all Philosophy is comprised. And these three were all evolved during the century and a half we have just surveyed. Our future course will make us acquainted with various changes of aspect, with various combinations and modifications of the Elements, but with no change in the nature of the problems, and with no change in the spirit of the search. * Gbote : Plato, i. 89. , *;- I, -« .mttM 105 THIRD EPOCH. The first crisis. The insufficiency of Philosophy to solve the problem of Existence and to establish a basis of certitude produces a sceptical indifference. THE SOPHISTS. § 1. What weee they? THE Sophists are a much calumniated race. That they should have been so formerly is not surprising ; that they should be so still, is an evidence that historical criticism is yet in its infancy. In raising our voices to defend them we are aware of the paradox ; but looked at nearly, the paradox is greater on the side of those who credit and repeat the traditional account. In truth, we know of few charges so unanimous yet so paradoxical as that brought against the Sophists.* It is as if mankind had consented to judge of Socrates by the representation of him in The Clouds, The caricature of Socrates by Aristophanes is quite as near the truth as the caricature of the Sophists by Plato ; t with this difference, that in the one case it * It is proper to state that the novel view of the position and character of the Sophists advanced in this Chapter was published five years before the admirable Chapter of Mr. Grote's History of Greece, wherein that erudite and thoughtful writer brings his learning and sagacity to the most thorough elucidation of the question it has yet received. In claiming priority in this point of historical criticism, it is right for me to acknowledge that Mr. G-rote substantiates his view with overwhelming force of argument and citation ; and in revising the present Chapter 1 have befn much indebted to his criticisms and citations. t See in particular that amusing dialogue the Eiitkydemus, which is quite as exaggerated as Aristoptianks. 100 THE SOPHISTS. WHAT WERE THEY? 107 was inspired by political, in the other by speculative anti- pathy. On the Sophists we have only the testimony of antagonists ; and the history of mankind clearly proves that the enmities which arise from difference of race and coimtry are feeble compared with the enmities which arise from difference of creed: the former may be lessened by contact and inter- course; the latter are only aggravated. Plato had every reason to dislike the Sophists and their opinions ; he there- fore lost no occasion of ridiculing the one and misrepresenting the other. And it is worthy of especial remembrance that this hostility was peculiarly Platonic, and not Socratic ; for, as Mr. Grote reminds us, there is no such marked antithesis between Socrates and the Sophists in the biographical work of Xenophon. Plato, however, and those who followed Plato, misrepresented the Sophists, as in all ages antagonists have misrepresented each other. The Sophists were wealthy ; the Sophists were powerful ; the Sophists were dazzling, rhetorical, and not profound. Interrogate human nature — above all, the nature of philo- sophers—and ask what will be the sentiment entertained respecting these Sophists by their rivals. Ask the solitary thinker what is his opinion of the showy, powerful, but shallow rhetorician who usurps the attention of the world. The man of convictions has at all times a superb contempt for the man of mere oratorical or dialectical display. The thinker knows that the world is ruled by Thought ; yet he sees Expression gaining the world's attention. He knows perhaps that he has within him thoughts pregnant with human welfare ; yet he sees the giddy multitude intoxicated with the enthusiasm excited by some plausible fallacy, clothed in persuasive language. He sees through the fallacy, but cannot make others as clear-sighted. His warning is un- heeded ; his wisdom is spumed ; his ambition is frustrated ; the popular idol is carried onward in triumph. The neglected thinker would not be human if he bore this with equanimity. He does not. He is loud and angry in lamenting the fate of a world that can be so led ; loud and angry in his contempt of one who could so lead it. Should he become the critic or historian of his age, what exactness ought we to expect in his account of the popular idol ? Somewhat of this kind was the relation in which the Sophists and Philosophers stood to each other. The Sophists were hated by some because they were powerful, by others because shallow; and were misrepre- sented by all. In later times their antagonism to Socrates has brought them ill-will ; and this iU-will is strengthened by the very prejudice of the name.. Could a Sophist be other than a cheat and a liar? As well ask, could a Devil be other than Evil? In the name of Sophist odious qualities are implied, and this implication perverts our judgment. Call the Sophists professors of rhetoric, which is their truest designation, and examine their history ; it will then produce a very different impression. Much discussion has been devoted to the meaning of the word Sophist, and to the supposed condemnation it every- where carried. ' A Sophist, in the genuine sense of the word, was a wise man, a clever man, one who stood prominently before the public as distinguished for intellect or talent of some kind. Thus Solon and Pythagoras are both called Sophists ; Thamyras, the skilful bard, is called a Sophist ; Socrates is so denominated, not merely by Aristophanes, but by iEschines. Aristotle himself calls Aristippus, and Xeno- phon calls Antisthenes, both of them disciples of Socrates, by that name. Xenophon in describing a collection of in- structive books calls them the writings of the old poets and Sophists. Plato is alluded to as a Sophist even by Isocrates ; Isocrates himself was harshly criticised as a Sophist, and defends both himself and his profession. Lastly, Timon, who bitterly satirised all the philosophers, designated them all, including Plato and Aristotle, by the general name of Sophists.'^ This proves the vagueness with which the * Grotb, Hist, of Greece ^ viii. 480. \\ 108 THE SOPHISTS. I term was employed : a like discrepancy might be detected in the modem use of the word 'metaphysician,' which is a term of honour or reproach according to the speaker. Zeller says that the specific name of Sophist at first merely designated one who taught philosophy for pay. The philosophy might be good or bad ; the characteristic designated by the epithet Sophistical was its demand of money-fees. The narrower meaning was given it by Plato and Aristotle.* It matters little however what was the meaning attached to the name. Even were it proved that ' Sophist ' was as injurious in those days as ' Sociahst ' in our own, it would no more prove that the Sophists really taught the doctrines attributed to them than the mingled terror and detestation with which ' Social- ist doctrines ' are described in almost all modem journals, pamphlets, speeches, and reviews, prove that the Socialists really teach what is there imputed to them. We said it was a paradox to maintain that the Sophists really promulgated the opinions usually attributed to them ; -and by this we mean that not only are some of those opinions nothing but caricatures of what was really maintained, but also that in our interpretation of the others we grossly err, by a confusion of Christian with Heathen views of morality! Modems cannot help regarding as fearfully immoral, ideas which by the Greeks were regarded as moral, or at least as not disreputable. For instance: the Greek orators are always careful to impress upon their audience, that in bring- ing a charge against any one they are actuated by the strongest personal motives ; that they have been injured by the accused ; that they have good honest hatred as a motive for accusing him. Can anything be more opposite to Christian feeling ? A Christian accuser is just as anxious to extricate himself from any charge of being influenced by personal con- siderations, as the Greek was of making the contrary evident. A Christian seeks to place his motive to the account of abstract justice ; and his statement would be received with » Zeller : Pkilosophie der Griechen, erster Theil, 1856, p. 750. WHAT WERE THEY? 109 great suspicion were it known that a personal feeling prompted it. The reason of this difference is that the Christian Ethics do not countenance vengeance ; the Greek Ethics not only countenanced vengeance, but very much reprobated informers : consequently, whoever made an accu- sation had to clear himself from the ignominy of being an informer, and to do so he showed his personal motives. This example will prepare the reader to judge, without precipitancy, the celebrated boast attributed to the Sophists, that they could ' make the worse appear the better reason.' This was said to be the grand aim of their endeavours. This was called their avowed object. To teach this art, it is said, they demanded enormous sums ; to learn it enormous sums were readily given, and given by many. These assertions are severally false. We will take the last first. It is not true that enormous sums were demanded. Isocrates affirms that their gains were never very high, but had been maliciously exaggerated, and were very inferior to the gains of dramatic actors. Plato, a less questionable authority on such a point, makes Protagoras describe his system of demanding remuneration : ' I make no stipulation beforehand ; when a pupil parts from me, I ask from him such a sum as I think the time and the circumstances warrant ; and I add that if he deems the demand too great, he has only to make up his own mind what is the amount of improvement which my company has procured to him, and what sum he considers an equivalent for it. I am content to accept the sum so named by himself, only requiring hiin to go into a Temple and make oath that it is his sincere belief. Plato objects to this, and to every other mode of ' selling wisdom ; ' but, as Mr. Grote remarks, ' such is not the way in which the corrupters of mankind go to work.' But let us waive the question of payment, to consider the teaching paid for. The Sophists, it is said, and believed, boasted that they could teach the art of making the worse appear the better reason ; and in one sense this is trne ; but imderstanding this art as modems have understood it, and ;1| no THE sormsTs. WHAT WERE THEY? Ill ff m i i j thereby forming our notion of the Sophists, let us ask. Is it credible that such an art should have been avowed, and, being avowed, should be rewarded, in a civilised state ? Let us think, for an instant, of what are its moral, or rather its immoral, consequences. Let us reflect how utterly it destroys all morality ; how it makes the very laws but playthings for dialectical subtlety. Then let us ask whether, as we under- stand it, any State could have allowed such open blasphemy, such defiance of the very fundamental principle of honesty and integrity, such demolition of the social contract ? Could any State do this? and was Athens that State? We ask the reader to realise for himself some notion of the Athenians as citizens, not merely as statues ; to think of them as human beings, full of human passions, not simply as architects, sculptors, poets, and philosophers. Having done this, we ask him whether he can believe that these Athenians would have listened to a man proclaiming all morality a farce, and all law a quibble — proclaiming that for a sum of money he could instruct any one how to make an unjust cause appear a just one ? Would not such a proclamation be answered with a shout of derision, or of execration, according to the belief in his sincerity ? Could any charlatan, in the corruptest age, have escaped being stoned for such effrontery ? Yet the Sophists were wealthy, by many greatly admired, and were selected as ambassadors on very delicate missions. They were men of splendid talents; of powerful connections. Around them flocked the rich and noble youth of every city they entered. They were the intellectual leaders of their age. If they had been what their adversaries describe them, Greece could only have been an earthly Pandemonium, where Belial was King. To believe this is beyond our power. Indeed such a paradox it would be frivolous to refute, had it not been maintained for centuries. Some have endeavoured to escape it by main- taining that the Sophists were held in profound contempt ; and certain passages are adduced from Plato in proof thereof. But the fact appears to us to be the reverse of this. The wealth and power of the Sophists — the very importance im- plied in Plato's constant polemic against them — prove that they were not objects of contempt. Objects of aversion they might be to one party : the successful always are. Objects of contempt they might be, to some sincere and profound thinkers. The question here however is not one relating to individuals, but to the State. It is not whether Plato des- pised Gorgias, but whether Athens allowed him to teach the most unblushing and undisguised immorality. There have been daring speculators in all times. There have been men shameless and corrupt. But that there has been any specu- lator so daring as to promulgate what he knew to be grossly immoral, and so shameless as to avow it, is in such con- tradiction to our experience of human nature as at once to be rejected.^ It is evident, therefore, that in teaching the art of ' making the worse appear the better reason,' the Sophists were not guilty of anything held to be reprehensible ; however serious thinkers, such as Plato and Aristotle, might detest the philo- sophy from which it sprang. But if this art was not reprehensible, except to severe minds, such as Plato and Aristotle, it is clear that it could not have been the art which its antagonists and.defamers have declared it to be. K, as we have shown, universal human nature would have rebelled against a teaching which was avowedly immoral, the fact that the Sophists were not stoned, but were highly considered and well paid, is proof that their teaching was either not what we are told it was, or that such teaching was not considered immoral by the Greeks. Both of these negatives will be found true. The teaching of the Sophists was demonstrably not what is usually attributed to them, and what they did teach was very far from being considered as immoral. Let us consider both these points. * We are told by Sextus that Protagoras was condemned to death by the Athenians because he professed himself unable to say whether the Gods existed, or what they were, owing to the insufficiency of knowledge. Yet the Athenians are supposed to have tolerated the Sophists as they are understood by moderns 112 THE SOPHISTS. ; } I ^• In the first place Mr. Grote has shown beyond dispute that the Sophists had no doctrine in common ; thej formed no sect or school of thought, such as modem Germans in- dicate under the name of Die Sophistik. There never was a Sophistik, Each teacher had his own doctrinal views, and was not more bound to the opinions of the others than a modern Barrister is boimd to share the theology of the Bar, or than a modem teacher of Elocution is bound to vote on the same side with all other professors. No sooner is this fact apprehended, than the absurdity of attributing to ' the Sophists ' opinions expressed by one Sophist, and that too in a caricature by Plato, is at once apparent. Moreover the absurdity of talking of the * sophistical doctrine ' becomes apparent, and we are forced to speak only of the ' sophistical art,^ reserving for any special animadversion the special name of the offending sinner. The Sophists taught the art of disputation. The litigious quibbling nature of the Greeks was the soil on which an art like that was made to flourish. Their excessive love of law- suits is familiar to all vers.d in Grecian history. The almost farcical representation of a lawsuit given by jEschylus in his otherwise awful drama. The Eumenides, shows with what keen and lively interest the audience witnessed even the very details of litigation. Tor such an appetite food would not long be wanting. Corax and Tisias wrote precepts of the art of disputation. Protagoras followed with dissertations on the most remarkable points of law ; and Gorgias composed a set accusation and apology for every case that could pre- sent itself. People, in short, were taught to be their own advocates. This was by no means an immoral art. If it might or did lead to immorality, few Greeks would have quarrelled with an art so necessary. * Without some power of persuading or confuting, of defending himself against accusations, or, in case of need, accusing others, no man could possibly hold an ascendant position. He had probably not less need of this talent for private informal conversations to satisfy his own political partisans, than for addressing the public assembly * WHAT WERE THEY? 113 formally convoked. Even commanding an army or a fleet, without any laws of war or habit of discipline, his power of keeping up the good-humour, confidence, and prompt obedience of his men, depended not a little on his command of speech. Nor was it only to the leaders in poHtical Hfe that such an accomplishment was indispensable. In all democracies, and probably in several Governments which were not democracies but oligarchies of an open character, the courts of justice were more or less numerous, and the procedure oral and public ; in Athens especially the Dicas- teries were both very numerous and were paid for attendance. Every citizen had to go before them in person, without being able to send a paid advocate in his place, if he either required redress for wrong offered to liimself, or was accused of wrong by another. There was no man therefore who might not be cast or condemmed, or fail in his own suit, even with right on his side, unless he possessed some power of speech to unfold his case to the Dicasts, as well as to confute the falsehoods and disentangle the sophistry of an opponent. To meet such liabilities, from which no citizen, rich or poor, was exempt, a certain training in speech became not less essential than a certain training in arms.' ^ Thus was it that even quibbling ingenuity, ' making the worse appear the better-reason,' became a sort of vii-tue, because it was obtained only by that mastery over argument which was the Athenian's ambition and necessity. We can send a paid advocate to quibble for us, and do not therefore need such argumentive subtlety. But let us ask, are barristers pronounced the ' cormptors of mankind,' and is their art called the art of 'making the worse appear the better reason,' as if that, and that alone, were the purport of all pleading ? Yet, in defending a criminal, does not every barrister exert his energy, eloquence, subtlety, and knowledge 'to make the worse appear the better reason ' ? Do we reprobate Sergeant Talfourd or Sir Frederick Thesiger, if they succeed in gaining their client's cause, although that cause be a bad one ? On * Grote, viii. 463-4. Compare Hegel, G(sch. d. Phil. ii. 11, 20. VOL. I. I 114 THE SOPfflSTS. WHAT WERE THEY? 115 the contrary, the badness of the cause makes the greatness of the triumph. Now let us suppose Sergeant Talfourd to give lessons in forensic oratory ; suppose him to announce to the world, that for a certain sum he would instruct any man in the whole art of exposition and debate, of the interrogation of witnesses, of the tricks and turning-points of the law, so that the learner might become his own advocate : this would be contrary to legal etiquette ; but would it be immoral ? Grave men might, perhaps, object that Mr. Talfourd was offering to make men cheats and scamps, by enabling them to make the worse appear the better reason. But this is a consequence foreseen by grave men, not acknowledged by the teacher. It is doubtless true that owing to oratory, ingenuity, and subtlety, a scamp's cause is sometimes gained-; but it is also true that many an honest man's cause is gained, and many a scamp frustrated, by the same means. If forensic oratory does sometimes make the worse appear the better reason, it also makes the good appear in all its strength. The former is a necessary evil, the latter is the very object of a court of justice. 'If,' says CaUicles, in defence of Gorgias, to Socrates, ' any one should charge you with some crime which you had not committed, and carry you off to prison, you would gape and stare, and would not know what to say; and, when brought to trial, however contemptible and weak your accuser might be, if he chose to indict you capitally, you would perish. Can this be wisdom, which, if it takes hold of a gifted man, destroys the excellence of his nature, rendering him incapable of preserving himself and others from the greatest dangers, enabling his enemies to plunder him of all his property, and reducing him to the situation of those who, by a sentence of the Court, have been deprived of aU their rights ? ' If it be admitted that Sergeant Talfourd's instruction in forensic oratory woidd not be immoral, however unusual, we have only to extend the sphere and include politics, and represent to ourselves the democratic state of Athens, where ' i demagogues were ever on the alert, and we shall be fully persuaded that the art of the Sophists was not considered immoral; and, as further proof, we select a passage in Plato's Republic, an unexceptionable source. Socrates, speaking of the mercenary teachers whom the people called Sophists, says : — ' These Sophists teach them only the things which the people themselves profess in assemblies : yet this they call wisdom. It is as if a man had observed the instincts and appetites of a great and powerful beast, in what manner to approach it, how or why it is ferocious or calm, what cries it makes, what tones appease and what tones irritate it ; after having learnt all this, and calling it wisdom, commenced teaching it without any knowledge of what is good, just, shameful and unjust among these instincts and appetites; but calling that good which flatters the animal, and that bad which irritates it ; because he knows not the difference between what is good in itself and that which is only relatively good.'^ There is the usual vein of caricature in this description (which is paraphrased in the Quarterly Beview^f and there given as if the undoubted and unexaggerated doctrines of the Sophists) ; but it very distinctly sets forth the fact that the Sophists did not teach anything contrary to public morals, however their art may have offended austere teachers. Indeed the very fact of their popularity would prove that they did but respond to a public want; and because they responded to this want they were paid by the public in money. Plato constantly harps upon their being mercenaries; but he was wealthy, and could afford such sarcasms. The Greeks paid their Musicians, Painters, Sculptors, Physicians, Poets, and Teachers in Schools ; why therefore should they not pay their Philosophers ? Zeno of Elea was paid ; so was Democritus ; it is true that both of these have been sometimes included amongst the Sophists. We see nothing more derogatory in the acceptance of money ♦ Plato, liep. vi. 291. t No. xlii. p 288 I 2 116 THE SOPHISTS. IW by Philosophers than by Poets ; and we know how the latter stipulated for handsome payment. Having done our best to show that the ' Sophistical art ' — that alone which the Sophists had in common — was not immoral, or at any rate was not regarded as immoral by the Greeks, we will now see how the case stands with respect to the old accusation of their having corrupted the Athenian youth, and of their doctrines being essentially corrupting. That the Athenians did not consider the Sophists as corruptors of youth is unequivocally shown in two facts : they did not impeach the Sophists, and they did impeach Socrates. When Anaxagoras the philosopher, and Protagoras the Sophist, ' sapped the foundations of morality ' by exj>ressing opinions contrary to the religion of Athens, they were banished ; but who impeached Gorgias, or Hippias, or • Prodicus ? The art however may have been essentially corrupting, although to contemporaries it did not appear so. We believe it was so, if it is to be made responsible for all the consequences which can logically be deduced from it. But ' logical consequences ' are unjust standards. Men are not responsible for what others may consider their doctrines * lead to.' It was on the ground of such remote deduction that Socrates was put to death ; and on such ground the Sophists have been the bye word of reproach. Mr. Grote grapples directly with the fact where he declares Athens at the close of the Peloponnesian war was not more , corrupt than Athens in the days of Miltiades and Aristides ; and had it been more corrupt, we should demand quite other evidence than that usually alleged, before believing the corruption due to the Sophists. Why then did Plato speak of the Sophists with so much asperity ? Why did he consider their teaching so dangerous ? Because he differed from them in toto. He hated them for the same reason that Calvin hated Servetus ; but having a more generous nature than Calvin, his hatred of their doctrines did not assume so disgraceful a form. K his WHAT WERE THEY? 117 / . allegations are to condemn the Sophists, they must equally condemn all the public men of that day. ' Whoever will read either the Gorgias or the Republic, will see in how sweeping and indiscriminate a manner he passes the sentence of condemnation. Not only the Sophists and all the Rhetors, but all the Musicians and either Dithyrambic or Tragic Poets, all the Statesmen past as well as present, not excepting even the great Pericles, receive from his hand one common stamp of dishonour.'^ But so far is he from considering the Sophists as peculiar corruptors of Athenian morality ' that he distinctly protests against that supposition in a remarkable passage of the Republic, It is, he says, the whole people or the society, with its established morality, intelligence, and tone of sentiment, which is intrmsically vicious ; the teachers of such a society must be vicious also, otherwise their teaching would not be received; and even if their private teaching were ever so good, its effect would be washed away, except in some few privileged natures, by overwhelming influences.' f The truth is that, in as far as the Sophists taught any doctrine at all, their doctrine was ethical ; and to suppose men teaching immoral ethics, i, e. systems of morality known by them to be immoral, is absurd. To clear up this point we must endeavour to ascertain what that doctrine was. Plato's account is on the face of it a caricature, since it is impossible that any man should have seriously entertained such a doctrine. What Protagoras and Gorgias thought is not given, but only a misrepresentation of what they thought. Plato seizes hold of one of their doctrines, and, interpreting it in his own way, makes it lead to the most outrageous ab- surdity and immorality. This is as if Berkeley's doctrine had been transmitted to us by Beattie. Berkeley, it is well known, denied the existence of the external world, resolving it into a simple world of ideas. Beattie taunted him with not having followed out his principles, and with not having walked over * Grote, viii. 537. t Ibid., p. 59. The passage referred to is Repub. vi. 492 (page 388, ed. Bekker), and the Sophists are mentioned by name as the teachers of whom it treats. It 118 THE SOPmSTS. a precipice. This was a gross misrepresentation : an ignoratio elenchi; Beattie misnnderstood the argument, and drew con- clusions from his misunderstanding. Now, suppose him to have written a dialogue on the plan of those of Plato : sup- pose him making Berkeley expound his argument in the way- he (Beattie) interpreted it, with a flavour of exaggeration for the sake of effect, and of absurdity for the sake of easy refuta- tion : how would he have made Berkeley speak ? Somewhat thus : — ' Yes, I maintain that there is no such external exist- ence as that which men vulgarly believe in. There is no world of matter, but only a world of ideas. If I were to walk over a precipice, I should receive no injury : it is only an ideal precipice.' This is the interpretation of a Beattie ; how true it is most men know : it is, however, quite as true as Plato's interpre- tation of the Sophists. From Berkeley's works we can con- vict Beattie. Plato we can convict from experience of human nature : experience tells us that no man, far less any set of men, could seriously, publicly, and constantly broach doctrines thought to be subversive of all morality, without incurring the heaviest penalties. To broach immoral doctrines with the faintest prospect of success, a man must do so in the name of rigid morality. To teach immorality, and openly to avow that it is immoral, was, according to Plato, the office of the Sophists;"^ a statement which carries with it its own contra- diction. § II. Peotagoeas. Nothing can be more erroneous than to isolate the Sophists from previous teachers, as if they were no direct product of the speculative efforts which preceded them. They illustrate the crisis at which philosophy had arrived. They took the negative, as Socrates took the positive issue out of the dilemma. Protagoras, the first who is said to have avowed himself a * This passage in the Protagoras is often referred to as a proof of the shame- lessness of the Sophists, and sometimes of the ill-favour with which they were rrgarded. It is only a proof of Plato's tendency to caricature. PROTAGORAS. 119 Sophist, was bom at Abdera, where Democritus first noticed himasaporter, who showed great address in inventing the knot.* The consequence was thatT)emocritus gave him instructions in Philosophy. The story is apocryphal, but indicates a con- nection to have existed between the speculations of the two thinkers. Let us suppose Protagoras to have accepted the doctrine of Democritus ; with him to have rejected the unity of the Eleatics and to have maintained the existence of the Many. Prom Democritus he would also learn that thought is sensation, and that all knowledge is therefore phenomenal. There were two theories in the Democritean system which he could not accept, viz. the Atomic and Reflective, These two imply each other. Eeflection is necessary for the idea of Atoms ; and it is from the idea of Atoms not perceived by the sense, that the existence of Reflection is proved. Protagoras rejected the Atoms, and would therefore reject Eeflection. He said that Thought was Sensation, and all knowledge con- sequently individual. Did not the place of his birth no less than the traditional story lead one to suppose some connection with Democritus, we might feel authorized to adopt certain expressions of Plato, and consider Protagoras to have derived his doctrine from Heraclitus. He certainly resembles the last-named in the main results to which his speculations led him. Be that as it may, the fact is unquestionable, that he maintained the doctrine of Thought being identical with and limited to Sen- sation. Now, this doctrine implies that everything is true relatively — every sensation is a true sensation ; and, as there is nothing but sensation, knowledge is inevitably fleeting and imperfect. In a melancholy mind, as in that of Heraclitus, such a doctrine would deepen sadness, till it produced des- pair. In minds of greater elasticity, in men of greater con- fidence, such a doctrine would lead to an energetic scepticism. * What the precise signification of tuAtj is we are unable to say. A porter's knot, such as is now used, is the common interpretation. Perhaps Protiigoras had contrived a sort of wooden machine such as the glaziers use, and which is used by the porters in Greece and Italy to this day. ** 120 THE SOPHISTS. PROTAGORAS. 121 (I . In Protagoras it became the formula : * Man is the measure of all things.' Sextus Empiricus gives the psychological doctrine of Pro- tagoras very explicitly ; and his account may be received without suspicion. We translate a portion of it : — * Matter, says Protagoras, is in a perpetual flux ;^ whilst it undergoes augmentations and losses, the senses also are modified, according to the age and disposition of the body. He said, also, that the reasons of all phenomena (appearances) resided in matter as substrata (tovs \6yov9 iravTwv Ttav (fyacvo- ^livoyv vTTOKSLo-dac h rfj vXy) ; so that matter, in itself, might be whatever it appeared to each. But men have different perceptions at different times, according to the changes in the thing perceived. Whoever is in a healthy state perceives things such as they appear to all others in a healthy state, and vice versa, A similar course holds with respect to different ages, as well as in sleeping and waking. Man is therefore the criterion of that which exists ; all that is perceived by him exists, that which is perceived by no man does not exist.' f This statement of the important philosophical truth, the Eelativity of Human Knowledge, which seems first to have foimd its distinct formula in Protagoras, although the cuiTent of speculation had long been tending that way, is historically remarkable. We cannot ascertain in how far Protagoras had mastered its intellectual significance, that is, its psychologi- cal foundation and its sceptical reach ; but we know that he had mastered its practical significance, that is the instigation to cease philosophical speculation, and seek only effective agreement among men. Whether Protagoras or any other of the Sophists clearly saw all that acute metaphysicians have since seen in his for- mula, may be doubted. But there is no doubt that his for- mula was one which forcibly directed men's attention to the * Trjv v\r)v f>fv Hi :* I I i i He would have been executed the next day, but it hap- pened that the next day was the first of the festival of the Delian Theoria, during which no criminal could be put to death. This festival lasted thirty days. Socrates, though in chains, and awaiting his end, spent the interval in cheerful conversation with his friends, and in composing verses. ' During this time,' says Xenophon, ' he lived before the eyes of all his friends in the same manner as in former days ; but now his past life was most admired on account of his present calmness and cheerfulness of mind.' On the last day he held a conversation with his friends on the immortality of the soul. This forms the subject of Plato's Phcedo, The arguments in that dialogue are most probably Plato's own ; and it is supposed that the dying speech of Cyrus, in Xeno- phon's Cyropcedia, is a closer copy of the opinions of Socrates. Phsedo, describing the impression produced on him by the sight of Socrates on this final day, says : — ' I did not feel the pity which it was natural I should feel at the death of a friend : on the contrary, he seemed to me perfectly happy as I gazed on him and listened to him ; so calm and dignified was his bearing. And I thought that he only left this world under the protection of the Gods, who destined him to a more than mortal felicity in the next.' He then details the conversation on the immortality of the soul ; after which, he narrates the close of that glorious life in language worthy of it. Even in the English version of Taylor the beauty of the narrative stands manifestly out. ' When he had thus spoke, he rose, and went into a room, that he might wash himself, and Crito followed him : but he ordered us to wait for him. We waited, therefore, ac- cordingly, discoursing over, and reviewing among ourselves, what had been said, and sometimes speaking about his death, how great a calamity it would be to us ; and sincerely think- ing that we, like those who are deprived of their father, should pass the rest of our life in the condition of orphans. But, when he had washed himself, his sons were brought to I THE LIFE OF SOCRATES. 149 him (for he had two little ones, and one considerably advanced in age), and the women belonging to his family likewise came in to him : but, when he had spoken to them before Crito, and had left them such injunctions as he thought proper, he ordered the boys and women to depart ; and he himself returned to us. And it was now near the setting of the sun : for he had been absent for a long time in the bathing-room. But, when he came in from washing, he sat down, and did not speak much afterwards ; for, then, the servant of the eleven magistrates came in, and, standing near him, I do not perceive that in you, Socrates (says he), which I have taken notice of in others ; I mean that they are angry with me, and curse me, when, being compelled by the magistrates, I announce to them that they must drink the poison. But, on the contrary, I have found you at the present time to be the most generous, mild, and best of all the men who ever came into this place : and, therefore, I am now well convinced that you are not angry with me, but with the authors of your present condition. You know those whom I allude to. Now, therefore (for you know what I came to tell you), farewell ! and endeavour to bear this necessity as easily as possible. And at the same time, burst- ing into tears, and turning himself away, he departed. ' Then Crito gave the sign to the boy that stood near him. And the boy departing, and, having staid for some time, came, bringing with him the jperson that was to administer the poison, and who brought it properly prepared in a cup. But, Socrates, beholding the man, — It's well, my friend (says he) ; but what is proper to do with it? for you are knowing in these affairs. You have nothing else to do (says he) but when you have drunk it to walk about, till a heaviness takes place in your legs, and afterwards lie down: this is the manner in which you should act. And, at the same time, he extended the cup to Socrates. But Socrates received it from him, and, indeed, with great cheerfulness ; neither trembling nor suffering any alteration for the worse in his colour or countenance, but, as he was accustomed to do, beholding the W( ^^^f%^^mi>^s^si^s^mm •*^iB^«^*»w»-<«»w&*iPatto 150 SOCRATES. THE LIFE OF SOCRATES. 161 I vl PBl( man with a bull-like aspect. Wliat say you (says he) re- specting this potion ? Is it lawful to make a libation of it, or not? We only bruise (says he), Socrates, as much as we think sufficient for the purpose. I understand you (says he) ; but it is certainly both lawful and proper to pray to the Gods, that my departure from hence thither may be attended with prosperous fortune ; which I entreat them to grant may be the case. And, at the same time ending his discourse, he drank the poison with exceeding facility and alacrity. And thus far, indeed, the greater part of us were tolerably well able to refrain from weeping ; but, when we saw him drinking, and that he had drunk it, we could no longer restrain our tears. But from me, indeed, notwithstanding the violence which I employed in checking them, they flowed abundantly ; so that, covering myself with my mantle, I deplored my misfortune. I did not, indeed, weep for him, but for my own fortune, considering what an associate I should be deprived of. But, Crito, who was not able to restrain his tears, was compelled to rise before me. And Apollodorus, who, during the whole time prior to this, had not ceased from weeping, then wept aloud and with great bitterness ; so that he infected all who were present except Socrates. But Socrates, upon seeing this, exclaimed : What are you doing, excellent men? For, indeed, I principally sent away the women, lest they should produce a disturbance of this kind. For I have heard it is proper to die attended with propi- tious omens. Be quiet, therefore, and summon fortitude to your assistance. But when we heard this we blushed, and restrained our tears. But he, when he found, during his walking, that his legs felt heavy, and had told us so, laid himself down in a supine position. For the man had ordered him to do so. And, at the same time, he who gave him the poison, touching him at intervals, considered his feet and legs. And, after he had vehemently pressed his foot, he asked him if he felt it. But Socrates answered he did not. And, afber this, he again pressed his thighs: and, thus ascending with his hand, he showed us that he was cold and stiff. And Socrates also touched himself, and said that when the poison reached his heart he should then leave us. But now his lower belly was almost cold : when, uncovering himself (for he was covered), he said (which were his last words), Crito, we owe a cock to -^sculapius. Discharge this debt, therefore, for me, and don't neglect it. It shall be done (says Crito) ; but consider whether you have any other com- mands. To this inquiry of Crito he made no reply ; but shortly afber moved himself, and the man covered him. And Socrates fixed his eyes. Which, when Crito perceived, he closed his mouth and eyes. This was the end of our asso- ciate ; a man, as it appears to me, the best of those whom we were acquainted with at that time ; and, besides this, the most prudent and just.' Thus perished this great and good man. His character we have endeavoured to represent fairly, though briefly. Let us now add the summing-up of Xenophon, who loved him tenderly, and expressed his love gracefully : — ' As to myself, knowing him of a truth to be such a man as I have described ; so pious towards the Gods, as never to undertake anything without first consulting them; so just towards men, as never to do an injury, even the very slightest, to any one, whilst many and great were the benefits he conferred on all with whom he had any dealings ; so tem- perate and chaste, as not to indulge any appetite or incli- nation at the expense of whatever was modest and becoming ; so prudent as never to err in judging of good and evil, nor wanting the assistance of others to discriminate rightly concerning them ; so able to discourse upon, and define with the greatest accuracy, not only those points of which we have been speaking, but likewise every other, and, looking as it were into the minds of men, discover the very moment for reprehending vice, or stimulating to the love of virtue : experiencing, as I have done, all these excellences in Socrates, I can never cease considering him as the most virtuous and the most happy of all mankind. But, if there is any one who is disposed to think otherwise, let him go I ■If ^ ,^ '"^SSST"^"-' ! < ■ it 152 SOCRATES. and compare Socrates with any other, and afterwards let him determine.'* After-ages have cherished the memory of his virtues and his fate ; but without profiting much by his example, and without learning toleration from his story. !i[ M| § n. Philosophy of Socrates. Opinions vary so considerably respecting the philosophy of Socrates, and materials whereby they can be tested are so scanty, that any attempt at exposition must be made with diffidence. The historian has to rely solely on his critical skill ; and on such grounds he will not, if prudent, be very confident. Amongst the scattered materials from which an opinion may be formed are, 1st: The very general tradition of Socrates having produced a revolution in thought ; in conse- quence of which he is by aU regarded as the initiator of a new epoch ; and by some as the founder of Greek Philosophy, properly so called. 2ndly. The express testimony of Aristotle, that he first made use of definitions and proceeded by indue- tion.f These two positions involve each other. K Socrates produced a revolution in philosophy, he could only have done so by a new Method or new development of Method. That development we see exhibited in the phrase of Aristotle, but it is there only exhibited in a brief concentrated manner, and requires to be elucidated. Mr. Grote remarks that it requires at the present day some mental effort to see anything important in the invention of notions so familiar as those of Genus — Definition — Indivi- dual things as comprehended in a genus — what each thing is, and to what genus it belongs, etc. Nevertheless, four centu- ries before Christ these terms denoted mental processes which few, if any but Socrates, had a distinct recognition of, in the * Memorabilia, iv. 7. t * There are two things of which Socrates must justly be regarded as the author, the Inductive Reasoning and Abstract Definitions,'— rovs r iiroKTiKohs \6yovs Koi rh dpi^faeai Kae6\ov. (AfiiST. Metaph. xiii. 4.) P^'Miii PHILOSOPHY OF SOCRATES. 163 form of analytical consciousness. 'The ideas of men — speakers as well as hearers, the productive minds as well as the recipient multitude — were associated together in groups, favourable rather to emotional results, or to poetical, rhetori- cal narrative, and descriptive effect, than to methodical generalization, to scientific conception, or to proof either inductive or deductive. That reflex act of attention which enables men to understand, compare, and rectify their own mental process was only just beginning. It was a recent novelty on the part of the rhetorical teachers to analyse the component parts of a public harangue, and to propound some precepts for making men tolerable speakers. It may be doubted whether any one before Socrates ever used the words Genus and Species (originally meaning Family and Form), in the philosophical sense now exclusively appro- priated to them. Not one of those many names (called by logicians names of the second intention) which imply distinct attention to various parts of the logical process, and enable us to criticize it in detail, then existed. All of them grew out of the schools of Plato, Aristotle, and the subsequent philosophers, so that we can thus trace them in their beginning to the common root and father, Socrates.' ^ The novelty was very distasteful to all who were not seduced by it. Men resent being forced to rigour of speech and thought ; they call you ' pedantic ' if you insist on their using terms with definite meanings : they prefer the loose flowing lan- guage of indefinite association which picks up in its course a variety of heterogeneous meanings ; and are irritated at any speaker who points out to them the inaccuracy of their phrases. Aristotle says it was thought bad taste in his day — T) dfcpL^oXoyia fjLLKpoirpsTre? : and Timon the Sillograph sarcas- tically calls Socrates one of the aKpi^oXoyqi, as if precision of language were a vice. y We h%ve here the ground of opposition between Socrates and th^ Sophists distinctly marked out. It was the opposition i 1 * Gbote, viii. 578. I tammm 154 SOCRATES. of Dialectics to Ehetoric. The business of the rhetorician is to persuade, and for persuasion he must enlist the srm- pathies of his audience by adopting their general convictions, and merely impressing on those convictions a particular direction. The grounds of those convictions, or their validity, are never questioned. It is otherwise with the dialectician : his business is discussion. He ploughs up the old landmarks. He questions the old axioms. He has to foresee and meet every objection which intellectual scrutiny can discern. The Sophists, sceptical of man's power of reaching absolute truth, were content, as practical men, to deal with opinions already existing. Socrates, sceptical of man's having yet reached the truth, was intent on enforcing this conviction of the illusory nature of established opinions. He felt that there was a discoverable truth, and knew that men had not yet discovered it. How was the discovery to be made ? First, by clearing the mind of all its incoherent and unscientific notions ; secondly, by replacing these with scien- tific notions. Men used language which was full of emotional meaning to them, but on which there was little intellectual agreement. All men, for example, agreed that wickedness deserves punishment ; but what was wickedness they were unable to define. Socrates required them to ascertain what it was they were speaking of; to define wickedness, which, being a general term, had, as he thought, some common objective characteristic corresponding in all cases to the common subjective feeling. * The notions of Genus, subordinate genera, and indivi- duals as comprehended under them, were at that time newly brought into clear consciousness in the human mind. The profusion of logical distribution employed in some of the dialogues of Plato seems partly traceable to his wish to familiarize his hearers with that which was then a novelty, as well as to enlarge its development and diversify its mode of application.' v(ts(os). But this is not all the passage : it continues thus : ' In these speculations he sought the Abstract (to KaOoXov), and was the first who thought of giving definitions.' Now in this latter portion we believe there is contained a hint of something more than the mere moralist— a hint of the metaphysician. On turn- ing to another part of Aristotle's treatise * we accordingly find this hint more clearly brought out ; we find an express indication of the metaphysician. The passage is as follows : ' Socrates concerned himself with ethical virtues, and he first sought the abstract definitions of these. Before him Democritus had only concerned himself with a part of Physics, and defined but the Hot and the Cold. But Socrates, reasonably {svXoycos), sought the Essence of Things, i,e, sought what exists.^ Moreover, in another passage (lib. iii. c. 2) Aristotle re- proaches Aristippus for having rejected science, and con- cerned himself solely with morals. This is surely negative evidence that Socrates was not to be blamed for the same opinion ; otherwise he would have been also mentioned.- It was a natural mistake to suppose that Socrates was only a moralist, seeing that his principal topics were always Man and Society, and never Physical speculations, which he deemed beyond the reach of human intellect. K, however, * Metaph. xiii. 4. 1G3 Socrates had been merely a moralist, his place in the history of Philosophy would not have been what it is ; no Plato, no Aristotle would have called him master. He made a new epoch. The previous philosophers had directed their atten- tion to external Nature, endeavouring to explain its pheno- mena; he gave up all such speculations, and directed his attention solely to the nature of Knowledge. The reader may now begin to appreciate the importance of Definitions in the Socratic Method, and may understand why Socrates did not himself invent systems, but only a Method. He likened himself to a Midwife, who, though unable to bring forth children herself, assisted women in their labours. He believed that in each man lay the germs of wisdom. He believed that no science could be taught ; only drawn out. To borrow the ideas of another was not to learn ; to guide oneself by the judgment of another was blindness. The philosophers, who pretended to teach everything, could teach nothing ; and their ignorance was manifest in the very pre- tension. Each man must conquer truth for himself, by rigid struggle with himself. He, Socrates, was willing to assist any man when in the pains of labour : he could do no more. Such being the Method, we cannot wonder at his having attached himself to Ethical rather than to Physical specula- tions. His philosophy was a realization of the inscription at Delphos— Ziiot/; Thyself. It was in himself that he found the ground of certitude which was to protect him against scepticism. It was therefore moral science which he prized above all others. Indeed, we have great reason to believe that his energetic denouncement of Physical speculations as reported by Xenophon, was the natural, though exaggerated, conclusion to which he had been hurried by a consideration of the manifold absurdities into which they drew the mind and the scepticism which they induced. There could be nothing but uncertainty on such subjects. ' I have not leisure for such things,' he is made to say by Plato, ' and I will tell you the reason : I am not yet able, according to the Delphic Inscription, to Know myself; and it M 2 164 SOCRATES. il appears to me very ridiculous, while ignorant of myself, to inquire into what I am not concerned in.' * That he did, however, at one period occupy himself with them is clear from other sources, and is a point in the comedy of the Clouds, where he is represented ' air- treading and speculating about the sun,' — aepofiardo koX irsptcfypovw top i]\iov, — and his disciples seeking things hidden underground — rcL Kara yrj9. This has led many to suppose that Aristophanes knew nothing whatever of Socrates, but only took him as an available comic type of the Sophists, — a supposition to which there are several objections. Firstly, it is not usual in satirists to select for their butt a person of whom they know nothing. Secondly, Socrates, of all Athenians, was the most notorious, and most easily to be acquainted with in a general way. Thirdly, he could not be a type of the Sophists, in as far as related to physical speculations, since we well know the Sophists disregarded them. Fourthly, he did occupy himself with Physics early in his career, although in after-life he regarded such speculations as trivial. It was quite possible that Aristophanes should have made no such nice discrimination between the dialectical quibbling of Socrates and that of the Sophists, as would prevent him from representing Socrates teaching ' the art to make the worse appear the better reason ; 'f but it is scarcely credible that he should have made so flagrant a mistake as to accuse Socrates of busying himself with Physics, when every one of the audience could answer that Socrates never troubled himself at all about it. In our day Proudhon and Louis Blanc are often classed together as teachers of the same Socialist doctrines ; or Strauss and Feuerbach as teachers of the same theological doctrines ; but no satirist would laugh at Louis Blanc for his astronomical speculations, or at Strauss for his devotion to the Microscope. The Aristophanic evi- dence, therefore, seems perfectly admissible as respects the physical speculations of Socrates at or about the time when * Fhadrus, p. 8. PHILOSOPHY OF SOCRATES. 165 I I' t Nubes, \. 112-15. the Clouds was produced. If they were afterwards re- linquished, it was because they led to no certainty. That Philosophy, and not Morals, was really the aim of Socrates, is clear from his subordination of all morals to science. He considers Virtue to be identical with Knowledge."^ Only the wise man, said he, can be brave, just, or temperate. Vice of every kind is Ignorance ; and involuntary, because ignorant. If a man is cowardly, it is because he does not rightly appreciate the importance of life and death. He thinks death an evil, and flees it. If he were wise, he would know that death is a good thing, or, at the worst, an in- different one, and therefore would not shun it. If a man is intemperate, it is because he is unable to estimate the re- lative value of present pleasure and future pain. Ignorance misleads him. It is the nature of man to seek good and shun evil : he would never seek evil, knowing it to be such ; if he seeks it, he mistakes it for good : if he is intemperate, it is because he is unwise. Nor is it difficult to trace the origin of this conception in his mind. The Pythian oracle had declared him to be the wisest of men. The assertion greatly puzzled him, for he found on deep introspection that he knew nothing ; aU his fancied knowledge was that conceit of knowledge without the reality, which he saw puffing up other men ; and his sole distinction was that he knew the depth of his own ignorance, while they believed themselves to be knowing ; and it was because he knew this that he understood the meaning of the ♦ ^poyiicrus ^ero fhai irdaras rhs kperds. — Aristot. Ethic. Nicomach. vi. 13. Plato, in the Meno, makes him maintain that Virtue cannot be Science, cannot be taught. But this is not Socratic. * Whether Virtue can be taught was a question much agitated in the time of Socrates, who appears to give contradictory decisions on different occasions. Comp. Plato, Meno^ pp. 96, 98, with Protagoras, p. 361, in the latter of wliich passages he censures his own inconsistency, in first denying that Virtue can be taught, and then maintaining that Virtue is Science. Ascending to Xenophon, Mem. i. 2, 19, Socrates seems to have adopted the common-sense view that Virtue is partly matter of teaching, partly of practice {aaKT}T6v), and partly of natural disposition. But XENOPHt)N was unconscious of the logical difficulty of reconciling this with that identification of Virtue with Science or Wisdom which he elsewhere distinctly attributes to his master.' — Thompson's Note to Butler's History of Philosophy, i. 374. 1(56 SOCRATES. f. 1 ^i oracle. Thus much we have on his explicit authority. If we now consider that his title of the ' wisest ' was owing to the profound consciousness of the unreality of all which hitherto had passed for wisdom (the proof of which was ex- posed by means of his cross-examining Elenchus), we shall be able to understand how it was he came to make his Method in and for itself the great aim of Philosophy, and how in- stead of desiring to make converts to any system, or to gain acceptance for any special theories on physics or ethics, he always and everywhere desired to awaken the cross-examining spirit in the minds of his hearers, so that each in his own turn might awaken it in others, because in this, and this alone, consisted real Wisdom. Previous philosophies had shown the futility of speculation ; certitude was nowhere to be had ; all such theories were but the conceit of knowledge. The Method which he taught was that by which alone man could become wiser and better. It is clear that the novelty of the Method so completely fascinated him as to prevent his detecting the confusion he made between end and means. And the reader may under- stand how such a confusion might very naturally have maintained itself, if he reflects how very analogous is the pursuit of purely mathematical science by hundreds who care nothing for the applications of mathematics. Lying at the base of all physical science is a great and complex science of Quantity, — the one indispensable Instrument by means of which Knowledge becomes Science (for Science is only quantitative knowledge) ; but so vast and so complex is this Instrument, that numerous intellects are constantly engaged in studying and perfecting it, never once withdrawn from it by any attempt at application. In a similar way Socrates, and for the most part Plato likewise, cared exclusively for Method ; perfecting the Instrument of search, rather than seeking. Although Socrates was not the first to teach the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, he was the first to give it a philosophical basis. Nor can we read without admiration i PIULOSOPHY OF SOCRATES. 167 the arguments by which he anticipated writers on Natural Theology, by pointing out the evidences of a beneficent Providence. Listen to Xenophon : — «I will now relate the manner in which I once heard Socrates discoursing with Aristodemus, surnamed the Little, concerning the Deity ; for observing that he neither prayed nor sacrificed to the Gods, but, on the contrary, ridiculed and laughed at those who did, he said to him : — ' Tell me, Aristodemus, is there any man whom you admire on account of his merit? Aristodemus having answered '' Many,"— Name some of them, I pray you. I admire, said Aristodemus, Homer for his Epic poetry, Melanippides for his dithyrambics, Sophocles for tragedy, Polycletus for statuary, and Zeuxis for painting. 'But which seems to you most worthy of admiration, Aristodemus ;— the artist who forms images void of motion and intelligence, or one who hath the skill to produce animals that are endued not only with activity, but understanding ?— The latter, there can be no doubt, repUed Aristodemus, pro- vided the production was not the effect of chance, but of wisdom and contrivance.— But since there are many things, some of which we can easUy see the use of, whHe we cannot say of others to what purpose they were produced, which of these, Aristodemus, do you suppose the work of wisdom ?— It should seem the most reasonable to affirm it of those whose fitness and utility are so evidently apparent. ' But it is evidently apparent that He who at the beginning made man, endued him with senses because they were good for him ; eyes, wherewith to behold whatever was visible ; and ears, to hear whatever was to be heard ; for say, Aris- todemus, to what purpose should odours be prepared, if the sense of smelling had been denied? or why the distinctions of bitter and sweet, of savoury and unsavoury, unless a palate had been likewise given, conveniently placed, to arbitrate between them and declare the difference? Is not that Providence, Aristodemus, in a most eminent manner con- spicuous, which, because the eye of man is so delicate in its i f 168 SOCRATES. contexture, hath therefore prepared eyelids like doors, where- by to secure it, which extend of themselves whenever it is needful, and again close when sleep approaches ? Are not these eyelids provided as it were with a fence on the edge of them, to keep off the wind and guard the eye ? Even the eyebrow itself is not without its office, but, as a penthouse, is prepared to turn off the sweat, which, falling from the fore- head, might enter and annoy that no less tender than as- tonishing part of us. Is it not to be admired that the ears should take in sounds of every sort, and yet are not too much filled by them ? That the foreteeth of the animal should be formed in such a manner as is evidently best suited for the cutting of its food, as those on the side for grinding it to pieces ? That the mouth, through which this food is conveyed, should be placed so near the nose and eyes as to prevent the passing unnoticed whatever is unfit for nourishment ; while Nature, on the contrary, hath set at a distance and concealed from the senses all that might disgust or any way offend them ? And canst thou still doubt, Aristodemus, whether a disposition of parts like this should be the work of chance, or of wisdom and contrivance ?— I have no longer any doubt, replied Aristodemus ; and, indeed, the more I consider it, the more evident it appears to me that man must be the master-piece of some great artificer ; carrying along with it infinite marks of the love and favour of Him who hath thus formed it. ' And what thinkest thou, Aristodemus, of that desire in the individual which leads to the continuance of the species P Of that tenderness and affection in the female towards her young, so necessary for its preservation ? Of that unremitted love of life, and dread of dissolution, which take such strong possession of us from the moment we begin to be ?— I think of them, answered Aristodemus, as so many regular ope- rations of the same great and wise Artist, deUberately de- termining to preserve what he hath made. 'But, farther (imless thou desirest to ask me questions), seeing, Aristodemus, thou thyself ai-t conscious of reason and PHILOSOPHY OF SOCRATES. 1G9 intelligence, supposest thou there is no intelligence else- where ? Thou knowest thy body to be a small part of that wide extended earth which thou everywhere beholdest : the moisture contained in it, thou also knowest to be a small portion of that mighty mass of waters, whereof seas them- selves are but a part, while the rest of the elements contribute out of their abundance to thy formation. It is the soul then alone, that intellectual part of us, which is come to thee by some lucky chance, from I know not where. If so be there is indeed no intelligence elsewhere : and we must be forced to confess that this stupendous universe, with all the various bodies contained therein — equally amazing, whether we con- sider their magnitude or number, whatever their use, what- ever their order — aU have been produced, not by intelligence, but by chance ! — It is with difficulty that I can suppose otherwise, returned Aristodemus ; for I behold none of those Gods whom you speak of as making and governing all things ; whereas I see the artists when at their work here among us. — Neither yet seest thou thy soul, Aristodemus, which, however, most assuredly governs thy body ; although it may well seem, by thy manner of talking, that it is chance, and not reason, which governs thee. ' I do not despise the Gods, said Aristodemus : 6n the con- trary, I conceive so highly of their excellence, as to suppose they stand in no need either of me or of my services. — Thou mistakest the matter, Aristodemus ; the greater magnificence they have shown in their care of thee, so much the more honour and service thou owest them. — Be assured, said Aris- todemus, if I once could be persuaded the Gods take care of man, I should want no monitor to remind me of my duty. — And canst thou doubt, Aristodemus, if the Gods take care of man ? Hath not the glorious privilege of walking upright been alone bestowed on him, whereby he may with the better advantage survey what is around him, contemplate with more ease those splendid objects which are above, and avoid the nmnerous ills and inconveniences which would otherwise befall him ? Other animals indeed they have provided with MmiiMii 170 SOCRATES. M I ii feet, by which they may remove from one place to another ; but to man they have also given hands, with which he can • form many things for his use, and make himself happier than creatures of any other kind. A tongue hath been bestowed on every other animal ; but what animal, except man, hath the power of forming words with it, whereby to explain his thoughts, and make them intelligible to others ? ' But it is not with respect to the body alone that the Gods have shown themselves thus bountiful to man. Their most exceUent gift is that soul they have infused into him, which so far surpasses what is elsewhere to be found ; for by what animal, except man, is even the existence of those Gods dis- covered, who have produced and still uphold, in such regular order, this beautiful and stupendous frame of the universe ? What other species of creature is to be found that can serve that can adore them ? What other animal is able, like man' to provide against the assaults of heat and cold, of thirst and hunger? that can lay up remedies for the time of sickness and improve the strength nature has given by a weU-pro- portioned exercise? that can receive Uke him information or instruction ; or so happily keep in memory what he hath seen, and heard, and learnt? These things being so, who seeth not that man is, as it were, a God in the midst of this visible creation? so fax doth he surpass, whether in the en- dowments of soul or body, aU animals whatsoever that have been produced therein ; for if the body of the ox had been jomed to the mind of man, the acuteness of the latter would have stood him in smaJl stead, while unable to execute the weU-designed plan ; nor would the human form have been of more iise to the brute, so long as it remained destitute of understandmg ! But in thee, Aristodemus, hath been joined to a wonderful soul a body no less wonderful ; and sayest thou after this, the Gods take no thought for me ? What wouldst thou then more to convince thee of their care? ' I would they should send and inform me, said Aris- todemus, what things I ought or ought not to do, in like manner as thou sayest they frequently do to thee.~And what PHILOSOPHY OF SOCRATES. 171 then, Aristodemus ? supposest thou, that when the Gods give out some oracle to all the Athenians they mean it not for thee ? If by their prodigies they declare aloud to all Greece, to all mankind, the things which shall befall them, are they dumb to thee alone ? And art thou the only person whom they have placed beyond their care ? Believest thou they would have wrought into the mind of man a persuasion of their being able to make him happy or miserable, if so be they had no such power ? or would not even man himself, long ere this, have seen through the gross delusion? How is it, Aris- todemus, thou rememberest or remarkest not, that the king- doms and commonwealths most renowned as well for their wisdom as antiquity, are those whose piety and devotion hath been the most observable ? and that even man himself is never so well disposed to serve the Deity as in that part of life when reason bears the greatest sway, and his judgment is supposed in its full strength and maturity ? Consider, my Aristodemus, that the soul which resides in thy body can govern it at pleasure ; why then may not the soul of the universe, which pervades and animates every part of it, govern it in like manner ? If thine eye hath the power to take in many objects, and these placed at no small distance from it, marvel not if the eye of the Deity can at one glance comprehend the whole. And as thou perceivest it not beyond thy ability to extend thy care, at the same time, to the con- cerns of Athens, Egypt, Sicily, why thinkest thou, my Aris- todemus, that the Providence of God may not easily extend itself through the whole universe ? ' As therefore, among men, we make best trial of the affection and gratitude of our neighbour by showing him kindness, and discover his wisdom by consulting him in his distress, do thou in like manner behave towards the Gods ; and if thou wouldst experience what their wisdom and what their love, render thyself deserving the communication of some of those divine secrets which may not be penetrated by man, and are imparted to those alone who consult, who adore, who obey the Deity. Then shalt thou, my Aristodemus, understand !1W- mm 172 SOCRATES. there is a Being whose eye pierceth tkrougliout 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. ' By this discourse, and others of the like nature, Socrates taught his friends that they were not only to forbear what- ever was impious, unjust, or unbecoming before man; but even when alone they ought to have a regard to all their actions, since the Gods have their eyes continually upon us, and none of our designs can be concealed from them.' "^ To this passage we must add another equally deserving of attention : — ^ Even among all those deities who so liberally bestow on us good things, not one of them maketh himself an object of our sigrht. And He who raised this whole universe, and still upholds the mighty frame, who perfected every part of it in beauty and in goodness, suffering none of these parts to decay through age, but renewing them daily with unfading vigour, whereby they are able to execute whatever he ordains with that readiness and precision which surpass man's ima- gination ; even He, the supreme God, who performeth all these wonders, still holds himself invisible, and it is only in his works that we are capable of admiring him. For consider, my Euthydemus, the sun, which seemeth as it were set forth to the view of all men, yet suffereth not itself to be too curiously examined ; punishing those with blindness who too rashly venture so to do ; and those ministers of the Gods, whom they employ to execute their bidding, remain to us invisible ; for though the thunderbolt is shot from on high, and breaketh in pieces whatever it findeth in its way, yet no one seeth it when it falls, when it strikes, or when it retires ; neither are the winds discoverable to our sight, though we plainly behold the ravages they everywhere make, and with ease perceive what time they are rising. And if there be * Memorabilia, i. 4. PHILOSOniY OF SOCRATES. 173 anything in man, my Euthydemus, partaking of the divine nature, it must surely be the soul which governs and directs him ; yet no one considers this as an object of his sight. Learn therefore not to despise those things which you cannot see ; judge of the greatness of the power by the effects which are produced, and reverence the Deity.' ^ In conclusion we must notice the vexed question of the Daemon of Socrates. The notion most generally current is that he believed himself accompanied by a Daemon, or Good Angel, who whispered counsels in his ear, and forewarned him on critical occasions. This has been adduced as evidence of his ' superstition ; ' and one writer makes it a text to prove that Socrates was mad.f Olympiodorus said that the Daemon only meant Conscience, an explanation which, while it effaces the peculiar characteristics of the conception, is at the same time totally inapplicable to those cases when the ' Daemonic voice ' spoke to Socrates concerning the affairs of his friends, as we read in Plato's Theages, By other writers the Daemon has been considered as purely allegorical. The first point necessary to be distinctly understood is, that Socrates believed in no special Daemon at all ; and to translate Plutarch's treatise into De Genio Socratis, and hence to speak of le demon de Socrate, is gross misconception. No- where does Socrates, in Plato or Xenophon, speak of a genius or demon, but always of a dcemonic sometJmig (to Baifiovcov, hai^oviov Tt), or of a sign, 2b voice, a divine sign, a divine voice.X The second point necessary to be remembered is, that this ^ divine voice ' was only an occasional manifestation, and * Memorabilia, iv. 3. t Lelut, Du Demon de Socrate^ 1836. A new edition of this work appeared in 1856, and excited a ' sensation.' X See passages cited in Zeller, ii. 28. Mr. Thompson in his note to Butler, i. 375, says : — 'Clemens Alexandrinus in one passage conjectures that the laifxSviov of Socrates may have been a familiar genius. Strom, v. p. 592. This conjecture becomes an assertion in Lactantius {Inst. D. ii. 14), who converts the dcBmonium into datmon. Apuleius, it is true, had already led the way to this error in his treatise De Deo Socratis. It is adopted without scruple by Augustine and other Christian writers ; and, as might have been expected, by Ficinus and the earlier moderns, as Stanley and Dacier, in whose writings the dcemonium appears full- fledged as ' an attendant spirit ' or * good angel.' 174 SOCRATES. 175 exercised only a restraining influence. On the great critical occasions of his life, if the voice warned him against any step he was about to take, he unhesitatingly obeyed it ; if the voice was unheard, he concluded that his proposed step was agreeable to the Gods. Thus, when on his trial, he refused to prepare any defence, because when he was about to begin it the voice restrained him, whereupon he resigned himself to the trial, convinced that if it were the pleasure of the Gods that he should die, he ought in no wise to struggle— if it were their pleasure that he should be set free, defence on his part was needless. ^ This is his own explicit statement ; and surely in a Chris- tian country abounding in examples of persons believing in direct intimations from above, there can be little difficulty in crediting such a statement. Socrates was a profoundly religious man ; he was moreover, as we learn from Aristotle, a man of that bilious melancholic temperament * which has' in all times been observed in persons of unusual religious fervour, such as is implied in those momentary exaltations of the mmd which are mistaken for divine visits ; and when the rush of thought came upon him with strange warning voices he believed it was the Gods who spoke directly to him." Unless' we conceive Socrates as a profoundly religious man, we shall misconceive the whole spirit of his life and teaching In many respects he was a fanatic, but only in the noble sense of the word: a man, like Carlyle, intolerant, vehement possessed ' by his ideas, but, like Carlyle, preserved from all the worst consequences of such intolerance and possession by an immense humour and a tender heart. His saturnine melancholy was relieved by laughter, which softened and humanized a spirit otherwise not less vehement than that of a Dominic or a Calvin. Thus strengthened and thus softened Socrates stands out as one of the bravest, truest, wisest of mankind. * ^icTiu ti^\ayxo\iKiiv, Amstotle : Problem. 30. FIFTH EPOCH. Development of Ethics consequent on the Socratic circum- scription of the aims of Philosophy. CHAPTEE I. THE MEGARICS, Euclid. THE companions of Socrates quitted Athens after liis death : some of them followed Euclid to Megara. * Several philosophers,' says Cicero, ' drew from the con- versations of Socrates very different results ; and, ac- cording as each adopted views which harmonized with his own, they in their turn became heads of philosophical schools all differing amongst each other.' It is one of the peculiarities of the Subjective Method, to adapt itself indis- criminately to all sorts of systems. The Objective Method is confined to one : if various and opposing systems spring from it, they are an erroneous or imperfect application of it. We must not be surprised therefore to find many contra- dictory systems claiming the parentage of Socrates. But we must be on our guard against supposing that this adaptation to various systems is a proof of the excellence of the Socratic Method. It is only a proof of its vagueness. It may be accepted as a sign of the great influence exercised upon succeeding philosophers ; it is no sign that the influence was in the right direction. As we said, Socrates had no school; he taught no sys- tem. He exhibited a Method ; and this Method his hearers U ( %\ I 176 TIIE MEGAEICS. EUCLID. severally applied. Around him were men of various ages; various temperaments, and various opinions. He discoursed with each upon his own subject : with Xenophon on politics ; with Theages or Thesetetus on science ; with Antisthenes on morals ; with Ion on poetry. Some were convinced by him ; others were merely refuted. The difference between the two is great. Of those who were convinced, the so-called Socratic Schools were formed ; those who were only refuted became his enemies. But, of the former, some were natu- rally only more or less convinced ; that is, were willing to adopt his opinions on some subjects, but remained stubborn on others. These are the imperfect Socratists. Among the latter was Euclid. Euclid, who must not be confounded with the great Mathematician, was bom at Megara ; date probably between 450 and 440 B. c. He had early imbibed a great love of philosophy, and had diligently studied the writings of Par- menides and the other Eleatics. From Zeno he acquired great facility in dialectics ; and this continued to be his chief excellence, even after his acquaintance with Socrates, who reproved him for it as sophistical. His delight in listening to Socrates was so great that he .frequently exposed his life to do so. A decree was passed, m consequence of the enmity existing between Athens and Megara, that any inhabitant of Megara found in Athens should forfeit his life ; Euclid, however, braved the penalty. He frequently came to Athens at night, disguised as a female. • The distance was twenty miles. At the end of his journey he was recompensed by the fascinating conversation of Socrates ; and he returned to meditate on the results of their arguments. Brucker's supposition that a rupture was caused between them in consequence of Socrates having reproved Euclid's disputatious tendency, is wholly without foundation, and seems contradicted by the notorious fact that when, on the death of Socrates, Plato and the majority of the disciples retired to Megara, in fear of some popular outbreak of the 177 Athenians^ who were in a state of rage against all the philo- sopher s friends, Euclid received them well. Bound by the same ties of friendship towards the iUustrious martyr, and sharing some of his opinions, the Socratists made some stay in Megara. Differences however arose, as they wiU amongst aU communities of the kind. Plato and some others returned to Athens as soon as the state of the public mind admitted their doing so with safety. The rest remained with EucHd. Euchd agreed with the Eleatics in maintaining that there was but One unalterable Being, to be known by Eeason only. Ihis One Being was not simply The One; neither was it simply Intelligence ; it was The Good, This One Bein^ received various names according to its various aspects : thus It was sometimes Wisdom {v —ii 100 VOL. I. jj in i tl ■J \ ; ' j'g"" »!>«■= jyg THE MEGAEICS. adversaries he did not attack the premisses, but the conclu- sion * This is certainly not the manner of Socrates, who always managed to draw new conclusions from old premisses, and who, as Xenophon says, proceeded from the generally known to the less known. As if to mark this distinction more completely, we are t«ld that Euclid rejected the analogical mode of reasoning (rov Sia rrapafioXri, X^W"")- If' said he, the things compared are alike, it is better to confine the atten- tion to that originaUy in question ; if the things compared are unlike, there must be error in the conclusion. This precept strikes into the weakness of Socrates' method of induction ; which was a species of analogical reasoning not of the highest order. In dialectics therefore we see Euclid following out the Eleatic tendency, and carrying forward the speculations of Zeno It was this portion of his doctrine that his imme- diate foUowers, Eubulides, Diodorus, and Alexinus, under- took to caiTy out. The Socratic element was further developed by StUpo. 'The majority of the later members of the Meganc School ' says Eitter, ' are famous either for the refutation of opposite doctrines, or for the invention and application of certain fallacies ; on which account they were occasionally called Eristici and Dialectic!. StiU it may be presumed that they did not employ these fallacies for the purposes of delusion, but of instructing rash and hasty thmkers, and exemplifying the superficial vanity of common opinion. At all events it is certain that they were mainly occupied with the forms of thought, more perhaps with a view to the discovery of particular rules, than to the foundation of a scientific system or method. . DioG Labet. ii. 107. This \b paraphrased by Enftcld into the following contradictory statement :-' He jndged that legitimate argumentabon consists m dedacing fair conclusions from acknowledged prem.sses. -H>,t. of PM. i. 199. 179 f '/ CHAPTER II. THE CYRENAICS. Aeistippus. A MONG the ' imperfect Socratists ' we must rank Aris- ■^ tippus, the founder of the Cyrenaic School, which borrowed its name from the birthplace of its founder— Gyrene, in Africa. Aristippus was descended from wealthy and distinguished parents, and was consequently thrown into the vortex of luxurious debauchery which then characterized the colony of Mmyaj. He came over to Greece t« attend .the Olympic games ; there he heard so much of the wisdom of Socrates ^at he determined on listening to his enchanting discourse. He made Socrates an offer of a large sum of money, which aa usual was declined. The great Talker did not a<3cept money ; but he willingly admitted Aristippus among the number of his disciples. It is commonly asserted that the pupil did not agree well with His master, and that his fond- ness for pleasure was offensive to Socrates. There is no good authority for such ^ assertion. He remained with Socrates until the execution of the latter; and there was no bond on either side to have prevented their separation as soon as they disagreed. The impression seems to have originated m the discussion reported by Xenophon,* wherein Anstippus expresses his political indifference, and Socrates by an exaggerated extension of logic, endeavours to prove' his views to be absurd. But this is simply a divergence of * Memofahaia/\\. 1. n2 180 THE CYKENAICS. opinion, such as must have existed between Socrates and many of his followers. It merely shows that Aristippus thought for himself. Socrates with such men as Aristippus and Alcibiades reminds one of Dr. Johnson with the * young bloods' Topham Beauclerk and Bennet Langton: he was wise enough and tolerant enough not to allow his virtue to be scandalized by their love of pleasure. From Athens he went to ^gina, where he met with Lais, the world -renowned courtesan, whom he accompanied to Corinth. On his way from Corinth to Asia he was shipwrecked on the island of Ehodes. On the sea-coast he discovered a geometrical diagram, and exclaimed, ' Take courage ; I see here the footsteps of men.' On arriving at the principal town, he managed to procure for himself and friends a hospitable reception. He used to say, * Send two men amongst strangers, and you will see the advantage of the philosopher.' Aristippus was one of those ♦ Children of the Sun, whose blood is fire ; ' but to strong sensual passions he united a calm regulative intellect. Prone to luxury, he avoided excess. Easy and careless in ordinary affairs, he had great dominion over his desires. Pleasure was his grand object in life; but he knew how to temper enjoyment with moderation. In disposition he was easy and yielding, a ' fellow of infinite mirth,' a philosopher whose brow was never ' sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.' He had none of that dignity which mistakes a stiff neck for healthy virtue. He had no sternness. Gay, brilliant, careless, and enjoying, he became the ornament and delight of the Court of Dionysius ;— that Court already illustrious by the splendid genius of Plato and the rigid abstinence of Diogenes. The grave deportment of Plato and the savage virtue of Diogenes had less charm for the Tyrant than the easy gaiety of Aristippus, whose very vices were elegant. His ready wit was often put to the test. On one occasion three hetasrce were presented for him to make a choice : he took them all ; ARISTIPPUS. 18X three, observing that it had been fatal even to Paris to make a choice. On another occasion, in a dispute with ^schines, who was becoming violent, he said, ' Let us give over. We have quarreUed, it is true, but I, as your senior, have a right to claim the precedency in the reconciliation: ^ In his old- age he appears to have returned to Cyrene, and there opened his school. His phUosophy, as Hegel remarks, takes its colour from hii personality. So individual is it, that we should have passed it over entirely, had it not been a precursor of Epi- cureanism. Its relation to Socrates is also important. In the only passage in which, as far as we know, Aristotlef mentions Aristippus, he speaks of him as a Sophist. What does this mean ? Was he one of the professed Sophists ? No. It means, we believe, that he shared the opinion of the Sophists respectmg the uncertainty of Science. That he did share this opinion is evident from Sextus Empiricus,f who details his reasons : such as, that external objects make different impressions on different senses ; the names which we impose on these objects express our sensations, but do not express the things ; there is no criterium of truth ; each judges according to his impressions ; none judge correctly. In so far he was a Sophist ; but, as the disciple of Socrates, he learned that the criterium of truth must be sought within. He dismissed with contempt aU physical speculations, as subjects beyond human comprehension, and concentrated his researches upon the moral constitution of man. * Several of his repartees are recorded by Laerttos. We add the best of them :-Scinus the treasurer of Dionysius, a man of low character but immense wealth, once showed Aristippus over his house. WhUe he was expatiating on the splendour of every part, even to the floors, the philosopher spat in his face. Scinus was funous. ' Pardon me,' exclaimed Aristippus, ' there was no other place where I could have spat with decency.' One day, in interceding with the Tyrant for a friend, he threw himself on his knees. Being reproached for such want of dignity he answered, ' Is it my fault if Dionysius has his ears in his feet ? ' One day he asked the Tyrant for some money. Dionysius made him own that a philosopher had no need of money. ' Give, give,' replied Aristippus, ' and we will settle the question at once. Dionysius gave. ' Now; said the philosopher, ' I have no need ot money. t Metaph. iii. 2. \ Adv. Math. vii. 173. 182 THE CYRENAICS. ARISTIPPUS. 183 In so far lie was a Socratist. But, although he took his main direction from Socrates, yet his own individuality quickly turned him into bye-paths which his master would have shunned. His was not a scientii&c intellect. Logical deduction, which was the rigorous process of his master, suited neither his views nor his disposition. He was averse from abstract speculations. His tendency was directly towards the concrete. Hence, while Socrates was preaching about The Good, Aristippus wished to specify what it was ; and resolved it into Pleasure. It was the pith and kernel of Socrates' Ethical system, that Happiness was the aim and desire of all men — the motor of aU action ; men only erred because of erroneous notions of what constituted Happiness. Thus the wise man alone knew that to endure an injury was better than to inflict it; he alone knew that immoderate gratification of the senses, being followed by misery, did not constitute Happiness, but the contrary. Aristippus thought this too vague. He not only reduced this general idea to a more specific one, namely. Pleasure ; he endeavoured to show how truth had its only criterium in the sensation of pleasure or of pain. Of that which is without us we can know nothing truly ; we only know through our senses, and our senses deceive us with respect to objects. But our senses do not deceive us with respect to our sensations. We may not per- ceive things truly ; but it is true that we perceive. We may doubt respecting external objects ; we cannot doubt respect- ing our sensations. Amongst those sensations we naturally seek the repetition of such as are pleasurable, and shun those that are painful. Pleasure, then, as the only positive good, and as the only positive test of what was good, he declared to be the end of life ; but, inasmuch as for constant pleasure the soul must preserve its dominion over desires, this pleasure was only another form of the Socratic temperance. It is distinguished from the Socratic conception of Pleasure, however, in being positive, and not merely the gratification of a want. In the Phcedo, Socrates, on being released from his chains, reflects upon the intimate connection of pleasure and pain; and calls the absence of pain pleasure. Aristippus, on the con- trary, taught that pleasure is not the mere removal of pain : they are both positive emotions ; non-pleasure and non-pain are not emotions, but as it were the sleep of the soul."*^ In the application of this doctrine to ethics, Aristippus betrays both his Sophistic and Socratic education. With the Sophists he regarded pleasure and pain as the proper criteria of actions ; no action being in itself either good or bad, but only such according to convention. With Socrates, however, he regarded the advantages acquired by injustice to be trifling ; whereas the evils and apprehensions of punishment are considerable ; and pleasure was the result, not of indivi- dual prosperity alone, but of the welfare of the whole State. In reviewing the philosophy, such as it was, of Aristippus, we cannot fail to be struck with the manifest influence of Socrates ; although his method was not followed, we see the ethical tendency predominating. In the Megaric School the abstract idea of The Good {to dyaeop) of Socrates, was grounded on the Eleatic conception of The One. In the Cyrenaic, the abstract conception was reduced to the con- crete. Pleasure ; and this became the only ground of certi- tude, and morals the only science. In the Cynic School we shall see a still further development in this direction. * Dioo. Lakbt. ii. 89. 184 CHAPTER III. THE CYNICS. Antisthenes and Diogenes. CYNICISM imposed on antiquity as it has imposed on many modem ima^nations, by the energy of its self- denials ; but it is a ' blasphemy against the divine beauty of life,' blasphemy against the divinity of man. To lead the life of a dog is not the ideal for man. Nevertheless there were some points both in the characters and doctrines of the founders of this School which may justly claim the admiration of mankind. Their contemporaries regarded them with feelings mingled with awe. We at least may pay a tribute to their energy. Antisthenes was born at Athens, of a Phrygian mother. In early life he distinguished himself at the battle of Tanagra. After this he studied under Gorgias, the Sophist, and estab- lished a school for himself ; but, captivated by the practical wisdom of Socrates, he ceased to teach, and became once more a pupil ; nay more, he persuaded all his pupils to come with him to Socrates, and there learn true wisdom. This is genuine modesty, such as philosophers have rarely exhibited. He was then somewhat advanced in life ; his opinions on many points were too deeply rooted to be exchanged for others ; but the tendency of the Socratic philosophy towards Ethics, and the character of that system as leading to the moral pei-fection of man, seemed entirely to captivate him. It will be remembered that Socrates did not teach positive doctrines ; he enabled each earnest thinker to evolve a doctrine for himself. All Socrates did, was to give an impulsion in a ANTISTHENES AND DIOGENES. 185 certain direction, and to furnish a certain Method. His real disciples accepted the Method ; his imperfect disciples only accepted the impulsion. Antisthenes was of the latter. Accordingly, his system was essentially personal. He was stern, and his doctrine was rigid ; he was proud, and his doctrine was haughty ; he was cold, and his doctrine was unsympathizing and self-isolating; he was brave, and his doctrine was a battle. The effeminacy of the luxurious he despised ; the baseness of courtiers and flatterers he hated. He worshipped Virtue ; but it was Virtue sometimes ferocious and unbending. Even whilst with Socrates he displayed his contempt of ordinary usages, and his pride in differing from other men. He used to appear in a threadbare cloak, vrith ostentatious poverty. Socrates saw through it all, and exclaimed, ' 1 see your vanity, Antisthenes, peering through holes in your cloak ! ' How different was this from Socrates ! He, too, had inured himself to poverty, to heat and to cold, in order that he might bear the chances of fortune ; but he made no virtue of being ragged, hungry, and cold. Antisthenes thought he could only preserve his virtue by becoming a savage. He wore no garment except a coarse cloak ; allowed his beard to grow; carried a wallet and a staff; and renounced all diet but the simplest. His manners corresponded to his appear- ance. Stem, reproachful, and bitter in his language ; care- less and indecent in his gestures. His contempt of all sensual enjoyment was expressed in his saying, < I would rather be mad than sensual ! ' * On the death of Socrates he formed a school, and chose for his place of meeting a public place in that quarter of Athens called the Cynosarges, from which some say the sect of Cynics derives its name ; others derive it from the snarling propensities of the founder, who was frequently called ' The Dog.' As he grew old, his gloomy temper became morose ; * It is thus we would interpret Diog. Laeht. vi. 3 :— Mavefiyi/ fia?^ov fj fiae^l^v. RiTTER gives this version :— ' I had rather go mad than experience pleasure ; ' which is an outrageous sentiment. ' - !| l! / 186 THE CYNICS. lie became so insupportable that all his scholars left him, except Diogenes of Sinope, who was with him at his death. In his last agony, Diogenes asked him whether he needed a friend. ' Will a friend release me from this pain ? ' he re- plied. Diogenes gave him a dagger, saying, * This will.' * I wish to be freed from pain, not from life,' was the reply. The contempt he uniformly expressed for mankind may be read in two of his sayings. Being asked, what was the peculiar advantage to be derived from philosophy, he an- swered, * It enables me to keep company with myself.' Being told that he was greatly praised by many, ' Have I done anything wrongs then, that I am praised ? ' he asked."**" Diogenes of Sinope is generally remembered as the repre- sentative of Cynicism ; probably because more anecdotes of his life have descended to us. He was the son of a banker at Sinope, who was convicted of debasing the coin ; an aflFair in which the son was also supposed to have been implicated. Diogenes fled to Athens. From the heights of splendour and extravagance, he found himself reduced to squalid poverty. The magnificence of poverty, which Antisthenes proclaimed,t attracted him. Poor, he was ready to embrace the philosophy of poverty ; an outcast, he was ready to isolate himself from society ; branded with disgrace, he was ready to shelter himself under a philosophy which branded all society. Having in his own person experienced how little wealth and luxury can do for the happiness of man, he was the more inclined to try the converse ; having expe- rienced how wealth prompts to vice, and how desires generate desires, he was willing to try the efficacy of poverty and virtue. He went to Antisthenes ; was refused. He con- tinued to offer himself to the Cynic as a scholar ; the Cynic raised his knotty staff, and threatened to strike him if he did not depart. ' Strike ! ' replied Diogenes ; ' you will not find * I>R. Enfield, who generally manages to introduce some blunder into every page, has spoiled this repartee, by giving it as a reply to the praise of a bad man. Yet the language of Diogenes Laertius is very explicit :—noAAof at iwoKivoDffi (vi. 8). t See Xbnophon : Banqtiet. ANTISTHENES AND DIOGENES. 187 a stick hard enough to conquer my perseverance.' An- tisthenes, overcome, accepted him as a pupil. To live a life of virtue was henceforward his sole aim. That virtue was Cynicism. It consisted in the complete renunciation of all luxury— the subjugation of all sensual desires. It was a war carried on by the Mind against the Body. As with the Ascetics of a later day, the basis of a pure life was thought to be the annihilation of the Body ; the nearer any one approached to such a suicide, the nearer he was to the ideal of virtue. The Body was vile, filthy, degraded, and degrading ; it was the curse of man ; it was the clog upon the free development of Mind ; it was wrestled with, hated, and despised. This beautiful Body, so richly endowed for enjoyment, was regarded as the 'sink of all iniquity.' Accordingly, Diogenes limited his desires to necessities. He ate little ; and what he ate was of the coarsest. He tried to live upon raw meat and unboiled vegetables ; but failed. His dress consisted solely of a cloak : when he asked Antis- thenes for a shirt, he was told to fold his cloak in two ; he did so. A wallet and a huge stick completed his accoutre- ments. Seeing a little boy drinking water out of his scooped hand, he threw away his cup, declaring it superfluous. He slept under the marble porticoes of the buildings, or in his celebrated Tub, which was his place of residence. He took his meals in public. In public he performed all those actions which decency has condemned to privacy. Decency of every kind he studiously outraged. It was a part of his system to do so. Everything, not in itself improper, ought, he said, to be performed publicly. Besides, he was wont to annoy people with indecent gestures ; had he a philosophical reason for that also ? Doubts have been expressed respecting his Tub, which, it is thought, was only an occasional residence, and used by him as expressive of his contempt for luxury. We incline however, to the tradition. It is in keeping with all we know ( -A0^^r^---^^^e^&^ 188 THE CYNICS. of the man ; and tliat a Tub could suffice for a domicile we may guess from Aristophanes."'^ It is not difficult to imagine the effect created by the Cynics in the gay, luxurious city of Athens. There the climate, no less than the prevailing manners, incited every one to enjoyment. The Cynics told them that enjoyment was unworthy of men ; that there were higher and purer things for man to seek. To the polished elegance of Athenian manners the Cynics opposed the most brutal coarseness they could assume. To the friendly flatteries of conversation they opposed the bitterest pungencies of malevolent frankness. They despised all men ; and told them so. Now, although we cannot but regard Cynicism as a very preposterous doctrine— as a feeble solution of the great pro- blem of morals, and not a very amiable feebleness— we admit that it required some great qualities in its upholders. It required a great rude energy ; a fanatical logicality of mind ; a power over self,— narrow it may be, but still a power. These qualities are not common qualities, and therefore they command respect. Any deviation from the beaten path im- plies a certain resolution ; a steady and consistent deviation implies force. All men respect force. The power of sub- jugating ordinary desires to one remote but calculated end, always impresses men with a sense of unusual power. Few are aware that to regulate desires is more difficult than to suhpigate them— requires greater power of mind, greater will, greater constancy. Yet every one knows that abstinence is easier than temperance : on the same principle, it is easier to be a Cynic than a wise and virtuous Epicurean. That which prevents our feeling the respect for the Cynics which the ancients seem to have felt, and which, indeed, some portions of the Cynical doctrine would other- wise induce us to feel, is the studious and uncalled-for outrages on common decency and humanity which Diogenes, * Knights, 793 : the people are there spoten of as having been forced to live, during the war, in ' pigeon-holes and corners of turrets : ' yxrirapiois Koi irvpyi^iois ; unless, indeed, this is purely a metaphorical expression. ANTISTHENES AND DIOGENES. 189 especially, perpetrated. All the anecdotes that have come down to us seem to reveal a snarling and malevolent spirit, worshipping Virtue only because it was opposed to the vices of contemporaries ; taking a pride in poverty and simplicity only because others sought wealth and luxury. It may be well to raise an earnest protest against the vices of one's age ; but it is not weU to bring virtue into discredit by the manner of the protest. Doubtless the Athenians needed reproof and reformation, and some exaggeration on the opposite side might have been allowed to the reformers. But Diogenes was so feeble in doctrine, so brutal in manner, that we doubt whether the debauchery of the first profligate in that pro- fligate city were more reprehensible than the debauchery of pride which disgraced the Cynic. The whole character of the man is exhibited in one anecdote. Plato had given a splendid entertainment to some friends. Diogenes entered, unbidden, and stamping on the rich carpets, said, ' Thus I trample on the pride of Plato ; ' whereupon Plato admirably replied, ' With greater pride, O Diogenes.' Diogenes, doubtless, practised great abstinence. He made a virtue of his necessity ; and, being poor, resolved to be ostentatiously poor. The ostentation, being novel, was mis- taken for something greater than it was ; being in con- tradiction to the universal tendency of his contemporaries, it was supposed to spring from higher motives. There are m'en who bear poverty meekly ; there are men who look upon wealth without envy, certain that wealth does not give happiness ; there are men whose souls are so fixed on higher things as utterly to disregard the pomps and shows of the world ; but none of these despise wealth, they disregard it ; none of these display their feelings, they are content to act upon them. The virtue which is loud, noisy, ostentatious, and self-aflarmative, looks very like an obtrusive egoism. And this was the virtue of the Cynics. Pretending to reform mankmd, it began by blaspheming humanity ; pretending to correct the effeminacies of the age, it studiously outraged all ^^•sesm,^.-*m*m- 190 THE CYNICS. the decencies of life. Eluding the real difficulty of the problem, it pretended to solve it by unabashed insolence. In his old-age Diogenes was taken captive by pirates, who carried him to Crete, and exposed him for ^le as a slave. On being asked what he could do, he replied, * Govern men : sell me, therefore, to one who wants a master.' Xeniades, a wealthy Corinthian, struck with this reply, purchased him, and, on returning to Corinth, gave him his liberty and con- signed his chHdren to his education. The children were taught to be Cynics, much to their own satisfaction. It was during this period that his world-renowned interview with Alexander took place. The prince, surprised at not seeing Diogenes joining the crowd of his flatterers, went to see him. He found the Cynic sitting in his tub, basking in the sun. 'I am Alexander the Great,' said he. ' I am Diogenes the Cynic,' was the reply. Alexander then asked him if there was anything he could do for him. ' Yes, stand aside from between me and the sun.' Surprised at such indifference to princely favour— ati indifference so strikingly contrasted with every- thing he could hitherto have witnessed— he exclaimed, ' Were I not Alexander, I would be Diogenes ! ' One day, being brought before the King, and being asked who he was, Diogenes replied, ' A spy on your cupidity ; ' language, the boldness of which must have gained him universal ad- miration, because implying great singularity as weU as force of character. Singularity and Insolence may be regarded as his grand characteristics. Both of these are exemplified in the anecdote of his lighting a lamp in the daytime, and peering about the streets as if earnestly seeking something : being asked what he sought, he replied, ' A Man.' The point of this story is lost in the usual version, which makes him seek ' an honest man.' The words in Laertius are simply, avOpayrrov ^tjtw—' I seek a man.' Diogenes did not seek honesty ; he wanted to find a Man, in whom honesty would be included with many other quahties. It was his constant reproach to his con- temporaries, that they had no manhood. He said he had ANTISTHENES AND DIOGENES. 191 never seen men ; at Sparta he had seen children ; at Athens, women. One day he caUed out, ' Approach, aU men ! ' When some approached, he beat them back with his club, saying, * I called for men ; ye are excrements.' Thus he lived till his ninetieth year, bitter, brutal, os- tentatious, and abstemious ; disgracing the title of ' The Dog ' (for a dog has affection, gratitude, sympathy, and caressing manners), yet growling over his unenvied virtue as a cur growls over his meatless bone, for ever snarling and snapping without occasion ; an object of universal attention, and, from many quarters, of unfeigned admiration. One day his friends went to see him. On arriving at the portico under which he was wont to sleep, they found him stiU lying on the ground wrapped in his cloak. He seemed to sleep. They pushed aside the folds of his cloak : he was dead."^ The Doctrine of the Cynics may be briefly expounded. Antisthenes, as the disciple of Gorgias, was imbued with the sophistical principles respecting Science; principles which his acquaintance with Socrates did not alter. He maintained that Science was impossible. He utterly rejected the Socratic notion of Definitions. He said that a Definition was nothing but a series of words {Xoyov ^laKpov, ' a long discourse ') ; for which Aristotle caUs him an ignoramus.f To the Socratic notion of a Definition, as including the essence of a thing, he opposed the Sophistic notion of a Definition, as expressing a purely subjective relation. You can only express qualities, not essences ; you can call a thing sHver, but you cannot say in what it consists. Your definition is only verbal : hence the first step in education should be the study of words. J What was the consequence of this scepticism ? The con- sequence was, that the Cynics answered arguments by facts. * It was thought that he had committed suicide by holding his breath— a phy- siological impossibility. Other versions of the cause of his death were current in antiquity ; one of them seems consistent with his character : it makes him die in consequence of devouring a neat's foot raw. t *Airoi86UTos. — Metaph. viii. 3. t Arhian, Epictet, Diss. i. 17, quoted in Kittbr and Prelleb, Hist Philos. Gr(Bco-Romanv y^J. tierpLKwv T€ KoL tV rS>v TOioim^v %iiv, oAA' oh vovv, As /iCTO^,} t« U^-qs re /col vov rhu Hidvoiav oZaav, 202 LIFE' OF PLATO. LIFE OF PLATO. 203 ► r' noticed because the preceding comic poets derided Sokrates and his companions for qualities the very opposite — as pros- ing beggars, in mean attire and dirt. Such students must have belonged to opulent families ; and we may be sure that they requited their master by some valuable present, though no fee may have been formally demanded from them. Some conditions (though we do not know what) were doubtless required for admission. Moreover the example of Eudoxus shows that in some cases even ardent and promising pupils were practically repelled. At any rate, the teaching of Plato formed a marked contrast with that extreme and indiscrimi- nate publicity which characterised the conversation of Sokra- tes, who passed his days in the market-place or in the public porticoes or palaestrae; while Plato both dwelt and discoursed in a quiet residence and garden a little way out of Athens.' In his fortieth year Plato made his first visit to Sicily. It was then he became acquainted with Dionysius I., the Tyrant of Syracuse, Dion, his brother-in-law, and Dionysius II. With Dionysius I. he soon came to a rupture, owing to his political opinions ; and he so offended the Tyrant, that his life was threatened. Dion however inter- ceded for him ; and the Tyrant spared his life, but commis- sioned Pollis, the Spartan Ambassador, in whose ship Plato was to return, to sell him as a slave. He was sold ac- cordingly. Anniceris of Cyrene bought him, and imme- diately set him free. On his return to Athens, Dionysius wrote, hoping that he would not speak ill of him. Plato contemptuously replied, that he had not ' leisure to think of Dionysius.' Plato's second visit to Syracuse was after the death of Dionysius I., and with the hope of obtaining from Dionysius II. the establishment of a colony according to laws framed by himself. The colony was promised ; but never granted. Plato incurred the Tyrant's suspicions of having been con- cerned in Dion's conspiracy ; but he was allowed to return home in peace. He paid a third visit ; and this time solely to endeavour to reconcile Dionysius with his uncle Dion. Finding his efforts fruitless, and perhaps dangerous, he returned. In the calm retirement of the Academy, Plato passed the remainder of his days. Lecturing and writing were his chief occupations. The composition of those dialogues which have been the admiration of posterity, was the cheer- ing solace of his life, especially of his declining years. He died at the advanced age of eighty-three. ' The latter half of Plato's life in his native city must,' says Mr. Grote, ' have been one of dignity and consideration, though not of any political activity. He is said to have addressed the Dikastery as an advocate for the accused general Chabrias : and we are told that he discharged the expensive and showy fimctions of Choregus, with funds supplied by Dion. Out of Athens also his reputation was very great. When he went to the Olympic festival of b. c. 360, he was an object of con- spicuous attention and respect: he was visited by hearers, young men of rank and ambition, from the most distant Hellenic cities ; and his advice was respectfully invoked both by Perdikkas in Macedonia and by Dionysius II. at Syracuse. During his last visit to Syracuse, it is said that some of the students in the Academy, among whom Aristotle is mentioned, became dissatisfied with his absence, and tried to set up a new school ; but were prevented by Iphikrates and Chabrias, the powerful friends of Plato at Athens. This story is con- nected with alleged ingratitude on the part of Aristotle towards Plato, and with alleged repugnance on the part of Plato towards Aristotle. The fact itself— that during Plato's absence in Sicily his students sought to provide for them- selves instruction and discussion elsewhere — is neither sur- prising nor blameable.' Plato 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 204 LIFE OF PLATO. 205 1 M I- H. Plato ' became a phrase with the comic dramatists. He had many admirers ; scarcely any friends. His intellect had so fixed itself upon the absorbing ques- tions of philosophy, that it had scarcely any sympathy left for other matters. Hence his constant reprobation of Poets. Many suppose that the banishment of Poets from his Bepuhlic was but an insincere extension of his logical piin- ciples, and that he really loved poetry too well to condemn it. Plato's opposition to poets was however both deep and con- stant. He had a feeling not unallied to contempt for them, because he saw in them some resemblance to the Sophists, in their indifference to truth, and preference for the arts of ex- pression. The only poetry Plato ever praises is moral poetry, which is versified philosophy. Poets, at the best, he held to be inspired madmen, unconscious of what fell from their lips. Let the reader open the Ion (it has been translated by Shelley) ; he will then perceive the cause of poets being banished from the Republic, Plato had a repugnance to poetry, partly because it was the dangerous rival of philo- sophy, partly because he had a contempt for pleasure.^ It is true that he frequently quotes Homer, and, towards the close of the Republic, some misgivings of having harshly treated the favourite of his youth, escape him ; but he quickly withdraws them, and owns that Truth alone should be man's object. Let no one object to our assertion of his constant melan- choly, on the ground of the comic talent displayed in his Dialogues, The comic writers are not the gayest men; even Moliere, whose humour is so genial, overfiowing, and apparently spontaneous, was one of the austerest. Comedy often springs from the deepest melancholy, as if in sudden rebound. Moreover, in Plato's comedy there is ahnost always some under-current of bitterness: it is irony, not joyousness. * Comp. Philebus, p. 131. CHAPTER II. Plato's Writings : their Authenticity, Character, AND Object. T)EFOEE attempting an account of Plato's doctrines, it J-^ may be useful to say something respecting the charac- ter and authenticity of his writings. Modern criticism, which spares nothing, has not left them untouched. Dia- logues, the authenticity of which had never been questioned in antiquity, have been rejected by modern critics upon arbi- trary grounds. I cannot enter here into the details, I want the space; and, were there space, I might be excused from combating the individual positions, when I refuse to accept as valid the fundamental assumptions on which they repose. Internal evidence is generally deceptive; but the sort of internal evidence supposed to be afforded by comparative inferiority in artistic execution, is never free from great suspicion. Some of Plato's dialogues not being found equal to the exalted idea which his great works have led men to entertain, are forthwith declared to be spurious. But what writer is at all times equal to the highest of his own flights ? What author has produced nothing but chefs-d^ceuvre ? Are there not times when the most brilliant men are dull, when the richest style is meagre, when the compactest style is loose ? The same subjects will not always call forth the same excel- lence; how unlikely then that various subjects should be treated with uniform power! The Theages could hardly equal the Theoetetus ; the Euthydemus must be inferior to the Gorgias, No one thinks of disputing Shakspeare's claim to 206 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 207 .-. the Merry Wives of Windsor, because it is immeasurably in- ferior to Twelfth Night, which, in its turn, is inferior to Othello. Besides the dialogues rejected on account of inferior art, there are others rejected on account of immature or contra- dictory opinions. But this ground is as untenable as the former. No one has yet been able to settle definitively what was Plato's philosophy; yet opinions are said to be unworthy of that unsettled philosophy ! A preconceived notion of Plato's having been a pure Socratist, has led to the rejection of whatever seemed contradictory to Socratic views. But there is abundant evidence to show that Plato was not a mere exponent of Socratic opinions. Moreover, in a long life a man's opinions undergo many modifications ; and Plato was no exception to the rule. He contradicts himself con- stantly. He does so in works the authenticity of which no one has questioned ; and we are not to be surprised if we find him doing so in others. Without pretending to the special scholarship requisite for the thorough investigation of so intricate a question, I demurred, in the first edition of this work, against the initial assumptions on which the investigation had been conducted. Study of Plato had impressed on me the utter impossibility of fixing upon any consistent doctrine which could afford a test of authenticity ; and some experience of the fallacious nature of internal evidence, applied even to the works of contemporaries, made me wholly sceptical of any arguments based on that ground. Inasmuch as we know extremely little of Plato except what we learn from the Dialogues, it is arguing in a circle to determine, from the knowledge gained from them, which dialogues are genuine. Schiller's Eobbers, upon internal evidence, would have to be discarded as unauthentic, or else Wallenstein would be pro- nounced a forgery. Should aU external evidence disappear, Auguste Comte wiU be robbed either of his Systeme de Phi- losophie Positive or his Systeme de Politique Positive, by critics who find an irreconcilable difference between the method and spirit of those works. To this general demurrer may now be added the special refutation which Mr. Grote has so elaborately, and, in my opinion, so successfully, advanced in his work on Plato. He meets the critics on every ground; and shows that there is more assurance of authenticity in the case of the Dialogues than in that of any other contemporary writings, and more assurance for Plato than for Isocrates, Euripides, Lysias, Demosthenes, or Aristophanes. Having traced the history of their safe custody and the grounds for believing that the copies which were in the Alexandrine library were authentic, Mr. Grote says that Thrasyllus * accepted the collection of Platonic compositions sanctioned by Aristophanes and recognised as such in the Alexandrine library. As far as our positive knowledge goes, it fully bears out what is here stated : all the compositions recognised by Aristophanes (unfortunately Diogenes does not give a complete enumeration of those which he recognised) are to be foimd in the catalogue of ThrasyUus. And the evidentiary value of this fact is so much the greater, because the most questionable compositions (I mean, those which modern critics reject or even despise) are expressly included in the recognition of Aristophanes, and passed from him to ThrasyUus — Leges, Epinomis, Minos, Epistolse, Sophistes, Politikus. Exactly on those points on which the authority of Thrasyllus requires to be fortified against modem objectors, it receives all the support which coincidence with Aristophanes jcslii impart. When we know that Thrasyllus adhered to Aristophanes on so many dis- putable points of the catalogue, we may infer pretty certainly that he adhered to him in the remainder. In regard to the question. Which were Plato's genuine works ? it was per- fectly natural that Thrasyllus should accept the recognition of the greatest library then existing : a library, the written records of which could be traced back to Demetrius Phale- reus. He followed this external authority : he did not take each dialogue to pieces, to try whether it conformed to a certain internal standard, a " platonisches Gefuhl " — of his own. 208 PLATO'S WRITINGS. .* • ^ ' That the question between genuine and spurious Platonic dialogues was tried in the days of ThrasjUus, by external authority and not by internal feeling— we may see farther by the way in which Diogenes Laertius speaks of the spurious dialogues. " The following dialogues (he says) are declared to be spurious hy common consent : 1. Eryxias or Erasistratus. 2. AkephaH or Sisyphus. 3. Demodokus. 4. Axiochus. 5. Halkyon. 6. Midon or Hippotrophus. 7. Phseakes. 8. Chelidon. 9. Hebdome. 10. Epimenides." There was, then, unanimity, so far as the knowledge of Diogenes Laertius reached, as to genuine and spurious. All the critics whom he valued, Thrasyllus among them, pronounced the above ten dialogues to be spurious: all of them agreed also in accepting the dialogues in the list of ThrasyUus. as genuine. Of course the ten spurious dialogues must have been talked of by some persons, or must have got footing in some editions or libraries, as real works of Plato : otherwise there could have been no trial had or sentence passed upon them. But what Diogenes affirms is, that ThrasyUus and all the critics whose opinion he esteemed, concurred in rejecting them. We may surely presume that this unanimity among the critics, both as to all that they accepted and all that they rejected, arose from common acquiescence in the authority of the Alexandrine library. The ten rejected dialogues were not in the Alexandrine library— or at least not among the rolls therein recognised as Platonic. '^ If Thrasyllus and the others did not proceed upon this evidence in rejecting the ten dialogues, and did not find in them any marks of time such as to exclude the supposition^ of Platonic authorship— they decided upon what is caUed internal evidence : a critical sentiment, which satisfied them that these dialogues did not possess the Platonic character, style, manner, doctrines, merits, &c. Now I think it highly improbable that Thrasyllus could have proceeded upon any such sentiment. For when we survey the catalogue of works which he recognised as genuine, we see that it includes the widest diversity of style, manner, doctrine, purpose, and PLATO'S WEITINGS. 209 merits : that the disparate epithets, which he justly applies to discriminate the various dialogues, cannot be generalized so as to leave any intelligible " Platonic character " common to all. Now since Thrasyllus reckoned among the genuine works of Plato, compositions so unlike, and so unequal in merit, as the Republic, Protagoras, Gorgias, Lysis, Par- menides, Symposion, Philebus, Mmexenus, Leges, Epinomis, Hipparchus, Minos, Theages, Epistolce, &c., not to mention a composition obviously unfinished, such as the Kritias— he could have little scruple in believing that Plato also composed the Eryxias, Sisyphus, Demodokus, and Halkyon, These last-mentioned dialogues still exist, and can be appre- ciated. Allowing, for the sake of argument, that we are entitled to assume our own sense of worth as a test of what is really Plato's composition, it is impossible to deny, that if these dialogues are not worthy of the author of Republic and Protagoras, they are at least worthy of the author of the Leges, Epinomis, Hipparchus, Minos, &c. Accordingly, if the internal sentiment of Thrasyllus did not lead him to reject these last four, neither would it lead him to reject the Eryxias, Sisyphus, and Halkyon, I conclude there- fore that if he, and aU the other critics whom Diogenes esteemed, agreed in rejecting the ten Dialogues as spurious— their verdict depended not upon any internal sentiment, but upon the authority of the Alexandrine library. ' On this question, then, of the Canon of Plato's works (as compared with the works of other contemporary authors) recognised by Thrasyllus— I consider that its claim to trust- worthiness is very high, as including all the genuine works, and none but the genuine works, of Plato : the foUowing facts being either proved, or fairly presumable. * 1. The Canon rests on the authority of the Alexandrine library and its erudite librarians; whose written records went back to the days of Ptolemy Soter, and Demetrius Phalereus, within a generation after the death of Plato. * 2. The manuscripts of Plato at his death were preserved in the school which he founded ; where they continued for VOL. I. p 510 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 211 i! more than thirty years under the care of Speusippus and Xenokrates, who possessed personal knowledge of all that Plato had really written. After Xenokrates, they came under the care of Polemon and the succeeding Scholarchs, from whom Demetrius Phalereus probably obtained permis- sion to take copies of them for the nascent museum or Jibrary at Alexandria — or through whom at least (if he purchased from booksellers) he could easily ascertain which were Plato's works, and which, if any, were spurious. * 3. They were received into that library without any known canonical order, prescribed system, or interdependence es- sential to their being properly understood. Kallimachus or Aristophanes devised an order of arrangement for themselves, such as they thought suitable.' But whether all the Dialogues were the production of Plato or not, they equally serve the purpose of this History, since no one denies them to be Platonic, We may therefore leave this question, and proceed to others. Do the Dialogues contain the real opinions of Plato ? This question has three motives. 1st. Plato himself never speaks in propria persona, imless indeed the Athenian in the Laws be accepted as representing him ; a supposition in which I am inclined to concur. 2ndly. From certain passages in the Phcednis and the Epistles, it would appear that Plato had a contempt for wTitten opinions, as inefficient for instruction. 3rdly. On the testimony of a phrase in Aristotle, it is sup- posed that Plato, like Pythagoras, had exoteric and esoteric opinions ; the former being, of course, those set forth in his Dialogues. I will endeavour to answer these doubts. The first is of very little importance ; the second of greater ; the last of very great importance. That Plato adopts the dramatic form, and preserves it, is true ; but this form, which quite baffles us with Shakspeare, baffles us with no one else. It is easy to divine the opinions of Aristophanes, Moliere, or Schiller. It should be easy to divine the opinions of Plato, because, unlike the dramatists, he selects his dialogue solely with a view to the illustration of his opinions. And in a certain sense this is true. We are quite justified in assuming that the views which are put forth dogmatically in the expository Dialogues were the views Plato held at the time of composing those Dialogues, however these may differ amongst each other. And even in the dialogues of Search, mere dialectical exercises although they may be, there is a recurrence of certain views, more or less modified, and a general unity of method, which assure us that we have the real thoughts of the writer presented. We can thus speak without misgiving of a Platonic Method, though not of a Platonic System ; of Platonic opinions, though not of a Platonic Philosophy. Eespecting the insufficiency of books to convey instruction, we may first quote what ' Socrates ' says on the subject in the Phaedrus : — ' Writing is something like painting : the creatures of the latter art look very like living beings : but, if you ask them a question, they preserve a solemn silence. Written discourses do the same : you would fancy, by what they say, that they had some sense in them ; but, if you wish to learn, and therefore interrogate them, they have only their first an- swer to return to all questions. And when the discourse is once written, it passes from hand to hand, among all sorts of persons, those who can imderstand it, and those who cannot. It is not able to tell its story to those only to whom it is suitable ; and, when it is unjustly criticized, it always needs its author to assist it, for it cannot defend itself. There is another sort of discourse, which is far better and more potent than this. — What is it? That which is written scientifically in the learner's mind. This is capable of defending itself, and it can speak itself, or be silent, as it sees fit. You mean the real and living discourse of the person who under- stands the subject; of which discourse the written one may be called the picture? Precisely. — Now, think you that a sensible husbandman would take seed which ho valued, and wishing to produce a harvest, would seriously, after the summer had begun, scatter it in the gardens of p 2 212 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 213 ,« I Adonis,* for the pleasure of seeing it spring up and look green in a week ? Or do you not rather think that he might indeed do this for sport and amusement ; but, when his pur- pose was serious, would employ the art of agriculture, and, sowing the seed at the proper time, be content to gather in his harvest in the eighth month ? The last, undoubtedly.— And do you think that he who possesses the knowledge of what is just, and noble, and good, will deal less prudently with his seeds than the husbandman with his? Certainly not. — He will not, then, set about sowing them with a pen and a black liquid; or (to drop the metaphor) scattering these truths by means of discourses, which cannot defend themselves against attack, and which are incapable of adequately expounding the truth. No doubt he will, for the sake of sport, occasionally scatter some of the seeds in this manner, and will thus treasure up memoranda for himself in case he should fall into the forgetfalness of old-age, and for all others who follow in the same track; and he will be pleased when he sees the blade growing up green. 'f Now, this remarkable passage is clearly biographical. It is the justification of Socrates's philosophical career. But it must not be too rigorously applied to Plato, whose volumi- nous writings contradict it ; nor must we suppose that those writings were designed only for amusement, or as memo- randa for his pupils. The main idea of this passage is one which few persons would feel disposed to question. We are all aware that books labour under very serious deficiencies ; they cannot replace oral instruction. The frequent mis- apprehensions of an author's meaning would in a great measure be obviated if we had him by our side to interrogate him. And oral instruction has the further advantage of not allowing the reader's mind to be so passive as it is with a book : the teacher by his questions excites the activity of the pupil. All this may reasonably be conceded as Plato's opinion, without at all affecting the serious purpose of his ♦ • The gardens of Adonis,' a periphrasis for mignonette-boxes. t Phadrtis, p. 98. writings. Plato thought that conversation was more in- stinictive than reading ; but he knew that reading was also instructive, and he wrote : to obviate as much as possible the necessary inconveniences of written discourse, he threw all his works into the form of dialogue. Hence the endless repetitions, divisions, and illustrations of positions almost self-evident. The reader is fatigued by them ; but, like the humorist's tediousness, they have ' a design ' in them : that design is, by imitating conversation, to leave no position unexplained. As a book cannot be interrogated, Plato makes the book anticipate interrogations. The very pains he takes to be tedious, the very minuteness of his details, is sufficient to rescue his works from the imputation of being mere amusements. He was too great an artist to have sacrificed his art to anything but his convictions. That he did sacrifice the general effect to his scrupulous dialectics, no one can doubt ; and we believe that he did so for the sake of deeply impressing on the reader's mind the real force of his Method. Had the critics recognised Plato's real drift, we believe they would have spared much of their censure, and hesitated before pronouncing against the genuineness of certain dialogues. Connected with Plato's expressions respecting the imper- fection of written works, there is a passage in Aristotle, referring to the d'ypa<}>a hoynara, or 'unwritten opinions,' which is supposed to indicate an esoteric doctrine. If Aris- totle's words do bear that meaning, then is the opinion con- sistent and valid, which regards the exoteric works — the Dialoffues — as mere divertisements. Let us examine it. Aristotle says that Plato, in the Timceus, maintained space and matter to be the same, but that, in what are called the unwritten opinions {h toIs \iyofievocs dypda Boyfiara probably meant his lectures, or, as Eitter suggests, notes taken from the lectures by his scholars. At any rate there is no ground for supposing them to have been esoterical opinions ; the more so as Aristotle, his most illustrious pupil, never speaks of any such distinct doctrine, but draws his statements of Plato's views from published works. The ancients, we are told by Sextus Empiricus,^ were divided amongst themselves as to whether Plato was a sceptic or a dogmatist. Nor was the dispute irrational ; for, as some of the Dialogues are expository and dogmatical, and others are mere exercises of the dialectical method— mere contests in which nothing is definitely settled— any one having studied only one class of these Dialogues would think Plato either a sceptic or a dogmatist, aecording to the nature of those which he had read. Thus Cicero, an ardent ad- mirer, says, ^ Plato afl^rms nothing; but, after producing many arguments, and examining a question on every side, leaves it undetermined.' This is true of such dialogues as the Thewtetus, or the Hippias Major; but untrue of the Phcedo, Timceus, Laws, &c. When it is said that Plato held such or such an opinion, it should be distinctly stated in what dialogue it appears, and whether it is there affirmative or simply dialectical ; because, in speaking of so long a career, containing so many changes of opinion, it is necessary- to be precise. There is scarcely a single opinion held by him throughout his works. Even the Socratic view of Virtue being identical with Knowledge, consequently of Vice being Ignorance, and therefore invo- luntary—even this idea he learned in his old-age to repudiate, as we see in the Laws (v. p. 385), where he calls incontinence] no less than ignorance {^ 8t' a^aOiav ^ hC uKpuTeiap), the cause can be drawn from Aristotle. There is no greater difforence alluded to in the passage than may frequently be found between one dialogue and another. If the written (published) opinions differ, surely those unwritten may be allowed also to differ from the written. If the Repufjlic differs from the Timaus, surely the ' un- written opmion ' may differ from the Timmis. * Pyrrhon. Hypot. i. p. 44. I of vice. In the same sense (iv. p. 138), after speaking of anger and pleasure as causes of error, he says, ' There is a third cause of our faults, and that is ignorance ' [rpirov ayvotav Tcjp dfiapTTjfJ'dTcov all lav). So that here he places Ignorance only as a third cause ; and by so doing destroys the whole Socratic argument respecting the identity of Virtue and Knowledge. Nay, more. He is not consistent even in his conception of the true mode of philosophizing ; he is not unswerving even in his allegiance to Socrates. K there is one characteristic of his great master to which the pupil might be supposed preeminently attached, it is that of the negative procedure of cross-examination ; yet this, which in so many dialogues he has exhibited with singular vivacity and force, is quietly set aside in the affirmative dialogues, and in the Republic and the Laws is pointedly condemned. Socrates declared that it was his mission to expose the pretence of knowledge; not to furnish opinions, but the intellectual activity which might seek and find truth. He knew nothing ; professed himself incapable of teaching any- thing beyond the humiliating lesson of ignorance pretending to be knowledge. He urged upon all— upon the young es- pecially — the necessity of following his example. But Plato, in the Republic, severely condemns this presumptuous cross- questioning, especially on the part of the young. He regards it as the vice of the time. He deprecates the disturbance of those opinions which they have learned from the lawgiver respecting what is just and honourable — opinions, namely, which in other dialogues Socrates is made to exhibit as untaught, perhaps unteachable, acquired no man knows how, and constituting that very illusion of knowledge which the Elenchus was to dispel, and which must be dispelled before improvement could be possible. This contradiction Mr. Grote calls upon us to notice as decidedly anti- Socratic, and even anti-Platonic in so far as Plato represents Socrates. The prohibition of dialectic debate belongs indeed to the case of Meletus and Anytus on their indictment against Socrates before the dikastery. It is if 216 PLATO'S WRITINGS. rL\TO'S WRITINGS. 217 r I? identical with their charge against him of corrupting youth and inducing them to fancy themselves superior to the authority of established opinions."'^ In the Protagoras Socrates maintains that the Good is identical with the Pleasurable, and Evil identical with the Painful. In the Gorgias he maintains the reverse. In fact, as Mr. Grote truly says, it is ' scarcely possible to resolve all the diverse manifestations of the Platonic mind into one higher unity ; or to predicate, about Plato as an intellectual person, anything which shall be applicable at once to the Protagoras, Gorgias, Parmenides, Phcedrus, SymposiQn, Phile- bus, Phcedon, Republic, Timceus, and Leges. Plato was sceptic, dogmatist, religious mystic and inquisitor, mathematician, philosopher, poet (erotic as weU as satirical), rhetor, artist- all in one : or at least, all in succession, throughout the fifty years of his philosophical life. At one time his exuberant dialectical impulse claims satisfaction, manifesting itself in a string of ingenious doubts and unsolved contradictions : at another time, he is full of theological antipathy against those who libel Helios and Selene, or who deny the universal pro- vidence of the Gods : here, we have unqualified confessions of ignorance, and protestations against the false persuasion of knowledge, as alike wide-spread and deplorable— there, we find a description of the process of building up the Kosmos from the beginning, as if the author had been privy to the inmost purposes of the Demiurgus. In one dialogue the erotic fever is in the ascendant, distributed between beautiful youths and philosophical concepts, and confounded with a religious inspiration and furar which supersedes and tran- scends human sobriety {Phcedrus) : in another, all vehement impulses of the soul are stigmatized and repudiated, no honourable scope being left for anything but the calm and passionless Nous {Philehus, Phoedo7i). Satire is exchanged for dithyramb and mythe,— and one ethical point of view for * The Meno is a further confirmation. In it virtue is shown to be unsusceptible of being taught ; ergo, it is not Knowledge. This would make the Meno one of the latest works. Neither of these contradictions has, to my knowledge been noticed before. ' another {Protagoras, Gorgias), The all-sufficient dramatizing power of the master gives full effect to each of these multi- farious tendencies. On the whole — to use a comparison of Plato himself — the Platonic sum total somewhat resembles those fanciful combinations of animals imagined in the Hel- lenic mythology — an aggregate of distinct and disparate individualities, which look like one because they are packed in the same external wrapper.' There are certain theoretical views which, because they frequently recur in more or less modified forms, may be loosely styled Platonic, such for instance as the theory of Ideas and the theory of Reminiscence, but they are sometimes disregarded, at others contradicted ; and the final result of any searching examination of the Dialogues must be the conviction that they contain no doctrine, no system consistent in its relations. Indeed, as Mr. Grote well says, 'That in 406 B.C., and at the age of 23, in an age when schemes of philosophy elaborated in detail were unknown — Plato should conceive a vast scheme of philosophy, to be w^orked out underground without ever being proclaimed, through numerous Sokratic dialogues one after the other, each ushering in that which follows and each resting upon that which precedes : that he should have persisted through- out a long life in working out this scheme, adapting the sequence of his dialogues to the successive stages which he had attained, so that none of them could be properly under- stood unless when studied immediately after its predecessors and immediately before its successors — and yet that he should have taken no pains to impress this one peremptory arrangement on the minds of readers, and that Schleier- macher should be the first to detect it— all this appears to me as improbable as any of the mystic interpretations of Jamblichus or Proklus. Like other improbabilities, it may be proved by evidence, if evidence can be produced : but here nothing of the kind is producible. We are called upon to grant the general hypothesis without proof, and to follow Schleiermacher in applying it to the separate dialogues.' i\ 218 .PLATO'S WRITINGS. r t i\ I li I Hegel, although admitting that in Plato there is a philo- sophical spirit which does not express itself in a distinct doctrine because the age was not yet ripe for a doctrine, somewhat inconsistently declares that it is want of due com- prehension on the reader's part as to what constitutes philo- sophy which makes the difficulty of understanding Plato's philosophy* His own account of Plato seems to me entirely arbitrary. Mr. Maurice, on the other hand, considers it a merit m the Dialogues that ' there you find no digests of doctrme, no collections of ready manufactured notions to be adopted and carried away.' « Not to frame a comprehensive system which shall include nature and society, man and God as Its different elements, or in its different compartments, and which therefore necessarily leads the system-builder to con- sider himself above them all, but to demonstrate the utter im- possibility of such a system, to cut up the notion and dream of it by the roots, this is the work and glory of Plato. 'f After having read every one of Plato's Dialogues (an ex- cessively wearisome labour) and done my best to arrive at a distinct understanding of their purpose, I come to the con- clusion that he never systematized his thoughts, but allowed free play io scepticism, taking opposite sides in eveiy debate because he had no steady conviction to guide him ; unsay- ing to-day what he had said yesterday, satisfied to show tte weakness of an opponent. Mr. Grote, who accepts the Eptstles as genuine, relies on their declaration that the highest prmciples of philosophy could not be set forth in writing so as to be intelligible to ordinary minds ; only a few couM apprehend them, and they only through an illumination kmdled by multiplied debate and much mental effort ' I have never written anything on these subjects ; there neither '''nTu !v ^^''' ^^' ^"^ ^'^''^^^ «*■ P'^to- The opinions caUed by the name of Plato are those of Socrates in 1 days of youthful vigour and glory.' This last statement requires quahfication, since the known opinions of Socrates are son.e- • Heoel, Gesch. d. Phil. ii. 170 186 t Ma.-h.cb, Moral and Metafh. Philo.. part i.; Anoicnt Pl.il. 129, 137. ■.■;=r-i3si»='K:- :sf-iiirrwf3e!3imxmsisi '.. WBi PLATO'S WRITINGS. 219 times flatly contradicted ; but if we alter the phrase into * The opinions called by the name of Plato are opinions dra- matically put forth as dialectical displays/ it may be ac- cepted. Certain it is that nowhere in his own name d^es he express opinions, nor did he ever compose a treatise. Was this reserve owing to philosophical incompetence ? Did he withhold a system because, in truth, he had no system to produce? It seems to me that he taught nothing de- cisively because, like many other active sceptical intellects, he was afraid of committing himself. And like many others he concealed his own vacillations by assuming a native in- competence in the public. Plato was not wanting in dog- matic impulse, but he was unable patiently to think out a system ; and the vacillating lights which shifted constantly before him, the very scepticism which gave such dramatic flexibility to his genius, made him aware that any affirmation he could make was liable to be perplexed by cross lights, or would admit of unanswerable objections. He is perpetually refuting himself. If there is one theory which might be at- tributed to him and with all the greater show of reason because it is attributed to him by his pupil Aristotle, it is the theory of Ideas ; yet this theor}" is not only variously modified in various dialogues, but in the Parmenides is triumphantly refuted. I do not say it was intellectual weakness, perhaps rather it was intellectual strength, which determined his reserve. At any rate, it was philosophical incompetence. Partly owing to his acuteness, and partly to his scepticism, he could no- where find firm ground and solid material. The guesses of to-day were likely to be rejected for the guesses of to-morrow ; and in the absence of any positive criterion, philosophy could only proceed upon guesses. A man of narrower or more im- passioned intellect would have resolutely seized on some of the cardinal notions with which Plato dallied, and, like Plotinus, would have built a system out of them. An intel- lect of greater organizing power- — like Aristotle — would have settled a few premisses once for all, and from them de- duced a scheme of the universe. But Plato was essentially a ^ 220 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 221 dialectician. His intellect deHghted in the play of ideas. At a time when schemes of the universe were so easy, and when proof was rarely demanded, he could content himself with no scheme because Le felt dimly that proof was needed, and saw that he had none to furnish. Add to this the native dramatic disposition of his mind, and a certain emotional susceptibiJity which made him peculiarly Hable to what may be caUed the mythic mirage, and we may understand how he was indisposed to scientific clearness. Tradition, Theology, and Poetry were always struggling in his mind with Dialectics. Hence it is that in spite of the cross-examining Elenchus learned from Socrates, in spite of a negative tendency which made him active in doubt even to the idlest quibbling, there probably never was a thinker of eminence who accepted with more childish credulity notions which a question would refute, guesses which a mature man might blush to have entertained! Sharpsightedness and silliness are sometimes yoked together in perfect amity. Noble thoughts and nonsense may be quoted from his works in sufficient abundance to justify veneration or contempt. Whatever may have been the cause which prevented Plato from thinking out a system, it is incredible to me that there was any other cause which prevented its promulgation. If he was silent, it was because he was without a doctrine. If he kept an enigma before the world, it was because to him- self It remained an enigma. Had he clearly seen the truth he would never have doubted the capacity of other minds to see It also; nor would he have doubted his own capacity of making them see it. There is a fervour in conviction which impels utterance. But there is a timidity in minds unassured which prompts aU the artifices of reticence : they fear to show theu' precious jewel lest the spectator irreverently declare it to be paste ; they fear to express their thoughts, lest the expression should not do them justice. Eveiy day one meets people who hint mysteriously that they have discovered the great secret which other minds are seeking ; they assure you in covert or in overt phrase, that all the world is hopelessly wrong— this man fancying he is approaching the truth, and not aware of the impassable chasm which yawns before him ; that man starting on the right path, but having overlooked the truth and passed it— so that you may understand how they, and they alone, can disclose the secret if they will ; only they never will. How far Plato may have been withheld by intellectual or by moral misgivings we cannot say ; but we know that he was withheld from anything like a formal exposition of his views; and the Platonic phHosophy, meaning by it more than certain ideas which may be found in certain dialogues, is nowhere to be seen out of the works of interpreters. But this denial of a philosophy, and the admission that his writings contain a large amount of triviality and absurdity, should not interfere with our recognition of his greatness. To appreciate Plato, as to appreciate aU the great minds that have achieved supreme distinction among mankind, it is necessary to keep before us the luminous thought expressed by Wordsworth, and frequently reproduced by De Quincey, which classes aU Literature under two divisions— the Litera- ture of Power, and the Literature of Knowledge. The amount of effective thought available for our purposes, which is now to be found in Plato, is assuredly very small ; the amount of knowledge scarcely rises above zero. But the dynamic influence of this thinker, who for twenty centuries has been a great intellectual force, stimulating the minds he could not instruct, strengthening those he could not guide— ad impellendum satis, ad edocmdum parum—stm remains, and will ever remain, a source of power. If there were any one doctrine running through the Dialogues, a classification of the Dialogues would be indis- pensable. Since it is not so, however, the question of classifi- cation becomes therefore of little importance ; and we may resign ourselves more patiently to the faxit that no two persons seem to agree as to the precise arrangement. Any attempt at chronological arrangement must inevitably fail. Certain dialogues can be satisfactorily shown to have been written 1 ^'i,^ PLATO'S WRITINGS. I subsequently to some others ; but any regular succession is beyond our ingenuity. We may be pretty sure that the Phwdrus was the earliest,* or one of the earliest, and the Laws the latest. We may be sure that the Republic was earlier than the Laws, because the latter is a maturer view of politics. But when the Republic was written, baffles con- jecture. It is usually placed with the Timceus and the Laws ; that is to say, with the last products of its author. But we demur to this on several accounts. The differences of style and of ideas observable in the Republic and the Laws, imply considerable distance between the periods of composition. Besides, a man not writing for his bread does not so soon resume a subject which he has already treated with great fulness. Plato had uttered his opinions in the Republic, He must have waited till new ideas were developed, before he could be tempted again to write; for observe, both these dialogues are expository and dogmatical : they express Plato's opinions ; they are not merely dialectical exercises. Whenever two works exhibit variations of opinion, we should examine the nature of the variations and ask, which of the two opinions is the later in development— which must have been the earlier ? Let us take an example. In the Republic (iii. p. 123) he attempts to prove that no one can excel in two arts ; that the comic poet cannot be the same as the tragic, the same actor cannot act in tragedy and comedy with success. In the Amatores (p. 289) he has the same idea, though there only mentioned briefly.f In the Symposium, however, Plato's opinion is directly the reverse ; for, in a celebrated passage, he makes Socrates convince Agathon that the tragic and comic poet are the same person. * See on this point Mr. Thompson's note to Bctler : Lectures on Hist of Ancient Phil. ii. p. 44. t According to Bitter's principle, this would prove the BepuhUc to be later than the Amatores. He maintains, and with plausibility, that, when a subject which has been developed in one dialogue is briefly assumed in another, the latter IS subsequent in composition. (Rittee, vol. ii. p. 183.) Yet, on this principle thePh^do 18 earlier than the PhcBdms, inasmuch as the doctrine of reminiscence IS developed m the former and alluded to in the latter. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 223 Now, it is not difficult to decide which is the earlier opinion : in the Republic it is the logical consequence of his premisses ; but in the Symposium that opinion is corrected by experience, for in the poets of his own day Plato found both tragedy and comedy united ; and as Socrates is made to convince Agathon, we may conclude that the former opinion was not uncommon, and that Plato here makes a retractation. No one will deny that the former opinion is superficial. The distinction between tragedy and comedy is such that it seems to imply a distinct nature to attain excellence in each. But Euripides, Shakspeare, Racine, Cervantes, Calderon, and many others, confute this seeming by their dramas. Perhaps a still more conclusive example is that of the * creation of Ideas,' so expressly stated in the Republic, and the ' eternity and uncreated nature of Ideas,' as expressly stated in the Tirnxjeus, So radical a difference would at once separate the epochs at which the two dialogues were com- posed. And to this may be added the difference in artistic treatment between the Republic and the Timceus, The former, although expository, has much of the vivacity and dramatic vigour of the early dialogues. The Timceus and the Laws have scarcely a trace of art. As a chronological arrangement has been impossible, a phi- losophical arrangement has frequently been attempted. The most celebrated is that of Schleiermacher, who divides the Dialogues into three classes : — 1st. Elementary dialogues, or those which contain the germs of all that follows, — of logic as the instrument of philosophy, and of ideas as its proper object ; consequently, of the possibility of the conditions of knowledge : these are the Phcedrus, Lysis, Protagoras, Laches, Charmides, Eitthyphro, and Parmenides ; to which he subjoins, as an appendix, the Apologia, Grito, Ion, Hippias Minor, Hip- parchus, Minos, and Alcibiades II, 2nd. Progressive dialogues, which treat of the distinction between philosophical and common knowledge in their united application to the two proposed and real sciences. Ethics and Physics : these are the Gorgias, Thecetetus, Meno, Euthydemus, Cratylus, SophisteSy % A i I mmmm ■^- 224 PLATO'S WRITINGS. rLx\.TO'S WHITINGS. 225 PoUticiis, Symposium, Phcedo, and Philehus ; with an appendix containing the Theages, Amxitores, Alcihiades L, Menexenus, Hippias Major, and Clitophon, 3rd. Constructive dialogues, in which the practical is completely united with the specu- lative ; these are the Republic, Timceus, Critias with an ap- pendix containing the Laws and the Epistles.^ There is considerable ingenuity in this ; and it has been adopted by Bekker in his edition. It has however been much criticized, as every such attempt must necessarily be. Van Heusde, in his charming work,t has suggested another. He proposes three classes : 1, those wherein the subject-matter relates to the Beautiful ; 2, those wherein it relates to the True ; 3, those wherein it relates to the Practical. Of the first are those concerning Love, Beauty, and the Soul. Of the second, those concerning Dialectics, Ideas, Method ; in which Truth and the means of attaining it are sought. Of the third, those con- cerning justice ; i. e. morals and politics. These three classes represent the three phases of the philosophical mind : the desire for Truth, the appreciation of Truth, and the reali- zation of it, in an application to human life. There is one great objection to this classification, namely, the impossibility of properly arranging the Dialogues under the separate heads. The P/icpt^rws, which Van Heusde believes devoted to Love and Beauty, Schleiermacher has clearly shown to be devoted to Dialectics. So of the rest : Plato mixes up in one dialogue very opposite subjects. Van Heusde is also under the erroneous conviction of Plato's having been only a Socratist till he went to Megara, where he became imbued with the Eleatic doctrines ; and that it was in his maturer age that he became acquainted with the Pythagorean philosophy. It seems to me that the Dialogues may reasonably be divided into the two classes named by Sextus Empiricus : — Dogmatic and Agonistic, or Expository and Polemical. The advantage of this division (which is adopted by Mr. Grote ♦ Penny Cyclopedia, Art. Plato, p. 236. t Van Heusdb, Initia Philosophic Platonka, i. 72. under the titles of ' Dialogues of Exposition ' and ' Dialogues of Search' ) is its clearness and practicability. There will always be something arbitrary in the endeavour to classify the Dialogues according to their subject-matter, because they are almost all occupied with more than one subject. Thus the Republic would certainly be classed under the head of Ethics ; yet it contains very important discussions on the nature of human knowledge, and on the theory of Ideas ; and these discussions ought properly to be classed under the head of Metaphysics. Again, the Phcedrus is more than half occupied with discourses about Love ; but the real subject of the work is Dialectics. In the division here proposed such inconveniences are avoided. It is easy to see which dialogues are polemical and which are expository. The Hippias Major and the Timceus may stand as representatives of each class. In the former no attempt is made to settle the question raised. Socrates contents himself with refuting every position of his antago- nist. In the Tirnwus there is no polemic of any sort : all is calmly expository. VOL. I. Q A m ^ I H "^SE^" 226 PLATO'S METHOD. 227 CHAPTER III. Plato's Method. * rpHE first tiling it is necessary to do in science,' says i Aristotle, ' is to state all the difficulties which have to be resolved. These difficulties are the diverse contradictory opinions of philosophers and the obscurities which they have failed to clear up. The true solution is nothing but the clearing up of those difficulties We are necessarily in the best position to decide after hearing aU the reasons of the opposing advocates.' * This is the philosophic justification of the course pursued by Socrates and Plato in submitting all questions to the rigorous process of cross-examination. It is a vindication of that constant (and wearisome) employment of the purely negative and dubitative process, which is the main purpose of^'the Dialogues of Search. Debate was good in itself, good if it ended in no other result than that of impressing on the mind a conviction of ignorance. We must not seek in Plato for more than debate ; we must not seek conclusions, at least not in the Dialogues of Search. Mr. Grote truly says :— ' The modern reader must be invited to keep these postu- lates in mind, if he would fairly appreciate the Platonic Dialogues of Search. He must learn to esteem the mental exercise of free debate as valuable in itself, even though the goal recedes before him in proportion to the steps which he makes in advance. He perceives a lively antithesis of opinions, several distinct and dissentient points of view * Aristotle, Metaph. ii. 1, 995: tn 8i P^Xr^ov ardyKyjtxuu irphs ih Hplrat rhy opened, various tentatives of advance made and broken off. He has the first half of the process of truth-seeking, with- out the last ; and even without full certainty that the last half can be worked out, or that the problem as propounded is one which admits of an affirmative solution. But Plato presumes that the search will be renewed, either by the same interlocutors or by others. He reckons upon responsive energy in the youthful subject : he addresses himself to men of earnest purpose and stirring intellect, who will be spurred on by the dialectic exercise itself to farther pursuit — men who, having listened to the working out of different points of view, will meditate on these points for themselves, and apply a judicial estimate conformable to the measure of their own minds. Those respondents, who, after having been puzzled and put to shame by one cross-examination, became dis- gusted and never presented themselves again — were despised by Sokrates as lazy and stupid. For him, as well as for Plato, the search after truth counted as the main business of life. ' Another matter must here be noticed, in regard to these Dialogues of Search. We must understand how Plato con- ceived the goal towards which they tend : that is, the state of mind which he calls knowledge or cognition. Know- ledge (in his view) is not attained until the mind is brought into clear view of the Universal Forms or Ideas, and intimate communion with them: but the test (as I have already observed) for determining whether a man has yet attained this end or not, is to ascertain whether he can give to others a full account of all that he professes to know, and can extract from them a full account of aU that they profess to know : whether he can perform, in a manner exhaustive as well as unerring, the double and correlative function of asking and answering : in other words, whether he can administer the Sokratic cross-examination effectively to others, and reply to it without faltering or contradiction when administered to himself. Such being the way in which Plato conceives knowledge, we may easily see that it cannot be produced, or even approached, by direct, demonstrative, Q 2 J 228 PLATO'S METHOD. didactic, communication : by simply annoimcing to the hearer, and lodging in his memory, a theorem to be i)^oved, together with the steps whereby it is proved. He must be made familiar with each subject on many 8i(Jes, and under several different aspects and analogies : he must have had before him objections with their refutation, and the fallacious arguments which appear to prove the theorem, but do not really prove it: he must be introduced to the principal counter-theorems, with the means wher/by an opponent will enforce them: he must be practised > the use of equivocal terms and sophistry, either to be detected when the opponent is cross-examining him, or to be employed when he is crJ*^s- examining an opponent. AU these accomplishments must be acquired, together with full promptitude and flexibility, before he will be competent to perform those two difficult functions, which Plato considei^s to be the test of knowledge. You may say that such a resiilt is indefinitely distant and hopeless : Plato considers it attainable, though he admits the arduous efforts which it wiU cost. But the point which I wish to show is, that if attainable at all, it can only be attained through a long and varied course of such dialectic discussion as that which we read in the Platonic Dialogues of Search. The state and aptitude of mind caUed knowledge, can only be generated as a last result of this continued prac- tice (to borrow an expression of Longinus). The Platonic method is thus in perfect harmony and co-ordination with the Platonic result, as described and pursued.' It is a mistake to interpret these debates as mere displays of dialectical ingenuity: they were the gropings of Plato himself. ' The doubts and difficulties were certainly exercises to the mind ef Plato himself, and were intended as exercises to his readers : but he has nowhere provided a key to the solution of them. Wliere he propounds positive dogmas, he does not bring them fa^e to face with objections, nor verify their authority by showing that they afford satisfactory solution of the difficulties exhibited in his negative procedure. The PLATO'S METHOD. 229 two currents of his speculation, the affirmative and the negative, are distinct and independent of each other. Where the affirmative is especially present (as in Timoeus), the negative altogether disappears, Tima3us is made to proclaim the most sweeping theories, not one of which the real Sokrates would have suffered to pass without abundant cross-examination : but the Platonic Sokrates hears them with respectful silence, and commends afterwards. The declaration so often made by Sokrates that he is a searcher, not a teacher — that he feels doubts keenly himself, and can impress them upon others, but cannot discover any good solution of them — this declaration, which is usually considered mere irony, is literally true. The Platonic theory of Objec- tive Ideas separate and absolute, which the commentators often announce as if it cleared up all difficulties — not only clears up none, but introduces fresh ones belonging to itself. When Plato comes forward to affirm, his dogmas are alto- gether a priori : they enunciate preconceptions or hypotheses, which derive their hold upon his belief, not from any apti- tude for solving the objections which he has raised, but from deep and solemn sentiment of some kind or other — religious, ethical, sesthetical, poetical, &c., the worship of numerical symmetry or exactness, &c. The dogmas are enunciations of some grand sentiment of the divine, good, just, beautiful, symmetrical, &c., which Plato follows out into corollaries. But this is a process of itself; and while he is performing it, the doubts previously raised are not called up to be solved, but are forgotten or kept out of sight. It is therefore a mistake to suppose that Plato ties knots in one dialogue only with a view to untie them in another ; and that the doubts which he propounds are already fully solved in his own mind, onlv that he defers the announcement of the solution until the embarrassed hearer has struggled to find it for himself.' The Method employed by Plato was the Subjective. The test he uniformly applied was that of submitting the external order to his conceptions of what was rational, without 230 PLATO'S METHOD. PLATO'S METHOD. 231 i I previously determining how he came by those conceptions of rationality, and what gnarantee they offered of being themselves demonstrable. 'Laying down some general hypothesis,' he says in the Phcedo, ' which I considered to be the best, I accepted as truth whatever squared with it respecting cause, as well as other things.' This frank avowal is confirmed by every speculation. When he attempts to prove that the wrong-doer is more miserable than the wrong- sufferer, he never attempts to show what Good and Evil are, or by what characters they may be recognised ; he only intimates that they correspond with certain conceptions in his own mind ; and in endeavouring to prove that the success- ful criminal must be miserable, though no misery is felt by him, Plato merely displays his habitual indifference to facts in favour of deductive conclusions. Having assumed the existence of the Ideas of Greatness and Littleness apart from great and little Things, he concluded that it was through participation in these Ideas that things were great and little— whereas the Objective Method necessarily leads to the con- clusion that from great and little Things we form the abstrac- tions of Greatness and Littleness. ' If I am told,' he says, ' that one man is taller than another by the head, and that this one is shorter than the first by the same, I should not admit the proposition, but repeat my own creed, that what- ever is greater than another is greater by nothing else except by Greatness, whatever is less than another is less only through Littleness. For I should fear to be entangled in a contradiction if I affirmed that the greater man was greater, and the lesser man less, by the same thing (the head), and next in saying that a man was greater by a head which is itself little. . . Again, when One is placed beside One, or when One is divided, I should not affirm that juxtaposition was the cause of Two in the first case, and division in the second. I proclaim loudly that I know of no other cause for its becoming Two, except participation in the essence of Twoness (the Dyad). That which becomes Two must par- take of the Dyad; as one of the Monad.' It may puzzle the modern reader to conceive a man of Plato's intellect not being suddenly made aware of the fallacious nature of a Method which could lead to such results. But Plato, though not unaware of the violence to common sense which might seem to lie in his conclusions, thus meets the objection : * If any impugn the hypothesis, I should make no reply to him until I had followed out all its consequences to ascertain whether they were consistent with it. I should then, when the proper time arrived, defend the hypothesis, assuming some other hypothesis yet more general, such as appeared to me to he best, until I came to something fully sufficient. But I would not permit myself to confound the discussion of the hypothesis itself with the discussion of its consequences. This is a method which cannot lead to truth, though it is much practised by dis- putants who pride themselves on their ingenuity when they thus throw things into confusion.' ^ This resolution of hypotheses into hypotheses of greater generality in an ascending progression until some indisputable axiomatic truth is reached, is the point of departure in the Platonic system from the formula of Protagoras, *Man is the measure of aU things.' It affirms a possibility of abso- lute truth ; escapes from the scepticism inherent in the doctrine of the relativity of knowledge, by the confidence in the truth of universal propositions. But it should be remarked that Plato gradually worked his way to this point. At the time when he composed the Phoedo he had not seen the importance of this position ; indeed, he then held the Ideal Tlieory only as an hypothesis. Later on, in the RepMic, he regards every hypothesis as a mere ladder by which to ascend into a region above hypothesis, the Eegion of First Principles ; and he there blames mathematicians because they render no account of the hypotheses from which they start. In the Timceus he declares that propositions are equivalent to the natures they affirm, and that those which * These passages are paraphrases rather than translations from the Pkcsdo, which are given by Mr. Grot e, and which I have in turn slightly modified. "sa n\ 232 PLATO'S METHOT). fi li I I relate only to Essences and Ideas, are indisputable ; those which relate to the world of Sense, dealing only with copies of Ideas, are less and less trustworthy in proportion to their sensuous nature : they are at the best only probabilities, whereas universal propositions are primary truths, seen to be such by intuition. ' The dove cleaving the thin air,' says Kant, ' and feeling its resistance, might suppose that in airless space her move- ments would be more rapid. Precisely in this way Plato thought that by abandoning the sensuous world, because of the limits it placed to his understanding, he might more successfully venture into the void space of pure intellect.' ^ Socrates, as we have shown, relied upon the Inductive or Analogical reasoning, and on Definitions, as the two principles of investigation. The incompleteness of these principles we have already pointed out ; and Plato himself found it necessary to enlarge them. Definitions form the basis of all Philosophy. To know a thing you must also know what it is not. In ascertaining the real Definition, Socrates employed his accoucheur's art (r^x^rj fiaisvTiKi]), and proceeded inductively. Plato also used these arts ; but he added to them the more efficient processes of Analysis and Synthesis, of Generalization and Classification.f Analysis, which was first insisted on by Plato as a philo- sophic process, is the decomposition of the whole into its separate parts ; whereby, after examining those parts atten- tively, the idea of the whole is correctly ascertained. To use Platonic language. Analysis is seeing the One in the Many. Thus, if the subject be Virtue, the general term Virtue must first be decomposed into all its parts, i.e. into all the Virtues ; and from a thorough examination of the Virtues a clear idea of Virtue may be attained. J It is remarkable that in all the Dialogues, no matter how various their object and opinions, he is always found insisting * Kant, KritiJc ; Einleitmig. t Consult Van Heusde, Initia Philosoph. Platonica, ii. pars 97, 98. \ A good example of his mode of conducting an inquiry may be seen in the Gorgias, PLATO'S METHOD. 233 on the relation of universals to particulars. To detect the One in the Many is the constant aim. He is always interro- gating the meaning of general terms and abstractions em- bodied in popular language. And Plato was not only here opening a road towards the establishment of formal logic, but was conscious that he was opening such a road. Perhaps the most consistent opinion maintained by him was that on Classification — the search for the One in the Many and the Many in the One — the breaking down of an extensive genus into species and sub-species — which Mr. Grote believes to have been an important novelty in those days. * If we transport ourselves back to his time, I think that such a view of the principles of classification implies a new and valuable turn of thought. There existed then no treatises of logic ; no idea of logic as a scheme of mental procedure ; no sciences out of which it was possible to abstract the conception of a regular method more or less diversified. On no subject was there any mass of facts or details collected large enough to demand some regular system for the purpose of arranging and rendering them * intelligible. Classification to a certain extent is of necessity involved, consciously or unconsciously, in the use of general terms. But the process itself had never been made a subject of distinct consciousness or reflection to any one (as far as our knowledge reaches) in the time of Plato. No one had yet looked at it as a process,, natural indeed to the human intellect up to a certain point and in a loose manner, but capable both of great extension and great improvement, and requiring especial study, with an end deliberately set before the mind, in order that it might be employed with advantage to equalize and render intelligible even common and well- known facts.' The fundamental principle of classification — that it should be objective and founded on the relations of objects, not subjective and founded on the relations of objects to us — Plato very distinctly grasped. Goethe has made it the matter of an interesting essay, Ber Versuch ah Vermittler voii Object und Subject, not, indeed, in reference I ^m^ 234 PLATO'S METHOD. to classification, but to philosophic inquiry generally. Tlie tendency of the uncultivated mind is always to classify things on emotional rather than on intellectual grounds. The groups of objects thrown together in such minds, and conceived in immediate association, are such as to sug- gest the same or kindred emotions ; pleasure or pain, love or hatred, hope or fear, admiration, contempt, disgust, jealousy, ridicule. Community of emotion is a stronger bond of association between different objects than com- munity in any attribute not immediately interesting to the emotions, and appreciable only intellectually. Those objects which have nothing else in common except appeal to the same earnest emotion will often be called by the same general name, and will be constituted members of the same class. To attend to attributes in any other point of view than in reference to the amount and kind of emotion which they excit-e is a process uncongenial to the ordinary taste. It is against this natural propensity that Plato enters his protest in the name of intellect and science. For the pur- pose of obtaining a classification founded on real intrinsic affinities we must exclude all reference to the emotions ; we must take no account whether a thing be pleasing or hate- ftd, sublime or mean ; we must bring ourselves to rank objects useful or grand in the same logical compartment with objects hurtful or ludicrous. Definitions were to Plato what general or abstract ideas were to later metaphysicians. The individual thing was held to be transitory and phenomenal, the abstract idea was eternal. Only concerning the latter could philosophy occupy itself. But Socrates, although insisting on proper Defini- tions, had no conception of the classification of those Defi- nitions which must constitute philosophy. Plato, therefore, by the introduction of this process, shifted philosophy from the ground of inquiries into man and society to that of Dialectics. What was Dialectics ? It was the art of disccnirsing, i.e. the art of thinking, i.e. logic. Plato uses the word Dialectics, because with him Thinking was a silent PLATO'S METHOD. 235 discourse of the soul, and difiered from speech only in being silent. Dialectics (or, in modern phrase, Ontology) comprised the highest cognitions. Truth belongs exclusively to them. But there were other, inferior sciences, which, having more or less affinity to Dialectics, may be classified accordingly. Mathematics approaches them most nearly ; but they are not perfect. Hear what is said in che Republic'^ : — ' You will understand me more easily when I have made some previous observations. I think you know that the students of subjects like geometry and calculation, assume by way of materials, in each investigation, all odd and even numbers, figures, three kinds of angles, and other similar data. These things they are supposed to know, and having adopted them as hypotheses, they decline to give any account of them, either to themselves or to others, on the assumption that they are self-evident ; and, making these their starting point, they proceed to travel through the remainder of the subject, and arrive at last, with perfect unanimity, at that which they have proposed as the object of investigation. * I am perfectly aware of the fact, he replied. ' Then you also know that they summon to their aid visible forms, and discourse about them, though their thoughts are busy not with these forms, but with their originals, and though they discourse not with a view to the particular square and diameter which they draw, but with a view to the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on. For while they employ by way of images those figures and diagrams aforesaid, which again have their shadows and images in water, they are really endeavouring to behold those abstractions which a person can only see with the eye of thought. ' True. * Tliis then, was the class of things which I called intellec- tual ; but I said that the soul is constrained to employ hypo- ♦ Transliitod by Messrs. Daviks and Vauouan. Iirt 230 PLATO'S METHOD. theses while engaged in the investigation of them — not travelling to a first principle (because it is unable to step out of, and mount above, its hypotheses), but using, as images, the actual objects that are copied by the things below — which objects, as compared with the copies, have a reputation for clearness, and are held in esteem. ' I understand you to be speaking of the subject-matter of geometry, and its kindred arts. 'Again, by the second segment of the intellectual world understand me to mean all that the mere reasoning process apprehends by the force of dialectic, when it avails itself of hypotheses not as first principles, but as genuine hypotheses, that is to say, as stepping-stones and impulses, whereby it may force its way up to something that is not hypothetical, and arrive at the first principle of everything, and seize it in its grasp ; which done, it turns round, and takes hold of that which takes hold of this first principle, till at last it comes down to a conclusion, calling in the aid of no sen- sible object whatever, but simply employing abstract, self- subsisting forms, and terminating in the same. ' I do not understand you so well as I could wish, for I believe you to be describing an arduous task ; but at any rate I understand that you wish to declare distinctly, that the field of real existence and pure intellect, as contemplated by the science of dialectic, is more certain than the field investigated by what are called the arts, in which hypotheses constitute first principles, which the students are compelled, it is true, to contemplate with the mind and not with the senses ; but, at the same time, as they do not come back, in the course of inquiry, to a first principle, but push on from hypothetical premisses, you think that they do not exercise pure reason on the questions that engage them, although taken in connexion with a first principle these questions come within the domain of the pure reason. And I believe you apply the term understanding, not pure reason, to the mental habit of such people as geometricians — regarding understanding as something intermediate between opinion and pure reason.' PLATO'S METHOD. 237 From this brief outline of Plato's Method may be seen how erroneous is the notion which supposes that his merit was exclusively literary. He was pre-eminently a severe Dialectician. This is his leading peculiarity ; but he has clothed his method in such attractive forms that the means have been mistaken for the end. His great dogma, like that of his master, Socrates, was the necessity of an untiring investigation into general terms (or abstract ideas). ' The natural tendency of the real lover of knowledge is to strain every nerve to reach real existence ; and far from resting at those multitudinous particular phenomena whose existence falls within the region of opinion, he presses on, undiscouraged, and desists not from his passion, till he has apprehended the nature of each thing as it really is, with that part of his soul whose property it is to lay hold of such objects, in virtue of its affinity to them ;— and having, by means of this, verily approached and held intercourse with that which verily exists, he begets wisdom and truth, so that then, and not till then, he knows, enjoys true life, and receives true nourishment, and is at length released from his travail-pangs.' 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 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 indica- tions of that eternal Truth for which he longed, footmarks on the perilous journey, and guides to 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 hecoming, never was ; that the reports which our senses made of these things partook of the same fleeting and uncertain character. He could fc^rr^'^^ia— •-?L-'- -l i ■i |"a > «%JHI 1' " SrM 238 PLATO'S METHOD. PLATO'S METHOD. 230 1 « not, therefore, put his trust in them ; he could not believe that Time was anything more than the wavering image of Eternity. The 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.^ To reduce this Platonic language to a modem formula: Things exist as classes and as individuals. These classes are but species of higher classes; e.g. men are individuals of the class Man, and Man is a species of the class Animal. But Philosophy, which is deductive, has nothing to do with individuals; it is occupied solely with classes. General Terms, or abstract ideas, are therefore the materials with which Philosophy works. We are here led to the origin of the flimous dispute of Eealism and Nominalism, which may be summed up in a sentence. The Eealists maintain, that every General Term (or Abstract idea), such as Man, Virtue, &c., has a real and independent existence, quite irrespective of any concrete individual determination, such as Smith, Benevolence, &c. The JSTominalists, on the contrary, maintain that all General Terms are but the creations of the mind, designating no distinct entities, being merely used as marks of aggregate conceptions. In Eealism, Plato separated himself from his master Socrates. On this point we have the indubitable, but hitherto little noticed, testimony of Aristotle, who, after speaking of the Socratic Method of Induction and Defini- tion, says : — ' But Socrates gave neither to General Terms nor to Definitions a distinct existence.' t This is plain * To refer the reader to particular passages wherein this doctrine is expressul, or implied, would be endless : it runs through nearly all his works. Perhaps the easiest passage where it may be read is Phiiehus, pp. 233-6. t Met. xiii. 4, 'AAA' 6 fifv :iwKpdT-ns to KadSXov ov xupiara iirold, ovSt rous Spifffioh. — Tho wording of this may appear strange. Many have supposed enough. Aristotle, in continuation, obviously speaks of Plato : — ' Those who succeeded him gave to these General Terms a separate existence, and called them Ideas,' It will be seen in this sketch of the Method that Plato really took an important step in advance, not only by the foundations which he may be said to have laid for a science of Logic, but also by rescuing Philosophy from the dissolving tendencies of scepticism in the reassertion of its claim to Certitude. Whether the criterion which he advanced were or were not a valid one, is another question ; that belongs to Philosophy; but History at least will recognise that the claim was made, and for centuries was accepted. If the Subjective Metliod is a pathway to the truth, if Logic is the organon of discovery, if ideas are the measures of existences, if the external order corresponds with the internal order, and everything exists as we think it, then Plato's claim is irresistible. Up to his time there had been dogmatism and scepticism ; he first saw the necessity of controlling dogma- tism by scepticism, while the final conclusions of research must nevertheless be dogmatic and based upon a criterion of certitude. If in his own researches he vacillated, he did not vacillate as to the integrity of his Method. He was assured that there was a ground of certitude, assured that this was in universal propositions ; to arrive at such propositions was therefore the aim of research. Socrates took up the purely negative side. Plato looked on this as the indispensable prelude to an affirmative attitude, and by his criterion he gave a logical basis to the Subjective Method. universals to exist separately; but how a separate existence could be given to Definitions may puzzle the stoutest Kealist. The difficulty vanishes, if we under- stand that the Platonic Definitions and Universals were the same things ; Aristotle's phrase is, however, ambiguous. 240 Iji I CHAPTER IV. Platonic Theories. ALTHOUGH there is no Platonic system properly so called, nor any theories that can be said to have held more than a temporary hold of his sceptical and progressive intel- lect, since even those that most freqnently recur are variously conceived by him, and the description which would be accu- rate if drawn from one Dialogue, would be inaccurate if applied to the same theory in another, there are, nevertheless, certain theories which have become famous as Platonic, and which, because they have exercised great influence on the course of speculative development, must be briefly expounded here. The word Idea has undergone more changes than almost any word in philosophy; and nothing can well be more opposed* to the modern sense of the word than the sense affixed to it by Plato. If we were to say, that Ideas were tantamount to the Substantial Forms of the schoolmen, we should rim the risk of endeavouring to enlighten an ob- scurity by an obscurity no less opaque. If we were to say, that the Ideas were tantamount to Universals, the same objection might be raised. If we were to say, that the Ideas were General Terms or Abstract Ideas, we should mislead every Nominalist into the belief that Plato was an idealist ;' otherwise the last explanation would be pertinent. It will be better, however, to describe first, and to define afterwards. Plato, according to Aristotle, gave to General Terms a distinct existence, and called them Ideas. He became a Realist ; and asserted that there was the Abstract Man no less than the Concrete Men : the latter were Men J PLATO'S WRITINGS. 241 only in as far as they participated in the Ideal Man. No one will dispute that we have a conception of a genus — ^that we do conceive and reason about Man quite independently of Smith or Brown, Peter or Paul. If we have such a con- ception, whence did we derive it ? Our experience has only been of the Smiths and Browns, the Peters and Pauls ; we have only known men. Our senses tell us nothing of Man. Individual objects only give individual knowledge. A number of stones placed before us wiU afford us no know- ledge, will not enable us to say. These are stones ; unless we have previously learned what is the nature of Stone. So, also, we must know the nature of Man, before we can know that Jones and Brown are Men. We do know Man, and we know Men ; but our knowledge of the former is distinct from that of the latter, and must have a distinct source; so, at least, thought the Realists. What is that source ? Re- flection, not sense. The Realists finding The One in The Many, — in other words, finding certain characteristics common to all men, and not only common to them but necessary to their being Men, — abstracted these general characteristics from the par- ticular accidents of individual men, and out of these charac- teristics made what they called Universals (what we call genera). These- Universals exist per se. They are not only conceptions of the mind; they are entities; and our perceptions of them are formed in the same manner as our perceptions of other things. If the conception of genera be rendered objective, the Realist doctrine is explained. Our conceptions were held by Realism to be perceptions of existing Things; these Plato called Ideas, the only real existences : they were the noumena of which all individual things were the phenomena. If then we define the Platonic ' Idea ' to be a ' Noumenon,' or * Sub- stantial Form,' we shall not be far wrong : and most of the disputes respecting the real meaning of the term will be set aside ; for example, Ritter's accoimt of the word — in which he is at a loss to say whether Idea means the universal, or m VOL. I. R 242 PLATO'S WRITINGS. whether it does not also mean the individual. That Plato usually designates a General Term by the word Idea, there can be no doubt ; there can be no doubt also that he some- times designates the essence of some individual thing an Idea, as in the Republic, where he speaks of the Idea of a Table from which all other Tables were formed- There is no contradiction in this :— a general form is as necessary for Tables as for Men : this Idea, therefore, equaUy partakes of generality, even where exemplified by particular things. Aristotle, in a memorable passage, says:— 'Plato fol- lowed Socrates respecting definitions, but, accustomed as he was to inquiries into universals (Bia to Kv^ricrai irepi t^v KaQoKov), he supposed that definitions should be those of intelligihles (i.e. noumena), rather than of 8e7isible8 (i.e. phe- nomena) : for it is impossible to give a general definition to sensible objects, which are always changing. Those Int^Ui- gible Essences he called Ideas ; adding that sensible objects were different from Ideas, and received from them their names • for it is in consequence of their participation {kut^ aide^iJ) in Ideas, that aU objects of the same genus receive the same name as the Ideas. He introduced the word par- ticipation. The Pythagoreans say, that " Things are ^ the copies of Numbers." Plato says, " the participation ; he only changes the name.'^ It may be affirmed that Plato did more than change a name The conception alone of Ideas, as generical types, is a great advance on the conception of Numbers. But Plato did not stop here. He ventured on an explanation of the nature and the degree of that participation of sensible objects m Ideas And Aristotle himself, in another place, points out a fundamental distinction. 'Plato thought that sensible Things no less than their causes were Numbers ; hut the causes are Intelligihles (i.e. Ideas), and other things Sensihles.^f This gives a new character to the theory ; it renders it at once more clear and more applicable. * Metaph. i. 6. , *s ^ a j t Meta:ph. i. 7, 'AXX^ rohs m^" yonrohs alriovs, rovrovs 5i «i(r0r,To6y. r PLATO'S WRITINGS. 243 The greatest difficulty felt in the Ideal theory is that of participation. How, and in how far, does this participation take place? A question which Plato did not, and could not, solve. All that he could answer was, that human know- ledge is necessarily imperfect, that sensation troubles the intellectual eye, and only when the soul is free from the hindrances of the body shaU we be able to discern things in all the ineffable splendour of truth. But, although our knowledge is imperfect, it is not false. Reason enables us to catch some glimpses of the truth, and we must endea- vour to gain more. Whatever is the object of the soul's thought, purely as such, is real and true. The problem is to separate these glimpses of the truth from the prejudices and errors of mere opinion. In this doctrine, opinion is concerned only with Appear- ances (phenomena) : philosophy, with Existence. Our sen- sation, judgments, opinions, have only reference to ra yvyvofisva ; our philosophic conceptions have reference to ra oma. The whole matter is comprised in Plato's answer to Diogenes, who thought he demolished the theory of Ideas by exclaiming, * I see indeed a table ; but I see no Idea of a table.' Plato replied, ' Because you see with your eyes, and not with your reason.' Hence, at the close of the 5tli Book of his Republic, he says that those only are to be called Philosophers who devote themselves to the contemplation of TO 6v, i. e. Existence. ^ When a man knows, does he know something or nothing ? Be so good, Glaucon, as to make answer in his behalf. * My answer will be, that he knows something. ' Something that exists or does not exist P ' Something that exists : for how could a thing that does not exist be known ? ' Are we then quite sure of this fact, in whatever variety of ways we might examine it, that what completely exists may be completely known, whereas that which lias no existence at aU must be wholly unknown ? ' We are perfectly sure of it. R 2 244 PLATO'S WRITINGS. < Good ; now, if there be anything so constituted, as at tlie same time to be and not to be, must it not Ue somewhere between the purely existent and the absolutely non-existent? * It must. * Well then, as knowledge is correlative to the existent, and the negation of knowledge necessarily to the non-existent, must we not try to find something intermediate between science and ignorance, if there is anything of the kind, to correspond to this that is intermediate between the existent and the non-existent ? ' Yes, by all means. * Do we speak of opinion as a something ? ' Undoubtedly we do. < Do we consider it a faculty distinct from science or iden- tical with it? < Distinct from it. ' Therefore opinion is appointed to one province and science to another, each acting according to its own peculiar power. * Just so. ' Is it not the nature of science, as correlative to the existent, to know how the existent exists? But first there is a dis- tinction which I think it necessary to establish. * What is that ? ^ WeshaU hold that faculties, as a certain general class, are the things whereby we, and every other thing, are able to do whatever we can do; for example, I call sight and hearing faculties, if you happen to understand the special conception which I wish bo describe. * I do understand it. ' Then let me tell you what view I take of them. In a faculty I do not see either colour or form, or any of those qualities that I observe in many other things, by regarding which I can in many cases distinguish to myself between one thing and an- other. No, in a faculty I look only to its province and its function, and thus I am led to caU it in each case by this name, pronouncing those faculties to be identical whose pro- vinces and fimctions are identical, and those diverse whoso PLATO'S WRITINGS. 246 provinces and functions are diverse. But pray how do you proceed ? * Just in the same way. * Now then, return with me, my excellent friend. Under what general term do you class science ? Do you make it a faculty ? ' Yes I do ; it is of all the faculties the most powerful. ' Well, is opinion a faculty ; or are we to refer it to some other denomination ? ' Not to any other; for that whereby we are able to opine, can only be opinion, * WeU, but a little while ago you admitted that science and opinion are not identical. * Why how could a sensible man identify the fallible with the infaUible ? ' Yery good : so we are clearly agreed that opinion is a thing distinct from science. ' It is. * If so, each of them has by its nature a different province, and a different efficacy. ' The inference is inevitable. * Science, I believe, has for its province to know the nature of the existentr ' Yes. ^ And the province of opinion is, we say, to opine. ' Yes. ' Does opinion take cognizance of precisely that material which science knows ? In other words, is the object-matter of opinion identical with that of science ? or is that impos- sible ? ' It is impossible, after the admissions we have made ; that is, if it be granted that different faculties have different pro- vinces, and that both opinion and science are faculties, and that the two are distinct, — all which we affirm. These pre- mises make it impossible to identify the object-matter of science and that of opinion. 246 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 247 ' Then, if the existent is the object-matter of knowledge, that of opinion must be something other than the existent ? ' It must. * Well then, does opinion exercise itself upon the non-exis- tent, or is it impossible to apprehend even in opinion that which does not exist ? Consider— does not the person opining carry his thought towards something? Or is it possible to have an opinion, but an opinion about nothing ? ' It is impossible. * Then the person who opines has an opinion about some one thing ? 'Yes. ' Well, but the non-existent could not be called some one thing ; it might, on the contrary, with the greatest truth be styled nothing. ' Just so. ' But to the non-existent we were constrained to assign igno- rance, and to the existent, knowledge. * And rightly. ' Then neither the existent nor the non-existent is the object of opinion ? 'No. 'Therefore opinion cannot be either ignorance or knowledge. ' Apparently not. ' Then does it lie beyond either of these, so as to surpass either knowledge in certainty or ignorance in uncertainty ? ' It does neither. ' Then tell me, do you look upon opinion as something more dusky than knowledge, more luminous than ignorance ? ' Yes, it is strongly so distinguished from either. ' And does it lie within these extremes ? * ' Yes. ' Then opinion must be something between the two. ' Precisely so. ' Now a little while back, did we not say, that if anything could be found so constituted as at the same time to be and not to be, it must lie between the purely existent and the absolutely not existent, and must be the object neither of science nor yet of ignorance, but of a third faculty, which should be similarly discovered in the interval between science and ignorance ? ' We did. ' But now we have discovered between these two a faculty which we call opinion. ' We have. ' It will remain then for us, apparently, to find what that is which partakes both of being and of not being, and which cannot be rightly said to be either of these absolutely : in order that, should it discover itself to us, we may justly pro- claim it to be the object of opinion ; thus assigning extremes to extremes, and means to means. Am I not right ?'.... ^ Hence we have discovered, apparently, that the mass of notions, current among the mass of men, about beauty, justice, and the rest, roam about between the confines of pure exist- ence and pure non-existence.- ' We have. ' And we before admitted, that if anything of this kind should be brought to light, it ought to be described as the object of opinion and not of knowledge, — these intermediate rovers being caught by the intermediate faculty. ' We did make this admission. ' Therefore, when people have an eye for a multitude of beautiful objects, but can neither see beauty in itself, nor follow those who would lead them to it, — when they behold a number of just things, but not justice in itself, and so in every instance, we shall say they have in every case an opinion, but no real knowledge of the things about which they opine. ' It is a necessary inference. ' But what, on the other hand, must we say of those who contemplate things as they are in themselves, and as they exist ever permanent and immutable ? Shall we not speak of them as knowing, not opining ? ' That also is a necessary inference. ' Then shall we not assert that such persons admire and 'TTifiii— -nrt. A 248 PLATO'S WRITINGS. love the objects of knowledge, — the others, the objects of opinion ? For we have not forgotten, have we, that we spoke of these latter as loving and looking upon beautiful sounds and colour and the like, while they will not hear of the existence of an abstract beauty ? * We have not forgotten it. ' Shall we commit any fault then, if we call these people philodoxical rather than philosophical, that is to say, lovers of opinion rather than lovers of wisdom ? And will they be very much offended with us for telling them so ? ' No, not if they will take my advice : for it is wrong to be offended with the truth. ^ Those therefore that set their affections on that which in each case really exists, we must call not philodoxical, but philosophical ? * Yes, by aU means.'* The phenomena which constitute what we perceive of the world (i.e. the world of sense) are but the resemblances of matter to Ideas. In other words, Ideas are the forms of which material Things are copies ; the noumena, of which all that we perceive are the Appearances (phenomena). But we must not suppose these copies to be exact ; they do not at all participate in the nature of their models ; they do not even represent them, otherwise than in a superficial manner. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, that Ideas do not resemble Things; the man does not resemble his portrait, although the portrait may be a tolerable resemblance of him ; a resemblance of his aspect, not of his nature. K, then, the Ideas as they exist realized in Nature do not accurately re- semble the Ideas as they exist per se — i. e. if the phenomena are not exact copies of the noumena — how are we ever to attain a knowledge of Ideas and of Truth ? This question carries us to his psychology, which we must first explain before the whole conception of the Ideal theory can be made consistent. In the Phcedrus Socrates very justly declares his inability * I have availed myself of the excellent translation of the ReptibUc, by Messrs. Davies and Vaughan. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 249 to explain the real nature of the soul. But though he cannot exhibit it, he can show what it resembles. Unable to give a demonstration, he can paint a picture : and that picture he paints as follow : — * We may compare it to a chariot, with a pair of winged horses and a driver. In the souls of the Gods, the horses and the drivers are entirely good : in other souls only par- tially so, one of the horses excellent, the other vicious. The business, therefore, of the driver is extremely difficult and troublesome. * Let us now attempt to show how some living beings came to be spoken of as mortal, and others as immortal. AU souls are employed in taking care of the things which are inani- mate ; and travel about the whole of heaven in various forms. Now, when the soul is perfect, and has wings, it is carried aloft, and helps to administer the entire universe ; but the soul which loses its wings, drops down until it catches hold of something solid, in which it takes up its residence ; and, having a dwelling of clay, which seems to be self-moving on account of the soul which is in it, the two together are called an animal, and mortal. The phrase " immortal animal " arises not from any correct understanding, but from a fiction : never having seen, nor being able to comprehend, a deity, men conceived an immortal being, having a body as well as a soul, united together for all eternity. Let these things, then, be as it pleases God : but let us next state from what cause a soul becomes unfledged. * It is the nature of wings to lift up heavy bodies towards the habitation of the Gods ; and, of all things which belong to the body, wings are that which most partakes of the divine. The divine, includes the beautiful, the wise, the good, and everything of that nature. By these the wings of the soul are nourished and increased ; by the contraries of these, they are destroyed. ^ Jupiter, and the other Gods, divided into certain bands, travel about in their winged chariots, ordering and attending to all things, each according to his appointed function ; and m I h ■•-'-'■■MVxaN ■ * i j « n. ' r -r—— : 250 PLATO'S WHITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 251 all wlio will, and who can, follow them. When they go to take their repasts, they journey towards the summit of the vault of heaven. The chariots of the Gods, being in exact equilibrium, and therefore easily guided, perform this journey easily, but all others with difficulty ; for one of the two horses, being of inferior nature, when he has not been exceedingly well trained by the driver, weighs down the vehicle, and impels it towards the earth. * The souls which are called immortal (viz. the Gods), when they reach the summit, go through, and, standing upon the convex outside of heaven, are carried round and round by its revolution, and see the things which lie beyond the heavens. No poet has ever celebrated these supercelestial things, nor ever will celebrate them, as they deserve. This region is the seat of Existence itself : Eeal Existence, colourless, figureless, and intangible Existence which is visible only to Mind, the charioteer of the soul, and which forms the subject of Eeal Knowledge. The minds of the Gods, which are fed by pure knowledge, and all other thoroughly well-ordered minds, contemplate for a time this universe of ' Being ' per se, and are delighted and nourished by the contemplation, imtil the revolution of the heavens brings them back again to the same point. In this circumvolution, they contemplate Justice itself, Temperance itself, and Knowledge ; not that knowledge which has a generation or a beginning, not that which exists in a subject which is any of what we term beings, but that Knowledge which exists in Being in general ; in that which really Is. After thus contemplating all real existences, and being nourished thereby, these souls again sink into the interior of the heavens, and repose. ' Such is the life of the Gods. Of other souls, those which best follow the Gods, and most resemble them, barely succeed in lifting the head of the charioteer into the parts beyond the heavens, and, being carried round by the circumvolution, are enabled with difficulty to contemplate this universe of Self-Existence. Others, being encumbered by the horses, sometimes rising and sometimes sinking, are enabled to see some Existences only. The remainder only struggle to ele- vate themselves, and, by the unskilfulness of their drivers, coming continually into collision, are lamed, or break their wings, and, after much labour, go away without accomplish- ing their purpose, and return to feed upon mere opinion. ' The motive of this great anxiety to view the superceles- tial plain of Truth is that the proper food of the soul is derived from thence, and, in particular, the wings, by which the soul is made light and carried aloft, are nourished upon it. Now it is an inviolable law that any soul which, placing itself in the train of the Gods, and journeying along with them, obtains a sight of any of these self-existent Eealities, remains exempt from all harm until the next circumvolution, and, if it can contrive to effect this every time, it is for ever safe and uninjured. But if, being unable to elevate itself to the necessary height, it altogether fails of seeing these realities, and, being weighed down by vice and oblivion, loses its wings and falls to the earth, it enters into and animates some Body. It never enters, at the first generation, into the body of a brute animal; but that which has seen most enters into the body of a person who will become a lover of wisdom, or a lover of beauty, or a person addicted to music, or to love ; the next in rank, into that of a monarch who reigns according to law, or a warrior, or a man of talents for command ; the third, into, a person qualified to adminis- ter the State, and manage his family affairs, or carry on a gainful occupation ; the fourth, into a person fond of hard labour and bodily exercises, or skilled in the prevention and curing of bodily diseases ; the fifth, into a prophet or a teacher of religious ceremonies ; the sixth, into a poet, or a person addicted to any other of the imitative arts ; the seventh, into a husbandman or an artificer ; the eighth, into a sophist, or a courtier of the people ; the ninth, into a despot and usurper. And, in all these different fortunes, they who conduct themselves justly will obtain next time a more eligible lot ; they who conduct themselves unjustly, a worse. The 252 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 253 soul never returns to its pristine state in less than ten thousand years, for its wings do not grow in a shorter time ; except only the soul of one who philosophizes with sincerity, or who loves with philosophy. Such souls, after three periods of one thousand years, if they choose thrice in suc- cession this kind of life, recover their wings in the three thousandth year, and depart. The other souls, at the termi- nation of their first life, are judged, and, having received their sentence, are either sent for punishment into the places of execution under the earth, or are elevated to a place in heaven in which they are rewarded according to the life which they led while here. In either case they are called back on the thousandth year, to choose or draw lots for a new life. Then a human soul often passes into the body of a beast, and that of a beast, if it has ever been human, passes again into the body of a man ; for a soul which has never seen the Truth at all cannot enter into the human form, it being necessary that man should be able to apprehend many things according to kinds, which kinds are composed of many perceptions combined by reason into one, Now, this mode of apprehending is neither more nor less than the recollecting of those things which the soul formerly saw when it journeyed along with the Gods, and, disregarding what we now call beings, applied itself to the apprehension of Eeal Being. It is for this reason that the soul of the philosopher is refledged in a shorter period than others; for, it constantly, to the best of its power, occupies itself in trying to recollect those things which the Gods contem- plated, and by the contemplation of which they are Grods ; by which means being lifted out of, and above, human cares and interests, he is, by the vulgar considered as mad while in reality he is inspired.' This is unquestionably the poetry of philosophy, and it is from such passages that the popular opinion respecting Plato has been formed ; but they represent only a small portion of the real thinker. Towards the close the reader will have remarked that the famous doctrine of reminiscence is implied. This doctrine may be seen folly developed in the Phcedo. The difficulties of conceiving the possibility of any knowledge other than the sense-knowledge, which the Sophists had successfully proved to lead to scepticism, must early have troubled Plato's mind. If we know nothing but what our senses teach us, then is all knowledge trivial. Those who admit the imperfection of the senses and fall back upon Reason, beg the question. How do we know that Reason is correct ? How can we be assured that Reason is not subject to some such inevitable imperfection as that to which sense is subject? Here the ever-recurring problem of human knowledge presents itself. Plato was taught by Socrates that beyond the world of Sense, there was the world of eternal Truth ; that men who differed greatly respecting individual things did not differ respecting universals ; that there was a com- mon fund of Truth, from which all human souls drew their share. Agreeing with his master that there were certain principles about which there could be no dispute, he wished to know how he came by those principles. All who have examined the nature of our knowledge, are aware that it is partly made up of direct impressions received by the senses, and partly of ideas which never were, at least in their ideal state, perceived by the senses. It is this latter part which has agitated the schools. On the one side, men have declared it to be whoUy independent of the senses — to be the pure action of the soul. In its simplest form, this doctrine may be called the doctrine of innate ideas. On the other side, men have as vigorously argued that, although all our ideas were not absolutely derived from the senses in a direct manner, yet they were all so derived in an indirect manner ; thus, we have never seen a mermaid ; but we have seen both a fish and a woman, and to combine these two impressions is all that the mind does in conceiving a mer- maid. Plato, in adopting the former view, rendered it more co- gent than most of his successors ; for is it not somewhat ^^•*«»w» 254 PLATO'S WRITINGS. IL gratuitous to say, we are bom with such and such ideas ? It is different from saying we are bom with certain faculties : that would be admissible. But to be driven into a comer, and on being asked, whence came those ideas ? to answer, they are innate, — is a pure petitio principii. What proof have you that they are innate ? Merely the proof that you cannot otherwise account for them. Plato was more consistent. He said The Soul is and ever was immortal. In its anterior states of existence it had ac- curate conceptions of the eternal Tmth. It was face to face with Existence. Now, having descended upon earth, having passed into a body, and, being subject to the hindrances of that bodily imprisonment, it is no longer face to face with Existence ; it can see Existence only through the ever- changing flux of material phenomena. The world is only becoming, never is. The Soul would apprehend only the becoming, had it not some recollection of its anterior state — had it not in some sort the power of tracing the unvarying Idea imder the varying phenomena. When, for example, we see a stone, aU that our senses convey is the appearance of that stone : but, as the stone is large or small, the soul apprehends the Idea of Greatness ; and this apprehension is a reminiscence of the world of Ideas, awakened by the sen- sation. So when we see or hear of a benevolent action, besides the fact, our Soul apprehends the Idea of Goodness. And all our recollection of Ideas is performed in the same way. It is as if in our youth 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 ! how we miss the speaker's pierc- ing, vibrating tones, his flashing eye, his flashing face ! 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 sojourned in that celestial region where PLATO'S WRITINGS. 255 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. It is a mistake to suppose this a mere poetical con- ception. Plato never sacrifices logic to poetry. K he some- times calls poetry to his aid, it is only to express by it those ideas which logic cannot grasp, ideas which are beyond demonstration ; but he never indulges in mere fancies. In- stead therefore of saying that Reason was occupied with innate ideas, he consistently said that everything which the senses did not furnish was a reminiscence of the world of Ideas. We are now in a condition to answer the question with which the last Section was closed, — How to ascertain the Truth, if Phenomena are not exact copies of Noumena ? The sensation awakens recollection, and the recollection is of Truth; the soul is confronted with the many by means of Sense, and by means of Reason it detects the One in the Many ; i. e. the particular things perceived by Sense awaken the recollection of Universals or Ideas. But this recollection of Truth is always more or less imperfect. Absolute Truth is for the Gods alone. No man js without some of the divine spark. Philosophers alone have any large share ; and they might increase it by a proper method. The philosophy of Plato has two distinct branches, some- what resembling what we found in Parmenides. The uni- verse is divided into two parts : the celestial region of Ideas, and the mundane region of material phenomena. These answer very well to the modem conception of Heaven and Earth. As the phenomena of matter are but copies of Ideas (not, as some suppose, their bodily realization), there arises a question : How do Ideas become Matter ? In other words : How do Things participate in Ideas? We have already mooted the question, intimating that it admitted of no satis- ^^^^i^^if^g^^^ggggfg^^ a 266 PLATO'S WRITINGS. PLATO'S WRITINGS. 257 factory solution ; nor does it ; and we must not be surprised to find Plato giving, at different times, two very different explanations. These two explanations are too curious to be overlooked. In the RepMhlic, he says that God, instead of perpetually creating individual things, created a distinct type (Idea) for each thing. From this type all other things of the class are made. Thus, God made the Idea of a bed : according to this type, any carpenter may now fashion as many beds as he likes, in the same way as an artist may imitate in his paintings the types already created, but can- not himself create anything new. The argument, as an illustration of Plato's Method, may be given here : — * Shall we proceed according to our usual Method? That Method, as you know, is the embracing under one general Idea the multiplicity of things which exist separately, but have the same name. You comprehend ? ' Perfectly. ' Let us take anything you like. For instance, there is a multiplicity of beds and tables ? * Certainly. * But these two kinds are comprised, one under the Idea of a bed, and the other under the Idea of a table ? ' Without doubt. ' And we say that the carpenter who makes one of these articles, makes the bed or the table according to the Idea he has of each. For he does not make the Idea itself. That is impossible ? * Truly, that is impossible. * Well, now, what name shall we bestow on the workman whom I am now going to name ? ' What workman ? 'Him who makes what all the other workmen make separately. ' You speak of a powerful man ! ' Patience ; you will admire him still more. This work- man has not only the talent of making all the works of art, but also all the works of nature ; plants, animals, everything else ; in a word, himself. He makes the Heaven, the Earth, the Gods ; everything in Heaven, Earth, or Hell. ' You speak of a wonderful workman, truly ! ' You seem to doubt me. But, tell me, do you think there is no such workman ? or, do you think that in one sense any one could do all this, but in another no one could ? Could you not yourself succeed in a certain way ? * In what way ? ' It is not difficult ; it is often done, and in a short time. Take a mirror and turn it round on all sides : in an instant you will have made the sun and stars, the earth, yourself, the animals and plants, works of art, and all we mentioned. ' Yes, the images, the appearances, but not the real things. ' Very well ; you comprehend my opinion. The painter is a workman of this class, is he not ? ' Certainly. ' You will tell me that he makes nothing real, although he makes a bed in a certain way ? ' Yes ; but it is only an appearance, an image. ' And the carpenter, did you not allow that the bed which he made was not the Idea which we call the essence of the bed, the real bed, but only a certain bed ? ' I said so, indeed. ' If, then, he does not make the Idea of the bed, he makes nothing real, but only something which represents that which really exists. And, if any one maintain that the carpenter's work has a real existence he will be in error. '^ In the Timceus, perhaps the most purely expository of all his works, and unquestionably one of the latest, Plato takes a totally different view of the creation of the world. God is there said, not to create types (Ideas) ; but, these types having existed from aU eternity, God in fashioning Chaos fashioned it after the model of these Ideas. In this view there is no participation in the nature of Ideas, but only a participation in their /orm. VOL. I. * Bepub. X. 467-8, ed. Bekker. B c ir nfiifna—i riMMMlMtkittii 258 PLATO'S WRITINGS. « Whichever hypothesis he adopted (and Plato did not much care for either), this conception of Heaven and Earth as two different regions, is completed by the conception of the double nature of the soul ; or rather, of two souls : one Eational and the other Sensitive. These two souls are closely connected, as the two regions of Ideas and Phenomena are connected. Neither of them is superfluous ; neither of them, in a human sense, sufficient : they complete each other. The Sensitive soul awakens the reminiscences of the Eational soul ; and the Eational soul, by detecting the One in the Many, preserves Man from the scepticism inevitably result- ing from mere sense-hnowledge. Thus did Plato resume in himself all the conflicting ten- dencies of his age ; thus did he accept each portion of the truth supposed to be discovered by his predecessors, and reconcile these portions in one general tendency. In that vast system, all scepticism and all faith found acceptance : the scepticism was corrected, the faith was propped up by more solid arguments. He admitted, with the sceptics, the imperfection of all sense-knowledge ; but, though imperfect, he declared it not worthless : it is no more like the Truth than phenomena are like Ideas ; but, as phenomena are in some sort modelled after Ideas, and do, therefore, in some dim way, represent Ideas, so does sense-knowledge lead the patient thinker to something like the Truth ; it awakens in him reminiscence of the Truth. As Eitter says, ' He shows, in detail, that in the world of sense there is no perfect like- ness, but that an object which at one time appears like, is at another thought to be linlike, and is, therefore, defective in completeness of resemblance, and has at most but a tendency thereto. The same is the case with the Beautiful, the Good, the Just, the Holy, and with all that really is ; in the sensible world there is nothing exactly resembling them, neither similar nor dissimilar; all, however, that possesses any degree of correspondence with these true species of being is perceived by us through the senses, and thereby reminds us of what truly is. From this it is clear that he had previously PLATO'S WRITINGS. 259 seen it somewhere, or been conscious of it, and, as this could not have been in the present, it must have been in some earlier state of existence. In this respect there is a close connection between this doctrine and the view of sensible objects, which represents them as mere copies or resem- blances of the super-sensible truth ; for, even in perception, a feeling arises upon the mind, that all we see or hear is very far from reaching to a likeness to that which is the true being and the absolutely like ; but that, striving to attain, it falls short of perfect resemblance; and consequently, the impressions of the sense are mere tokens of the eternal ideas, whose similitude they bear, and of which they are copies.' The monotheistic tendency of Plato's speculations has been one great source of the veneration in which his works have been held by Christian thinkers. In this there has been exaggeration, and injustice to his predecessors. We have already noticed in Xenophanes an energetic protest against the polytheistic conceptions of his day, a protest far more sweeping than is to be found in Plato, who was, to speak candidly, somewhat of a trimmer, and who carefully abstained from any open disregard of the popular creed. But not only Xenophanes, all the pre-Socratic thinkers were more or less consciously at variance with the popular theology ; and the whole cuiTent of speculation set towards monotheism, in Greece, as in the East. Although, therefore, we find in Plato a tacit admission of the popular polytheism, we also find his speculations pointing unmistakably towards mono- theism ; the existence of the inferior Gods was not im- pugned, but they were subordinated to the Supreme. In the same way as Plato sought to detect the One amidst the Multiplicity of material phenomena, and, having detected it, declared it to be the real essence of matter, so also did he seek to detect the One amidst the Multij)licity of Ideas, and, having detected it, declared it to be the Good. What Ideas were to Phenomena, God was to Ideas : the widest generali- zation. God (the Good) was thus, the One Being comprismg within himself all other Beings, the I// kol TroXXa, the Cause s 2 k 1 I 260 PLATO'S WRITINGS. of all tilings, celestial and terrestrial : the supreme Idea. Whatever view we take of the Platonic cosmology— whether God created Ideas, or whether he only fashioned unformed matter after the model of Ideas— we are equally led to the conviction, that God represented the supreme Idea of all Existence ; the great Intelligence, source of all other Intel- ligences ; the Sun whose light illumined creation. God is perfect, ever the same, without envy, wishing nothing but good : for, although a clear knowledge of God is impossible to mortals, an approximation to that knowledge is possible : we cannot know what he is, we can only know what he is like. He must be good, because self-sufficing ; and the world is good, because he made it. Why did he make it? God made the world because he was free from envy, and wished that all things should resemble him as much as possible ; he therefore persuaded Necessity to become stable, harmonious, and fashioned according to Excellence. Yes, persuaded is Plato's word ; for there were two eternal Principles, Intelli- gence and Necessity, and from the mixture of these the world was made; but Intelligence persuaded Necessity to be fashioned according to Excellence."^ He arranged chaos into Beauty. But, as there is nothing beautiful but Intelli- gence, and as there is no Intelligence without a Soul, he placed a Soul into the body of the World, and made the World an animal. Plato's proof of the world being an animal is too curious a specimen of his analogical reasoning to be passed over. There is warmth in the human being ; there is warmth also in the world ; the human being is composed of various ele- ments, and is therefore called a body ; the world is also com- posed of various elements, and is therefore a body ; and, as our bodies have souls, the body of the world must have a soul ; and that soul stands in the same relation to our souls, as the warmth of the world stands to our wai-mth.f Having * Me fJLiy fifing yhp oZv ri tou8c rod k6(T(xov ytveais i^ iLvdyKffS rt »rat vov ovardfffCDS iycvvfldifj vov 5€ apdyKTjs apx^vros rv t6 a-yaOwv alriav thai rpvx^v Kol rS)v kukwv), it was necessary to have some other principle which should determine its direction. He therefore makes vods (intelligence) the prin- ciple which determines the soul (whether the soul of the world or of man, it is the same) to good ; and &yoia (ignorance — want of nous) which determines it to evil. t Laws, X. p. 217. [} PLATO'S WIlITIXGa 263 seldom suspected to have had so ancient an upholder— God IS proved i* S)v itpapfidrrfiv ol6fif6a Sciv avrois, \ M. Barthelemy St.-Hilaibe has pointed out several others in the introduc- tion to his work La Meteorologie cTAristote, Paris, 1863. § De Gener. Animal., IV. 1. II Ibid., IV. 6. VOL. I. U ■ i • 1 ' i 290 AKISTOTLE'S METHOD. move ;^ and to prove that the nutritive soul is contained iu the centre, he refers to the insects whose heads and limbs may be removed without destroying their vitaUty. The fact is incorrectly stated. The separated head wiU live ahnost as long as the body ; and I have often found the hinder part of a triton live and move for hours after its separation from the ^ody.f Aristotle's opposition to the Ideal Theory was one of Method no less than of conclusion; and, in contrast with Plato, he seems like a positive thinker of the modem school. He does not deny to Ideas a subjective existence ; but he is completely opposed to their objective existence, which he re- gards as an empty and poetical metaphor. He says, that on the supposition of Ideas being Existences and Models, there would be several Models for the same Thing ; since the same thing may be classed under several heads. Thus, Socrates may°be classed under the Ideas of Socrates, of Man, of Animal, and of Biped ; or Philosopher, General, and States- man. The ' stout Stagirite ' not only perceived the logical error of the Ideal theory, but also saw how the error ori- ginated. He profoundly remarked, that Ideas are nothing but productions of the Reason, separating, by a logical ab- straction, the particular objects from those relations, which are common to them aU. He saw that Plato had mistaken a subjective distinction for an objective one ; had mistaken a relation, which the understanding perceived between two ob- jects, for the evidence of a separate existence. The partisans of the theory of Ideas, Aristotle likens to those who, having to enumerate the exact number of things, commence by in- creasing the number, as a way of simplifying the calculation. In this caustic Ulustration we may see the nature of his objection to the Platonic doctrine. What, indeed, was the Ideal theory, but a multiplication of the number of Exist- » De liesp., XVII. 479. , ^ r i ^ •. i^ 4- t Stilling narrates that a frog lived, hopped about, and defended itself, for an hour after removal of its heart, and the whole of its viscera. Untcnuchuvgm uUr ie Functianm des Euckeninarks, 1842, p. 38. ARISTOTLE'S METHOD. 291 ences ? Men had before imagined that things were great, and heavy, and black or brown. Plato separated the qualities of greatness, weight, and colour, and made these qualities new existences. Having disproved the notion of Ideas being Existences, — in other words, of General Terms being anything more than the expressions of the Eelations of individual things, — Aristotle was driven to maintain that the Individual Things alone existed. But, if only individuals exist, only by sensation can they be known ; and, if we know them by sensation, how is the Universal, to KudoXou, ever known — how do we get ab- stract ideas ? This question was the more pertinent because science could only be a science of the Universal, or, as we modems say, a science of general truths ; now inasmuch as Aristotle agreed with Plato in maintaining that sense cannot furnish us with science,^ which is always founded on general truths (Universals), it was needful for him to show how we could gain scientific knowledge. Plato's solution of the problem has already been exhibited ; it was the ingenious doctrine of the soul's reminiscence of a former apprehension of truth, awakened by those traces of Ideas which sensation discovered in Things. This solution did not satisfy Aristotle. He, too, was aware that reminis- cence was indispensable ; but by it he meant reminiscence of previous experience, not of an anterior state of existence in the world of Ideas. By sensation we perceive particular things ; by induction we perceive the general in the particular. Sensation is the basis of all knowledge : but we have another faculty besides that of sensation ; we have Memory. Having perceived many things, we remember our sensations, and by that remembrance we are enabled to discern wherein things resemble and wherein they dififer ; and this Memory then be- comes an art whereby a general conception is formed : this art is Induction. The natural method of investigation, he says, is to collect all the facts or particulars, and afterwards deduce from these the general causes of aU things and their * Analyt. Post., i. 31. u 2 292 ARISTOTLE'S METHOD. actions.^ This is accomplished by Induction, the pathway from particulars to generals. Man alone has this art. The dis- tinction between brutes and men is, that the former, although they have Memory, have no Experience ; that is to say, have not the art which converts Memory into Experience— the art of Induction. Man is the reasoning animal. That Aristotle meant Induction by the art of which he speaks as furnished by experience, may be proved by one luminous passage of the Metaphysics. ' Art commences when, from a great number of Experiences, one general conception is formed which will embrace all similar cases.' f And, lest there should be any misimderstanding of his definition, he proceeds to illustrate it. ' Thus : if you know that a certain remedy has cured Callias of a certain disease, and that the same remedy has produced the same effect on Socrates, and on several other persons, that is Experience ; but to know that a certain remedy wUl cure all persons attacked with that disease is Art : for Experience is the knowledge of in- dividual things (twj/ KadSKaara) ; Art is that of Universals {tcov KaOokov).^ Hear him again : ' Experience furnishes the principles of every science. Thus Astronomy is grounded on observation ; for if we were properly to observe the celestial phenomena, we might demonstrate the laws which regulate them. The same applies to other sciences. If we omit nothing, that ob- servation can afford us respecting phenomena, we could easily furnish the demonstration of all that admits of being de- monstrated, and iUustrate that which is not susceptible of demonstration.' t And, in another place, when abandoned in his investigation by phenomena, he will not hazard an assertion. ' We must wait,' he says, ' for further phenomena, since phenomena are more to be trusted than the conclusion of reason.' Looked at in a general way, the Aristotelian Method seems * Analyt. Post., i. 31.; comp. also Hist. Animal., i. 6. t Tlvtrai 5c rcx^V 8tov U iroWwv rfjs ifiiruplas iyvoTjfidruy Kae6\ov fxla yfvtirai, irepi rs Ti Relation. Tlou7v Action. Tld(TX€iv Passion. ^ov The where. navTt.Kos X6yo9, that we must seek truth or falsehood. This proposi- tion is subdivided into Aflarmative and Negative propositions, which are mutually opposed, and gave rise to Contradiction so soon as they are asserted in the same sense of one and the game thing : e,g, ^ It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be.' The principle of Contradiction he declares to be the deepest of aU; for on it all Demonstration is foimded. Because, however, he confounded truth of Language with truth of Thought, and supposed that Thought was always the cor- relate of fact, he fell into the mistake of maintaining truth of Language, or Propositions, to be identical with truth of Being. Having erected Propositions, or the affirmative and nega- tive combinations of Language, into such an exalted position, it became necessary to attend more closely to names, and thus we get the Predicables, a fivefold division of general Names, not grounded, as usual, upon a difference in their ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 303 meaning, that is, in the attribute which they connote, but upon a difference in the kind of class which th^y cZenote. We may predicate of a thing five different varieties of class- name : — Tevos a Genus. ElSoy a Species. ^iaopiK6s, the Thought realized : Thought become the World. In these three hypostases of the Deity we see the Trinity of Plotinus foreshadowed. There is, first, God the Father; secondly, the Son of God, i. e. the Xoyos ; thirdly, the Son of the Xoyos, i. e. the World. This brief outline of Philo's Theology will sufficiently exemplify the two great facts which we are anxious to have understood : — 1st, the union of Platonism with Oriental mysticism; 2ndly, the entirely new direction given to \\ il 380 EISE OF NEO-PLATONISM. PHILO. 381 ! n Philosophy, by uniting it once more with Eeligion. It is this direction which characterizes the Movement of the Alexandrian School. Eeason had been shown to be utterly poweriess to solve the great questions of Philosophy then agitated. Various Schools had pursued various Methods, but all with one result. Scepticism was the conclusion of ever}- struggle. ' And yet,' said the Mystics, ' we have an idea of God and of his goodness ; we have an ineradicable belief in his existence, and in the Perfection of his nature, conse- quently, in the beneficence of his aims. Yet these ideas are not innate; were they innate, they would be uniformly en- tertained by all men, and amongst all nations. If they are not innate, whence are they derived ? Not from Reason ; not from experience ; then from Faith.' Now, Philosophy, conceive it how you will, is entirely the offspring of Reason : it is the endeavour to explain by Reason the mysteries amidst which we ' move, live, and have our being.' Although it is legitimate to say, 'Reason is in- capable of solving the problems proposed to it,' it is not legitimate to add, ' therefore we must call in the aid of Faith.' In Philosophy, Reason must either reign alone, or abdicate. No compromise is permissible. If there are things between heaven and earth which are not dreamt of in our Philosophy ■ — which do not come within the possible sphere of our Philo- sophy — we may believe in them, indeed, but we cannot christen that belief philosophical. One of two things, — either Reason is capable of solving the problems, or it is incapable : in the one case its attempt is philosophical; in the second case its attempt is futile. Any attempt to mix up Faith with Reason, in a matter exclusively addressed to the Reason, must be abortive. We do not say that what Faith implicitly accepts. Reason may not explicitly justify; but we say, that to bring Faith to the aid of Reason, is altogether to destroy the philosophical character of an inquiry. Reason may justify Faith ; but Faith must not furnish conclusions for Philosophy. Directly Reason is abandoned. Philosophy ceases ; and every explana- tion then offered is a theological explanation, and must be put to altogether different tests from what a philosophical explanation would require. Speculation was originally theological ; but in process of time Reason timidly ventured upon what are called ' natural explanations ; ' and from the moment that it felt itself strong enough to be independent. Philosophy was estab- lished. In the early speculations of the lonians we saw the pure efforts of Reason to explain mysteries. As Philosophy advanced, it became more and more evident that the prob- lems attacked by the early thinkers were, in truth, so far from being nearer a solution, that their extreme diflaculty was only just becoming appreciated. The difficulty became more and more apparent, tiU at last it was pronounced insu- perable : Reason was declared incompetent. Then the Faith which had so long been set aside was again called to assist the inquirer. In other words. Philosophy, discovering itself to be powerless, resigned in favour of Theology. When therefore we say that the direction given to the human mind by the Alexandrian School, in conjunction with Christianity — the only two spiritual movements which mate- rially influenced the epoch we are speaking of— was a theological direction, the reader will at once see its immense importance, and will be prepared to follow us in our exposi- tion of the mystical doctrines of Plotinus, 382 PLOTINUS. 883 r CHAPTER II. ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. § I. Plotinus. WHILE Christianity was making rapid and enduring progress in spite of every obstacle ; while the Apostles wandered from city to city, sometimes honoured as Evange- lists, at other times insulted and stoned as enemies, the Neo-Platonists were developing the germ deposited by Philo, and not only constructing a theology, but endeavouring on that theology to found a Church. Whilst a new religion, Christianity, was daily usurping the souls of men, these philosophers fondly imagined that an old religion could effectually oppose it. Christianity triumphed without much difficulty. Look- ing at it in a purely moral view, its superiority is at once apparent. The Alexandrians exaggerated the vicious tendency of which we have already seen the fruits in the Cynics and Stoics, — the tendency to despise Humanity. Plotinus blushed because he had a body: contempt of human personality could go no further. What was offered in exchange ? The ecstatic perception ; the absorption of personality in that of the Deity — a Deity inaccessible to knowledge as to love — a Deity which the soul can only attain by a complete annihilation of its personality. The attempt of the Neo-Platonists failed, as it deserved to fail ; but it had great talents in its service, and it made great noise in the world. It had three periods. The first of these, the least brilliant but the most fruitful, is that of Ammonius Saccas and Plotinus. A porter of Alexandria becomes the chief of a School, and men of genius listen to him ; amongst his disciples are Plotinus, Origen, and Longi- nus. This School is perfected in obscurity, and receives at last a solid basis by the development of a metaphysical sys- tem. Plotinus, the author of this system, shortly after lectures at Eome with amazing success. It is then that the Alexandrian School enters upon its second period. With Porphyry and lamblicus it becomes a sort of Church, and disputes with Christianity the empire of the world. Chris- tianity had ascended the throne in the person of Constan- tino; Neo-Platonism dethrones it, and usurps its place in the person of Julian the Apostate. But now mark the dif- ference. In losing Constantine, Christianity lost nothing of its real power ; for its power lay in the might of convictions, and not in the support of potentates ; its power was a spiri- tual power, ever active, ever fruitful. In losing Julian, Neo- Platonism lost its power, political and religious. The third period commences with that loss : and the genius of Proclus bestows on it one last gleam of splendour. In vain did he strive to revive the scientific spirit of Platonism, as Plotinus had endeavoured to revive the religious spirit of Paganism : his efforts were vigorous, but sterile. Under Justinian the School of Alexandria became extinct. Such is the outward history of the School : let us now cast a glance at the doctrines which were there elaborated. In the writings of thinkers professedly eclectic, such as were the Alexandrians, it is obvious that the greater portion will be repetitions and reproductions of former thinkers ; and the historian will therefore neglect such opinions to confine him- self to those which constitute the originality of the School. The originality of the Alexandrians consists in having em- ployed the Platonic Dialectics as a guide to Mysticism and Pantheism; in having connected the doctrine of the East with the dialectics of the Greeks ; in having made Reason the justification of Faith. There are three essential points to be here examined : their Dialectics, their theory of the Trinity, and their 384 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. principle of Emanation. By their Dialectics they were Pla- tonists ; by their theory of the Trinity they were Mystics ; by their principle of Emanation they were Pantheists. § n. The Alexandrian Dialectics. The nature of the Platonic Dialectics we hope to have already rendered intelligible ; so that in saying Plotinus em- ployed them we are saved from much needless repetition. But although Dialectics formed the basis of Alexandrian philosophy, they did not, as with Plato, furnish the grounds of belief. As far as human philosophy went, Dialectics were efficient ; but there were problems which did not come within the sphere of human philosophy, and for these another Method was requisite. Plotinus agreed with Plato that there could only be a science of XJniversals. Every individual thing was but a phenomenon, passing quickly away, and having no real existence ; it could not therefore be the object of philosophy. But these universals — these Ideas which are the only real existences — are they not also subordinate to some higher Existence ? Phenomena were subordinate to Noumena ; but Noumena themselves were subordinate to the One Noumenon. In other words, the Sensible World was but the Appearance of the Ideal World, and the Ideal World in its turn was but the mode of God's existence. The question then arose : How do we know anything of God ? The Sensible World we perceive through our senses ; the Ideal World we gain glimpses of through the reminis- cence which the Sensible World awakens in us ; but how are we to take the last step — how are we to know the Deity ? I am a finite being; but how can I comprehend the Infinite ? As soon as I comprehend the Infinite, I am in- finite myself: that is to say, I am no longer myself, no longer that finite being, having a consciousness of his own separate existence.* If, therefore, I attain to a knowledge of ♦ TiS tv odv T^v Bvvofiiy abrov 4'Aot dfiov iraaav ; €i yap SfioO iraffav, ri &y aTov Siad)€00i: — Pr.oTiwTTs JtAin v IJTi A « in auTov 5ta<^€poi ;— Plotinus, Eym. v. lib. 5. c. 10. ris »i»mm iimt-^m'iimmmimOiiii THE ALEXANDRIAN DIALECTICS. S85 the Infinite, it is not by my Season, which is finite and embraces only finite objects, but by some higher faculty, a faculty altogether impersonal, which identifies itself with its object. 'The identity of Subject and Object-of the thought with the thmg thought of-is the only possible ground of know- ledge.' This position, which some of our readers will recog- nize aa a fundamental position of modern German specula, tion, IS 80 removed from all ordinary conceptions, that we must digress awhile in order to explain it. Knowledge and Being are identical ; to know more is to be more. This is not, of course, maintaining the absurd proposition that to know a horse is to be a horse : aU we know of that horse is only what we know of the changes in ourselves occasioned by some external cause ; and identifying our mtemal change with that external cause, we caU it a horse. Here knowledge and being are identical. We reaUy know nothing of the external cause (horse), we only know our own state of bemg ; and to say, therefore, that ' in our knowledge of the horse we are the horse,' is only saying in unusual language, that our knowledge is a state of our being and nothmg more. The discussion respecting perception, at page 367, showed that knowledge is only a state of our own consciousness, excited by some unknown cause. The cause must remain unkno^vn, because knowledge is effect, not cause. An apple is presented to you ; you see it, feel it, taste it, smeU it, and are said to know it. What is this knowledge 9 Simply a consciousness of the various ways in which the apple affects you. Are you blind and cannot see it 9 there IS one quality less which it possesses, i. e. one mode less in which it IS possible for you to be affected. Are you without the senses of smell and taste? there are two other de- ficiencies in your knowledge of the apple. So that, by taking away your senses, we take away from the apple each of its qualities : in other words, we take away the means of your bemg affected. Your knowledge of the apple is reduced to irrkT T VOL. I. C r 386 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. nothing. In a similar way, by endowing you with more senses we increase the qualities of the apple ; we increase your knowledge by enlarging your being. Thus are Know- ledcre and Being identical ; knowledge is a state of Being as knowing. ' K,' said Plotinus, ' knowledge is the same as the thing known, the Finite, as Finite, never can know the Infinite, because it cannot he the Infinite. To attempt, therefore, to know the Infinite by Eeason is futile, it can only be known in immediate presence, irapovaia. The faculty by which the mind divests itself of its personality is Ecstasy. In this Ecstasy the soul becomes loosened from its material prison, separated from individual consciousness, and becomes ab- sorbed in the Infinite InteUigence from which it emanated. In this Ecstasy it contemplates real existence ; it identifies itself with that which it contemplates.' The enthusiasm upon which this Ecstasy is founded is not a faculty which we constantly possess, such as Keason or Perception : it is only a transitory state, at least so long as our personal existence in this world continues. It is a flash of rapturous light, in which reminiscence is changed into intuition, because in that moment the captive soul is given back to its parent, its God. The bonds which attach the soul to the body are mortal ; and God, our father, pitying us, has made those bonds, from which we sufiTer, fragile and delicate, and in his goodness he gives us certain intervals of respite : Zcvs Sg TraTTjp sks7)aas truvov^iivas, Oinjrct avrwv ih hiafia iroioiv irspl a irovouvrai, BiBayaiV avairavkas h ')(p6vois. The Oriental and mystical character of this conception is worth remarking ; at the same time there is a Platonic ele- ment in it, which may be noticed. Plato, in the loti, speaks of a chain of inspiration, which descends from Apollo to poets, who transmit the inspiration to the rhapsodists ; the last links of the chain are the souls of lovers and philoso- phers, who, unable to transmit the divine gift, are neverthe- less agitated by it. The Alexandrians also admit the divine inspiration: not that inspiration which only warms and THE ALEXANDRIAN DIALECTICS. 387 exalts the heart, but that inspiration revealing the Truth which Eeason can neither discern nor comprehend. Whether, in ascending through the various sciences and laboriously mounting all the degrees of Dialectics, we finaUy arrive at the summit, and tear away the veH behind which the Deity IS hidden; or, instead of thus slowly mounting, we arrive at the summit by a sudden spring, by the force of virtue or by the force of love, the origin of this revelation is the same : the Poet, the Prophet, and the Philosopher only differ in the point of departure each takes. Dialectics, therefore, though a valuable method, is not an infaUible one for arriving at Ecstasy. Everything which purifies the soul and makes it resemble its primal simplicity, is capable of conducting it to Ecstasy. Besides, there are radical differences in men's natures. Some souls are ravished with Beauty; and these belong to the Muses. Others are ravished with Unity an<^ Proportion ; and these are Philosophers. Others are morl struck with Moral perfections ; and these are the pious and ardent souls who live only in religion. Thus, then, the passage from simple Sensation, or from Reminiscence, to Ecstasy, may be accomplished in three ways. By Music (in the ancient and comprehensive sense of the term), by Dialectics, and by Love or Prayer. The result is always the same— the victory of the Universal over the Individual. - Such is the answer given by the Alexandrians to that world-old question, How do we know God ? The Reason of man is incompetent to such knowledge, because Reason is finite, and the finite cannot embrace the infinite. But, inas- much as man has a knowledge of the Deity, he must have obtained it in some way : the question is. In what way ? This question, which the Christian Fathers answered by re- ferrmg to Revelation, the Alexandrians could only answer by declaring Ecstasy to be the medium of communication, because in Ecstasy the soul lost its personaHty and became absorbed in the infinite Intelligence. We may read in this an instructive lesson respecting the CC 2 I'".' r 1 i 388 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. vicious circle in wHcli all such reasonings are condemned to move : — • The one poor finite being in the abyss Of infinite being twinkling restlessly * — this finite being strives to comprehend that which includes it, and in the impossible attempt exerts its confident ingenuity. Asserting that the finite as finite cannot comprehend the infinite, the Alexandrian hypothesis is at least con- sistent in making the finite become, for an instant, infinite. The grounds however upon which this h}T)othesis is framed are curious. The axiom is this : — The finite cannot compre- hend the infinite. The problem is this :— How can the finite comprehend the infinite ? And the solution is : — The finite must become the infinite. Absurd as this is, it is the conclusion deduced by a vigorous intellect from premisses which seemed indisputable. It is only one of the absurdities inseparable from the attempted solution of an insoluble problem. § III. The Alexandrian Teinity. We have said that the philosophy of the Alexandrians was a theology ; their theology may be said to be concentrated in the doctrine of the Trinity. Nearly allied to the mystery of the Incarnation, which was inseparable from the mystery of Eedemption, the dogma of the Holy Trinity Was, as M. Saisset remarks, the basis of all the Christian metaphysics. The greater part of the important heresies, Arianism, Sabel- lianism, Nestorianism, &c., resulted from differences respect- ing some portion of this doctrine. It becomes, therefore, a matter of high historical interest to determine its parentage. Some maintain that the Trinity of the Christians was but an imitation of that of the Alexandrians; others accuse the Alexandrians of being the imitators. The dispute has been angrily conducted on both sides.* * Such of our readers as may desire a compendious statement of the question are referred to M. Jules Simon, Uistoire deV tcole d^ AlexandrU, vol. i. pp. 308-341, THE ALEXANDRIAN TRINITY. 389 The Alexandrian Trinity is as follows :— God is triple, and, at the same time, one. His nature contains within it three distinct Hypostases (Substances, i.e. Persons), and these three make one Being. The first is the Unity : not The One Being, not Being at all, but simple Unity. The second is the Intel- ligence, which is identical with Being. The third is the Universal Soul, cause of all activity and life. Such is the formula. Let us now see how their Dialectics conducted them to it. On looking abroad upon the world, and observing its constant transformations, what is the first thing that presents itself to our minds as the cause of all these changes ? It is life. The whole worid is alive ; and, not only alive, but seemingly participating in a life similar to' our own. On looking deeper, we discover that life itself is but an effect of some higher cause ; and this cause must be the ' Universal ' which we are seeking to discover. Analogy suggests that it is Activity— Motion. But with this Motion we cannot proceed far. It soon becomes apparent to us that the myriad on-goings of nature are not merely ac- tivities, but intelligent aa> to eu, — a conception which will at once be understood by recurring to our illustra- tion of the identity of Knowledge and Being. One would fancy that this was a degree of abstraction to satisfy the most ardent dialectician ; to have analyzed' thus far, and to have arrived at pure Thought and pure Existence —the Thought apart from Thinking and the Existence apart from its modes — would seem the very limit of human in- genuity, the last abstraction possible. But no: the dia- lectician is not yet contented: he sees another degree of abstraction still higher, still simpler: he calls it Unity. God, as Existence and Thought, is God as conceived by human intelligence: but, although human intelligence is unable to embrace any higher notion of God, yet is there in human intelligence a hint of its own weakness and an assur- ance of God's being something ineffable, incomprehensible. God is not, en dernier^ analyse, Existence and Thought. What is Thought? What is its type? The type is evi- dently human reason. What does an examination of human reason reveal ? This :— To think is to be aware of some object from which the thinker distinguishes himself. To think is to have a self-consciousness, to distinguish one's personality from that of aU other objects, to determine the relation of self to not-self. But nothing is external to God : in him there can be no distinction, no determination, no relation. Therefore God, in his highest hypostasis, cannot think, cannot be thought, but must be something superior to thought. Hence, the necessity for a third hypostasis, which. ' ]i 392 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. r ^ tliird in the order of discovery, is first in the order of being : it is Unity, — to %u aifKovv, The Unity is not Existence, neither is it Intelligence — it is superior to both : it is superior to all action, to all deter- mination, to all knowledge; for, in the same way as the multipk is contained in the simple, the many in the one, in the same way is the simple contained in the unity ; and it is impossible to discover the truth of things until we have arrived at this absolute unity ; for, how can we conceive any existing thing except by imity ? What is an individual, an animal, a plant, but that unity which presides over multi- plicity ? What even is multiplicity — an army, an assembly, a flock— when not brought under imity? Unity is omni- present ; it is the bond which unites even the most complex things. The Unity which is absolute, immutable, infinite, and self-sufficing is not the numerical unit, not the indivi- sible point. It is the absolute universal One in its perfect simplicity. It is the highest degree of perfection— the ideal Beauty, the supreme Good, Trpmrov dyaOov. God therefore in his absolute state — in his first and highest hypostasis — is neither Existence nor Thought, neither moved nor mutable : he is the simple Unity, or, as Hegel would say, the Absolute Nothing, the Immanent Negative. Our readers will perhaps scarcely be patient under this in- fliction of dialectical subtlety ; but we beg them to remember that the absurdities of genius are often more instructive than the discoveries of common men, and the subtleties and extra- vagances of the Alexandrians are fraught with lessons. If rigorous logic conducted eminent minds to conceptions which appear extravagant and sterile, they may induce in us a wholesome suspicion of the efficacy of that logic to solve the problems it is occupied with. Nor is the lesson inapplicable to our own age. German metaphysicians resemble Plotinus more than Plato or Aristotle : nor is the reason difficult of discovery. Plotinus, coming after all the great thinkers had asked almost every metaphysical question and given almost every possible answer, was condemned either, to scepticism. THE ALEXANDRIAN TRINITY. 893 or to accept any consequences of his dialectics, however extreme. Philosophy was in this dilemma : either to abdi- cate, or to be magnificently tyrannical : it chose to be the latter. Plotinus therefore slirank from no extravagances : where Reason failed, there he called upon Faith. The Ger- mans who saw the establishment of Positive Science, on the one hand, and the destructive results of Kant's Critique on the other, found Philosophy in a similar dilemma : com- pelled either to declare itself mcapable, or to proclaim its despotism and infallibility. The Hegelian faith in dialectics may be contrasted with the Alexandrian faith in Ecstasy. Both proceed with peaceable dogmatism to explain that God is this, or that ; to explain how the Nothing becomes the existing world; to explain many other inexplicable things ; and, if you stop them with the simple inquiry. How do you know this ? what is your ground of certitude ? they smile, allude blandly to Vemunft, and continue their exposition. Plotinus, indeed, said, that although Dialectics raise us to some conviction of the existence of God, we cannot speak of his nature otherwise than negatively : iv d(f>aLpiast iravra ra TTspl TovTov XeyopLsva, We are forced to admit his existence, though it is not correct to speak even of his existence. To say that he is superior to Existence and Thought is not to define him ; it is only to distinguish him from what he is not. What he is we cannot know ; it would be ridiculous to endeavour to comprehend him. This difference apart, there is remarkable similarity in the speculations of the Alex- andrians and the Hegelians : a similarity which all will detect who are capable of detecting identity of thought under diversity of language. To return to the Alexandrian Trinity, we see in it the Perfect Principle, the One, to h airXovp, which generates but is ungenerated ; the Principle generated by the Perfect is of all generated things the most perfect : it is therefore In- telligence : 10V9. In the same way as Intelligence is tJis Word {Xoyos) of the One and the manifestation of its power. Mf i 394 ANTAGONISM OF CHEISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. so also the Soul is the Word and manifestation of the Intel- ligence, otop KoX ^ yjrvxv Xo7o^ vov. The three hypostases of the Deity are therefore, 1st, the Perfect, the Absolute Unity, T^ h dirXovv ; 2nd, the First InteUigence, t6 vovv irpdrrois \ 3rd, the Soul of the world. This Trinity is very similar to the threefold nature of God in Spinoza's system. Spinoza says, that God is the infinite Existence, having two infinite Attributes, namely. Extension and Thought. Now this Existence, which has neither Ex- tension nor Thought except as Attributes, although verbally differing from the Absolute Unconditioned, the One, of Plotinus, is really the same : it is the last abstraction which the human faculty can make : it is that of which nothing can be predicated, and yet which must be the final predicate of everything : division and subdivision, however prolonged, step there, and admit as final the Unconditioned Uncon^ ditional Something, or that which Proclus (and after him Hegel) caUs The Non-Being, ^i^ 6v, although it is not correct te call it nothing, fjirjhiv. This conception, which it is impossible te state in words without stating gross contradictions, is the result of rigorous logic. The process is this : I have to discover that which is at the bottom of the mystery of existence— the great First Cause ; and, to do this I must eHminate one by one every- thing which does not present itself as self-existing, self- sufficing, as necessarily the first of aU things, the dpxn. The ancients began their speculations in the same way, but with less knowledge of the conditions of inquiry. Hence Water, Air, Soul, Number, Force, were severaUy accepted as Principia. In the time of the Alexandrians something more subtle was required. They asked the same question, but they asked it with a full consciousness of the failure of their predecessors. Even Thought would not satisfy them as a Pnncipium; nor were they better satisfied with abstract Existence. They said there is something beyond Thought something beyond Existence : there is that which thinks' th^t which exists. This < that; this Indeterminate Ineffable' THE ALEXANDRIAN TRINITY. 395 is the Principium. It is self-sufficing, self-existent ; nothing can be conceived beyond it. In the old Indian hypothesis of the world being supported by an elephant, who stood on the back of a tertoise, the torteise standing on nothing, we see a rude solution of the same problem : the mind is forced te arrest itself somewhere, and wherever it arrests itself it is forced te declare, explicitly or implicitly, that it stops at Nothing ; because, as soon as it predicates anything of that at which it stops, it is forced to admit something beyond : if the tertoise stands on the back of some other animal, upon what does that other animal stand ? Philosophy, when employed upon this subject, necessarily abuts upon Nothing, upon absolute Negation ; the terms in which this conception is clothed may differ, but the concep- tion remains the same : Plotinus and Hegel shake hands. In reviewing the histery of Greek speculation, from the ^ Water ' of Thales te the ' Absolute Negation ' of Plotinus, what a reflection is forced upon us of the vanity of meta- physics ! So many years of laborious inquiry, so many splendid minds engaged, and, after the lapse of ages, the inquiry remains the same, the answer only more ingeniously absurd ! Was, then, all this labour vain ? Were those long laborious years all wasted ? Were those splendid minds all useless? No: earnest endeavour is seldom without result. Those centuries of speculation were not useless, they were the education of the human race. They taught mankind this truth at least: the Infinite cannot be known by the finite : and man, as finite, can only know phenomena. Those labours, so fruitless in their immediate object, have indirect lessons. The speculations of the Greeks preserve the same privilege as the glorious products of their art and literature ; they are the models from which the specula- tions of posterity are reproductions. The histery of modem metaphysical philosophy is but the narrative of the same struggles which agitated Greece. The same problems are revived, and the same answers offered. ( 396 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. § rv. The Docteine op Emanation. Ancient Metaphysics propounds three questions: Has human knowledge any absolute certainty? What is the nature of God ? What is the origin of the World ? Our review of the various attempts to answer these questions has ended in the Alexandrian School, which answered them as follows : 1st. Human knowledge is neces- sarily imcertain ; but this difficulty is got over by the hypo- thesis of an Ecstasy, in which the soul becomes identified with the Infinite. 2nd. The nature of God is a triple Unity —three hypostases of the One Being. 3rd. The origin of the world is the law of Emanation. This third answer is of course implied in the second. God, as Unity, is not Existence ; but he becomes Existence by the Emanation from his Unity (Intelligence), and by the second emanation from his Intelligence (Soul), and this Soul, in its manifestations, is the World. Hitherto dualism has been the universal creed of those who admitted any distinction between the world and its Creator. Jupiter organizing Chaos ; the God of Anaxagoras whose force is wasted in creation; the Srjfiiovpyos of Plato who conquers and regulates Matter and Motion; the im- movable Thought of Aristotle : all these creeds were dualistic ; and, indeed, to escape dualism was not easy. If God is distinct from the World, dualism is at once as- sumed. If he is distinct, he must be distinct in Essence. If distinct in essence, the question of Whence came the world ? is not answered ; for the world must have existed contempo- raneously with him. Here lies the difficulty : either God made the world, or he did not. If he made it, whence did he make it ? He could not, said logic, make it out of Nothing : for Nothing can come of Nothing ; he must, therefore, have made it out of his own substance. If it is made out of his own substance, then it is identical with him : it must then have existed already in him, I THE DOCTRINE OF EMANATION. 397 or he could not have produced it. But this identification of God with the world is Pantheism ; and begs the question it should answer. If he did not make it out of his own substance, he must have made it out of some substance already existing ; and thus also the question stiU remains unanswered. This problem was solved by the Christians and Alexandrians in a similar, though apparently different, manner. The Christians said that God created the world out of Nothing by the mere exercise of his omnipotent will ; for to Omnipo- tence everything is possible ; one thing is as easy as another. The Alexandrians said that the world was distinct from God in act rather than in essence : it was the manifestation of his will, or of his intelligence. Thus the world is God; but God is not the world. Without the necessity of two principles, the distinction is preserved between the Creator and the Created. God is not confounded with Matter ; and yet philosophy is no longer oppressed with the difficulty of accounting for two eternally existing and eternally distinct principles. Plotinus had by his Dialectics discovered the necessity of Unity as the basis of existence : he had also by the same means discovered that the Unity could not possibly remain alone : otherwise, there would never have been the Many. K the Many implies the One, the One also implies the Many. It is the property of each principle to engender that which follows it: to engender it in virtue of an ineffable power which loses nothing of itself. This power, ineffable, inex- haustible, exercises itself without stopping, from generation to generation, till it attains the limits of possibility. By this law, which governs the world, and from which God himself cannot escape, the totality of existences, which Dia- lectics teach us to arrange in a proper hierarchy from God to sensible Matter, appear to us thus united in one indis- soluble chain, since each being is the necessary product of that which precedes it, and the necessary producer of that which succeeds it. I 'I ^98 ANTAGONISM OF CHRISTIANITY AND NEO-PLATONISM. If asked why Unity should ever become Multiplicity — why God should ever manifest himself in the world? the answer is ready : The One, as conceived by the Eleatics, had long been found incomplete ; for a God who had no intelli- gence could not be perfect : as Aristotle says, a God who does not think is imworthy of respect. K, therefore, God is Intelligent, he is necessarily active : a force that engenders nothing, can that be a real force ? It was, therefore, in the very nature of God a necessity for him to create the world : iv ry (f>va'6i ^v to ttoisiv. God, therefore, is in his very essence a Creator, Tronjrrjs. He is like a Sun pouring forth his rays, without losing any of its substance : olov i/c c^wToy, rrjv if avTov irepi- Xafiyjnv. All this flux — this constant change of things, this birth and death — is but the restless manifestation of a restless force. These manifestations have no absolute truth, no duration. The individual perishes, because indi- vidual: it is only the universal that endures. The indi- vidual is the finite, the perishable; the universal is the infinite, immortal. God is the only existence : he is the real existence, of which we, and other things, are but the transitory phenomena. And yet timid ignorant man, timid because ignorant, fears death! To die is to live the true life : it is to lose, indeed, sensation, passions, interests, to be free from the conditions of space and time, — to lose personality ; but it is also to quit this world and to be bom anew in God, — to quit this frail and pitiable individuality, to be absorbed in the being of the Infinite. To die is to live the true life. Some faint glimpses of it — some overpower- ing anticipations of a bliss intolerable to mortal sense, are realized in the brief moments of Ecstasy, wherein the Soul is absorbed in the Infinite, although it cannot long remain there. Those moments so exquisite yet so brief are sufficient to reveal to us the divinity, and to show us that deep em- bedded in our personality there is a ray of the divine source of light, a ray which is always struggling to disengage itself, and return to its source. To die is to live the true life ; and THE DOCTRINE OF EMANATION. 399 Plotinus dying, said, in his agony, ^I am struggling to liberate the divinity within me.' This mysticism is worth attention, as indicative of the march of the human mind. In many preceding thinkers we have seen a very strong tendency towards the desecration of personality. From Heraclitus to Plotinus there is a gradual advance in this direction. The Cynics and the Stoics made it a sort of philosophical basis. Plato im- plicitly, and sometimes explicitly, gave it his concurrence. The conviction of man's insignificance, and of the impossibi- lity of his ever in this world ascertaining the truth, seem to have oppressed philosophers with self-contempt. To cm^se the bonds which bound them to ignorance, and to quit a world in which they were thus bound, were the natural consequences of their doctrines; but, linked mysteriously as we are to life — even to the life we curse — our doctrines seldom lead to suicide. In default of suicide, nothing re- mained but Asceticism — a moral suicide. As man could not summon courage to quit the world, he would at least endeavour to lead a life as far removed from worldly passion and worldly condition as was possible; and he would wel- come death as the only true life. «l 400 1^: CHAPTER III. PEOCLUS. PLOTINUS attempted to iinite Philosophy with Religion, attempted to solve by Faith the problems insoluble by Reason ; and the result of such an attempt was necessarily mysticism. But, although the mystical element is an impor- tant one in his doctrine, he did not allow himself to be seduced infco all the extravagances which naturally flowed from it. That was reserved for his successors, lamblicus in particular, who performed miracles, and constituted himself High Priest of the Universe. With Proclus the Alexandrian School made a final effort, and with him its defeat was entire. He was born at Con- stantinople, A.D. 412. He came early to Alexandria, where Olympiodorus was teaching. He passed onwards to Athens, and from Plutarch and Syrianus he learnt to comprehend the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle. Afterwards, becoming initiated into the Theurgical mysteries, he was soon made a High Priest of the Universe. The theological tendency is still more remarkable in Proclus than in Plotinus. He regarded the Orphic poems and the Chaldean oracles as divine revelations, and, therefore, as the real source of philosophy, if properly interpreted ; and in this allegorical interpretation consisted his whole system. ' The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanish'd, PROCLUS. 401 Thoy live no longer in the faith of reason ! But still the heart doth need a language, still Both the old instinct bring back the old names. And to yon starry world they now are gone, Spirits or Gods that used to share this earth With man as witli their friend.' * To breathe the breath of life into the nostrils of these defiinct deities, to restore the beautiftd Pagan creed, by interpreting its symbols in a new sense, was the aim of the whole Alexandrian School. Proclus placed Faith above Science. It was the only faculty by which The Good, that is to say. The One, could be apprehended. ' The philosopher,' said he, ' is not the priest of one Eeligion, but of all Eeligions ; ' that is to say, he is to reconcile all modes of belief by his interpretations. Reason is the expositor of Faith. But Proclus made one exception : there was one Eeligion which he could not tolerate, which he could not interpret, — that was the Christian. With this conception of his mission, it is easy to see that his method must have been eclectic. Accordingly, in making Philosophy the expositor of Eeligion, he relied upon the doctrines of his predecessors without pretending to discover new ones for his purpose. Aristotle, whom he called ^the philosopher of the understanding,' he regarded as the man whose writings formed the best introduction to the study of wisdom. In him the student learnt the use of his Eeason ; learnt also the forms of thought. After this preparatory study came the study of Plato, whom he called the ' philo- sopher of Eeason, the sole guide to the region of Ideas, that is, of Eternal Truths. The reader will probably re- cognize here the distinction between Understanding and Eeason, revived by Kant, and so much insisted on by Coleridge and his followers. Plato was the idol of Proclus ; and the passionate disciple thought every word of the master an oracle ; he discovered everywhere some hidden and oracular meaning, interpreting the simplest recitals into sublime allegories. Thus the * Coleridge, in his translation of the Pwcolomini, VOL. I. D D I M 402 PROCLUS. PROCLUS. 403 U in I affection of Socrates for Alcibiades became the slender text for a whole volume of mystical exposition. It is cnrions to notice the transformations of Philosophy in the various schools. Socrates interpreted the inscription on the temple at Delphi, ' Know thyself/ as an exhortation to psychological and ethical study. He looked inwards, and there discovered certain truths which scepticism could not darken ; and he discoursed, says his biographer, on Justice and Injustice, on things holy and things unholy. Plato also looked inwards, hoping to find there a basis of philosophy ; but his ' Know thyself' had a different significa- tion. Man was to study himself, because, by becoming thoroughly acquainted with his mind, he would become acquainted with the eternal Ideas of which sense awakened Eeminiscence. His self-knowledge was Dialectical, rather than Ethical. The object of it was the contemplation of eternal Existence, not the regulation of our worldly acts. The Alexandrians also interpreted the inscription ; but with them the Socratic conception was completely set aside, and the Platonic conception carried to its limits. *Know thyself,' says Proclus, in his commentary on Plato's First Alcibiades, ' that you may know the essence from whose source you are derived. Know the divinity that is within you, that you may know the divine One of which your soul is but a ray. Know your own mind, and you wiU have the key to all knowledge.' These are not the words of Proclus, but they convey the meaning of many pages of his mystical dialectics. We are struck in Proclus with the frank and decided manner in which Metaphysics is assumed to be the only pos- sible science 5 we are struck with the naive manner in which the fundamental error of metaphysical inquiry is laid open to view, and presented as an absolute truth. In no other ancient system is it stated more nakedly. If we desired an illustration of the futility of metaphysics we could not find a better than is afforded by Proclus, who, be it observed, only pushed the premisses of others to their rigorous conclusions. He teaches that the hierarchy of ideas, in whicjh there is a gradual generation from the most abstract to the most con- crete, exactly corresponds with the hierarchy of existences, in which there is a constant generation from the most abstract (Unity) to the most concrete (phenomena) : so that the re- lations which these ideas bear to each other, the laws which subordinate one to the other — in a word, the forms of the nomenclature of human conceptions — express the real causes, their action, their combinations ; in fact, the whole system of the universe."'*' This is frank. The objection to the metaphysician has been that he looks inwards to discover that which lies with- out him, hoping, in his own conceptions of that which he is seeking to know, to find the thing he seeks. The ' phi- losophers of the Understanding ' aver that to analyze your mind is to learn the nature of your mind: nothing else. Proclus boldly assumes that to know the nature of your own mind is to know the whole universe. This is at least con- sistent. But one might reasonably ask how this knowledge is to be gained ? not simply by looking inwards, or else all philosophers would have gained it ; not even by meditation. How then ? Listen : — 'Mercur}', the Messenger of Jove, reveals to us Jove's paternal will, and thus teaches us science ; and, as the author of all investigation, transmits to us, his disciples, the genius of invention. The Science which descends into the soul from above is more perfect than any science obtained by investi- gation ; that which is excited in us by other men is far less perfect. Invention is the energy of the soul. The Science which descends from above fills the soul with the influence of the higher Causes. The Gods aiinomice it to us by their presence and by illuminations, and discover to us the order of the universe.' Of course the mystic who had revelations from above, dispensed with the ordinary methods of investigation ; and here again we see Proclus consistent, though consistent in absurdity. * This is also the doctrine of Hkgel. D D 2 ■fgwp— ll 1 »l 1! i I I 'If. CHAPTEE IV. Conclusion op Ancient Philosophy. WITH Proclus the Alexandrian School expired ; with him Ancient Philosophy ceased. Eeligion, and Religion only, seemed capable of affording satisfactory answers to the questions which perplexed the human race, and Philosophy was reduced to the subordinate office which the Alexandrians had consigned to the Aristotelian Logic. Philosophy became the servant of Religion, no longer reigning in its own right. . Thus was the circle of endeavour completed. With Thales, Reason separated itself from Faith ; with the Alexandrians, the two were again united. The centuries between these epochs were filled with helpless struggles to overcome an in- superable difficulty. The difference is great between the childlike question of the Ionian thinker, and the answer of the Alexandrian mystic : and yet each stands upon the same ground, and looks out upon the same troubled sea, hoping to detect a shore, ignorant that all Philosophy * is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever as we move.' But, to the reflective student who thus sees these men, after centuries of endeavour, fixed on the self-same spot, the Alexandrian straining his eager eyes after the same object as the Ionian, and neither within the possible range of vision, there is something which would be unutterably sad, were it not corrected by the conviction that these men were fixed to one spot, because they had not discovered the only true path- way, a pathway which those who came after them securely trod. CONCLUSION OF ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY. 405 Still, the spectacle of human failure, especially on so gi- gantic a scale, cannot be without some pain. So many hopes thwarted, so many great intellects wandering in error, are not to be thought of without sadness. But it bears a lesson which we hope those who have followed us thus far will not fail to read : a lesson on the vanity of ontological research ; a lesson which almost amounts to a demonstration of the impossibility of the human mind ever compassing those exalted objects which its speculative ingenuity suggests as worthy of its pursuit. It points to that profound remark of Auguste Comte, that there exists in all classes of our investi- gations a constant and necessary harmony between the extent of our real intellectual wants, and the efficient extent, actual or future, of our real knowledge. But these great thinkers, whose failures we have chronicled, did not live in vain. They left the great problems where they found them : but they did not leave Humanity as they found it. Metaphysics might be still a region of doubt ; but the human mind, in its endeavours to explore that region, had learnt in some measure to ascertain its weakness and its force. Greek Philosophy was a failure ; but Greek Inquiry had im- mense results. Methods had been tried and discarded ; but great preparations for the real Method had been made. Moreover Ethics had become elevated to the rank of a science. In the Pagan Religion morality consisted in obey- ing the particular Gods : -to propitiate their favour was the only needful art. Greek Philosophy opened men's eyes to the importance of human conduct — to the importance of moral principles, which were to stand in the place of propitiations. The great merit of this is due to Socrates. He objected to propitiation as impious : he insisted upon moral conduct as alone guiding man to happiness here and hereafter. But the Ethics of the Greeks were at the best narrow and egoistical. Morality, however exalted or comprehensive, only seemed to embrace the Individual ; it was extremely incom- plete as regards the Family ; and had scarcely any suspicion of what we call Humanity. No Greek ever attained the < tt.il ill,! ri 'ij-cn. mm irrn'Tumiiii" in ^-^^ 406 CONCLUSION OF ANCIENT PHlLOSOPin\ 1^ [I i< < I \ I » s ■I I sublimity of such a point of view. The highest point he could attain was to conduct himself according to just prin- ciples ; he never troubled himself with others. By the in- troduction of Christianity, Ethics became Social, as well as Individual. So far advanced are we in the right direction — so earnestly are we engaged in the endeavour to perfect Social as well as Individual Ethics — that we are apt to look down upon the progress of the Greeks as trivial ; but it was immense, and in the history of Humanity must ever occupy an honourable place. Ancient Philosophy expired with Proclus. Those who came after him, although styling themselves philosophers, were in truth religious thinkers employing philosophical formulae. No one endeavoured to give a solution of the three great problems: Whence came the world? What is the nature of God ? What is the nature of human knowledge ? Argue, refine, divide and subdivide as they would, the reli- gious thinkers only used Philosophy as a subsidiary process : for all the great problems. Faith was their instrument. The succeeding Epochs are usually styled the Epochs of Christian Philosophy; yet Christian Philosophy is a mis- nomer. A christian may be also a philosopher ; but to talk of Christian Philosophy is an abuse of language. Christian Philosophy means Christian Metaphysics; and that means the solution of metaphysical problems upon Christian prin- ciples. Now what are Christian Principles but the Doctrines revealed through Christ; revealed because inaccessible to Eeason; revealed and accepted by Faith, because Eeason is utterly incompetent ? So that metaphysical problems, the attempted solution of which by Eeason constitutes Philosophy, are solved by Faith, and yet the name of Philosophy is retained ! But the very groundwork of Philosophy consists in reasoning, as the groundwork of Religion is Faith. There cannot, conse- quently, be a Eeligious Philosophy : it is a contradiction in terms. Philosophy may be occupied about the same prob- CONCLUSION OF ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY. 407 lems as Rehgion ; but it employs altogether different criteria, and depends on altogether different principles. Religion may, and should, call in Philosophy to its aid; but in so doing it assigns to Philosophy only the subordinate office of illustrating, reconciling, or applying its dogmas. This is not a Religious Philosophy; it is Religion and Philosophy, the latter stripped of its boasted prerogative of deciding for itself, and allowed only to employ itself in reconciling the decisions of Religion and of Reason. From these remarks it is obvious that our History, being a narrative of the progress of Philosophy only, will not include any detailed account of the so-called Christian Philosophy, because that is a subject strictly belonging to the History of Religion. Once more we are to witness the mighty struggle and the sad defeat ; once more we are to watch the progress and development of that vast but ineffectual attempt which the sublime audacity of man has for centuries renewed. Great intellects and great hopes are once more to be reviewed; and the traces noted which they have left upon that desert whose only semblance of vegetation is a mirage, — the desert without finit, without flower, without habitation, arid, trackless, and silent, but vast, awful, and fascinating. 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