M^ ^m IF CUIFORNU LIBRARY OF THE UNIVEflSITY OF CAIIFORIIU UBRIRY OF 'A\ = G^jWp SITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRi ^^m^ d- ^^gxx^^^l ISITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRi i )>^AM^^(£^^m[ i Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fathersofgreekphOOhamprich THE FATHERS OF GREEK PHILOSOPHY THE FATHEES QP GEEEK PHILOSOPHY BY R D. HAMPDEN, D.D. BISHOP OF HEREFORD. EDINBUKGH: ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK. 1862. [The Right of Translatmn is Reserved.'i PRINTED BY R. AND R. CLARK, EDINBURGH. The substance of the following work has been already presented to the public in several Articles by the Author, which have appeared successively under the titles of Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates, in a recent edition of the Biicyclopcedia Britannica, As these Articles all related to one definite period in the History of Ancient Philosophy, and are intimately connected with one another; it was suggested to the Author, that they might advantageously be combined as a whole in a separate Volume. For this purpose, accordingly, a revision of them has been undertaken, and considerable additions have been made under each head of the Inquiry ; so as to convey, it is hoped, a more accurate and full information con- cerning the state of Philosophy during the period in question. In contemplating this period as a whole, there can be no doubt that the philosophy of Aristotle occupies the foreground ; whether we regard it, as giving a systematic form, and definite expression, to what had been before, either indiscriminately taught, or only sketched in out- line and shadow, under the general name of Philosophy, by his immediate predecessors ; or refer to its established empire in the world, and its effects subsisting even in our own times; especially as these are manifested in T^:n/i o«>r^o VI the high authority still attributed to those masterly works, the Treatises of Logic, Ehetoric, and Ethics, the glory of his philosophic genius. The attention of the reader has therefore been natu- rally directed to Aristotle in the first instance. Next, on the same principle, would follow the inquiry into the Philosophy of Plato ; as, in like manner, the development of the teaching of Socrates, so far as it was a consequence of that teaching. Looking, thus, at the results of the lines of thought and tendencies existing in their ante- cedents, we shall be better enabled to trace out the respective contributions of each Philosopher to the com- mon result. By thus prosecuting the order of study, we shall be acting in the spirit of that direction of the greatest of modern philosophers ; where he bids us, if we would rightly estimate any particular science, not " stand on the level with it, but climb up, as it were, into the watch-tower of some higher science," and so, taking the prospect of it from above, explore the more remote, as well as the more interior, parts of it, then made apparent to the view.* * Bacon, De Aug. Sclent. Works, 8vo, ed. 1857, vol. i. p. 460. GENERAL CONTENTS I ARISTOTLE. Page 1 14 His Life ....... Account of his "Writings, and Eeception of his Philosophy- State of Philosophy before his time. General Character of ^ his Philosophy . . . . .20 Its Threefold Division into 1. Theoretic; 2. Efficient; 3. Practical — Theoretic — consisting of Physics, Mathematics, Metaphysics 32 Efficient — Dialectic or Logic, Ehetoric, Poetics . . 62 Practical — Ethics, Politics . . . .122 Design of his Philosophy — Style of his Writings — His Obscurity — Method of Discussion — Originality . . 161 PLATO. His Life ....... 167 His Writings and Philosophy 198 The Sophists ..... 207 Discussion in Dialogue adapted to Athenian mind . 213 Origin of the term Dialectic 222 Theory of Ideas ..... 223 Knowledge regarded by Plato as Eeminiscence . 246 H is use of the Speculation of the Final cause . 252 Theory of the Universe and of the Divinity . 254 Ethical Views ..... 258 Theory of Education — Dialogues of " the Kepublic " and "the ) Laws "...... 265 Vlll CONTENTS. His objection to the Poets — Theory of Imitation Authority ascribed to Traditions of Religious Truth . Disregard of Secondary Agencies in pursuit of the one Master- principle of the Universe . . . . Perfection of the Dialogues — Effect of the Mythic Narratives Page 274 285 289 291 SOCEATES. State of Athens in his time . . . .297 His Education 305 His Life and Teaching 316 His Accusation and Trial . 339 Spirit of Heathen Keligion 341 The Comedy of the Clouds 351 State of Education 358 His Political Conduct 364 Prosecution and Trial 369 His Divination 374 His Condemnation 380 His Imprisonment 383 The Prison Scene . 384 His Argument on the Soul 390 His Death 396 General effect of his Teaching . 403 His Moral and Religious Teaching . 406 His Dialectical Proceeding 413 His use of Analogy 415 His use of Irony . . 421 His use of Definition . 422 Elementary state of Logical and Ethical Science . 426 Various Schools resulting from his Teaching . 429 His Evidence in favour of I ileligion . . 429 ARISTOTLE. r The power of philosophy in fixing an impression of itself on the world, appears, when attentively viewed, no less than that evi- denced in successful exertions of civil or military talents. But there is a striking difference in the comparative interest excited by the philosopher himself, and by the distinguished statesman or general. The personal fortunes of the philosopher are not connected with the effects of his philosophy. He has passed away from the eyes of men, when his powerful agency begins to be perceived ; whereas the statesman and the commander of armies are at once set before us in the very effects which they produce on the world ; and the history which tells of their policy or their conquests assumes almost the character of their biographies. This contrast is strongly displayed in the instance of the particular philosopher whose life we would now retrace. At this day, after the lapse of more than twenty-one centuries from the time when he flourished, we are experiencing the power of Aristotle's philosophy, in its effects on language, and literature, and science, and even on theology ; and yet little satisfactory information can be obtained from Antiquity respecting the philo- sopher himself. No account of him appears to have been given until his celebrity had attracted envy as well as admiration ; so that we are compelled to receive with suspicion everything beyond the simple detail of a few facts. Stagirus^ a Grecian city in the peninsula of Chalcidice, ^ It is also written Stagira. We have the authority of Herodotus and Thucy- dides for Stugivus. 2 ^^A'HISTOTLE. colonized originally from the island of Andros, and afterwards from Chalcis in Euboea, was the birthplace of Aristotle. His father was Nicomachus, the physician and friend of Amyntas II., king of Macedonia ; his mother, Phsestis : both of Chalcidian descent. The origin of his family is referred to Machaon, son of ^sculapius. Such a tradition of descent, however, is but an ennobling of the fact that the art of healing was the hereditary profession of the famity.^ The date assigned to his birth is B.C. 384. Being left an orphan in early youth, Aristotle appears to have quitted his home, and gone to the house of Proxenus, a citizen of Atarneus, in Mysia, to whose gu*ardianship he had been com- mitted ; and with him to have continued until his seventeenth year when he repaired to the great University of the world at that time — the school of Plato at Athens. Different accounts are given of the commencement of his application to philosophy. By one it is ascribed to a direction of the Pythian oracle.^ Others state that philosophy was his last resource, when other schemes of life had failed ; that, having exhausted a large patrimony, he became a military adventurer, and after that a seller of drugs ; until at length, on accidentally entering the school of Plato, he there received a sudden impulse to the studies of his future life. These last statements, however, are not reconcilable with the period of youth at which his discipleship to Plato began. Nor are they consistent with the alleged fact, that his mind had been from the first trained to philosophy by his father Nico- machus.^ We can readily suppose that the extraordinary talent for science, and laborious devotion to it, which his mature age developed, would give some indications of themselves in his earlier years. Hence the expressions attributed to Plato, com- plimenting him as " the intellect of the school," and " the reader," ^ Diog. Laert. in Aristot. ; Dionys. ^ His father Nicomachus has the Halicar. De Demosth. et Aristot. ; Am- reputation of being the author of some mon. in Aristot. philosophical works. ' Ammon. in Aristot. HIS LIFE. 3 and comparing his ardour and forwardness to the spirit of a restive colt.^ He remained at Athens, a hearer of Plato, twenty years ; leaving it only at the death of that philosopher, B.C. 348, and then returning to Atarneus. Disappointment at not succeeding to the chair of Plato in the Academy, has been assigned as the reason of his departure. All that appears, however, is, that he left Athens in compliance with an invitation from Hermias, who, having been his fellow-disciple in the school of Plato, had established himself at that time in independence against the King of Persia, as Tyrant, or Sovereign Prince, of Atarneus and its neighbourhood. It appears to have formed part of the state of Princes in those times, to receive the philosophers, and poets, and other literary men, at their courts, and thus to have formed circles of civilization around them. We hear of Solon at the court of Crcesus ; Simonides and Pindar at that of Hiero ; Ana- creon with Polycrates, Tyrant of Samos ; Euripides with Archi- laus ; Plato with Dionysius. Literary men then, as indeed would be especially necessary, when books were few and scarcely to be obtained, sought information by travelling ; and such may have been in great measure the object of this visit of Aris- totle to Atarneus.^ Here he spent the following three years of his life ; when the unhappy end of his friend Hermias, who fell a sacrifice to liis ambition, and was executed as a rebel against Persia, compelled him to seek a refuge for himself by flight to Mitylene. JSTor did he in this extremity forget the ties of friend- ship which had connected him with the unfortunate Tyrant of Atarneus. To support the fallen family, he married Pythias, the adopted daugliter, but variously described both as the sister and as the niece of Hermias. ^ Diog. Laert. in Aristot.; Ammon. ol fAv, as hx.os, xar If/.Tooinv, a/ Sf, o-r^a- in Aristot. ; ^lian. Yar. Hist, iv, 9. f the sect. Much may have been preserved from memory ; for ''e have little notion now of the impression made by viva voce istruction, when it was the only channel of knowledge to the generality. A Peripatetic philosopher, accordingly, Apellicon of ?eos, whom Strabo, however, characterizes as a lover of books ither than a lover of science — p/Xo€/£Xo; fiaXXov ri (piXococpo^ — purchased the recovered volumes, and effectually retrieved them for the world. He employed several copyists in transcribing them, himself superintending the task. Unfortunately, much was irreparably lost, the writings being mouldered with the dampness of the place in which they had so long been deposited. In addition to these damages of time, they were now further impaired by misdirected endeavours to restore the effaced text of the author. This account, which rests ultimately on the anthority of Strabo, has been much canvassed by modern critics. But while the testimony of Strabo may be received as to the facts which he relates, and which Plutarch derives from him, the inferential part of his account is not borne out by the real state of the case, with regard to the extent of the knowledge of Aristotle's works. "What Strabo says may be true of certain copies, perhaps autographs of Aristotle's works ; but cannot be true generally of copies of them. For Athenseus mentions Ptolemy Philadelphus having purchased from Neleus, Aristotle's works, with those of other philosophers. And it further appears from the writings of the later Greek commentators on Aristotle, that those of an earlier age, whose writings are not extant, but are cited, or referred to, by the later, had several, if not the chief part, of the treatises of Aristotle before them. The works of Aristotle, or rather the copies of them thus obtained, were conveyed by Apellicon to Athens, their proper home, though no longer perfect in the text, or such exactly as the author had left them. Here this collection of them remained until the spoliation of the city by Sylla. The library of Apellicon ^ Strabo, xiii. p. 609. Aristocles in Euseb. Prcep. Ev. xv. 2, speaks of Apellicon as the author of some writings on Aristotle. 1 6 ARISTOTLE. was a tempting object of plunder to the Eomans, who were now awakened to the value of literature ; and Aristotle's works accordingly were carried away to Rome amidst the other rich spoils. At Eome they experienced a better fortune. Tyrannio, a learned Greek, who had been a prisoner of war to Lucullus, and was then enjoying the freedom granted to him as a resident at Eome, was the principal instrument in their future publication. Obtaining access to the library of Sylla, he made additional copies of the writings. His labours were followed by Andronicus the Ehodian, who at length edited the collected works of Aristotle, at a distance of nearly 300 years from the time when they were composed. ^ Meanwhile other sects in philosophy had sprung up, and engaged the attention of the world. The Stoics, and the Epicu- reans, among others, had formed their respective parties. Platon- ism had obtained permanent establishment at Alexandria. The disciples of Aristotle, on the contrary, had to struggle against the disadvantage of the loss, except, it seems, in some detached portions, of the authoritative records of their master's philosophy. When, however, these records were fully published, they were studied with extraordinary eagerness. A multitude of com- mentators arose, who exercised their acuteness and ingenuity in explaining the sense of the philosopher. As Aristotle himself by his personal teaching had transcended the fame of his con- temporaries, so his philosophy rose up from its long sleep to triumph over every other that had previously engaged the public ^ Plutarch in Sylla; Bayle's Diet. art. his time. He does not wonder, he says, Tyrannio, note D ; Brucker, Hist. Crit. " at the ignorance of Aristotle's Topics Philos. vol. i. p. 799. Andronicus flour- in an eminent rhetorician of that age ; ished ahout B.C. 60. The rise of philo- as Aristotle was unknown to the philoso- sophy at Rome was contemporary with phers themselves, except to very few ; " him. Cicero in Tusc. Qu. i. 1, says, qui ab ipsis philosophis, praeter admodum •' Philosophia jacuit usque ad hanc seta- paucos, ignorarctur. Athenseus, i, p. 3, tern." He mentions, too, in Fin. iii. 3, says the books of Aristotle were pur- offinding " commentaries quosdam Aris- chased of Neleus by Ptolemy Philadel- totelios," in the villa of Lucullus. In the phus, for the library of Alexandria. Topica ad Trebatiura, c. 1, Cicero further This may also be true of detached por- speaks of the prevailing ignorance of Aris- tions of Aristotle's works, or copies of totle's works among the philosophers of such portions. HIS PHILOSOPHY. 17 mind. Platoiiism, indeed, modified as it was by Ammonius and his successors, continued to be fostered in the early ages of the Christian church, in consequence of the theological cast which it had assumed, and its facility of accommodation to Christian truth. But in the progress of the Church, when Christianity needed to be maintained, not so much by accession from the ranks of paganism, as by controversial ability within its own pale, a more exact method was required. Here, then, the philosophy of Aristotle asserted its value and its pre-eminence. But it was only a partial Aristotelic philosophy that was at first established. His logical treatises had been studied during the ascendancy of Platonism, for their use in arming the dis- putant with subtle distinctions, and enabling him accurately to state his peculiar notions in Theology. The same occasion still existed for the acuteness of the expert logician, even after the decline of Platonism, in the state of theological controversies. It was still, therefore, chiefly as a logical philosopher, through the several treatises which pass under the name of the Organon, that Aristotle was known throughout Christendom. In the west of Europe, indeed, the cloud of ignorance which had covered the lands with thick darkness, limited the attainments even of the learned to a narrow field. The original language of Aristotle's Philosophy was gradually almost forgotten; and the generality were restricted to such of his writings as were translated by the few learned men, the luminaries of the long night of the middle ages. The peculiar exigencies of the times, and the taste of the learned themselves, led to the translation in particular of the logical treatises. That on the " Categories" appears to have been the one principally known among Christians. JSTor were these translations always made from the original Greek ; but, on the contrary, were in most instances versions of versions. For its knowledge of Greek literature, the west of Europe was indebted to Arabian civilization. The Arabians had, together with their conquests in Spain, imported their knowledge of the Greek philosophy, the seeds of which had been scattered in the East by the learning of the Nestorian Christians. Translations had C 18 ARISTOTLE. been made into Arabic, of the Greek authors, and among these, of Treatises of Aristotle. Jews at the same period were resident in great numbers in Andalusia, the principal seat of Arabic litera- ture. These, by their commercial intercourse with Christians and Mahometans, served as a channel through which the Greek philosophy was carried on from the Spanish Arabians to the Christians of the West. For the purpose of communication, the Arabic versions of Aristotle were translated into Latin, the universal language of early European literature. And thus was the foundation laid of that Scholastic Philosophy, through which the dominion of Aristotle was afterwards extended over Europe. But the occupation of Constantinople by the Latins, in the beginning of the thirteenth century, was the opening of a new era in the literary history of Europe. Greater facilities were afforded by this event for the knowledge of the Greek language. Aristotle began then to be no longer known chiefly as a logician. His physical, metaphysical, and moral treatises were more extensively explored and studied ; though at first objection was made to the Physics by the Papal authority. He was thenceforth recognized under the title of Princeps Philoso- phorurn. His logic, indeed, maintained its ascendancy in the Schools of Europe ; but it was not applied exclusively, as at first, to Theology. It w^as carried into those new subjects of inquiry which the extended knowledge of his writings had introduced to the learned. The spirit of disputatious subtilty, which, in the beginnings of the Scholastic philosophy, had displayed itself in the quarrels between the Nominalists and Eealists, afterwards found employment in the application of logical principles to speculations in Physics and Metaphysics. At the same time Theology became more and more corrupted by the refinements of systematic exposition ; until at length the accumulated mass of error became too evident to be borne, and, among other causes, produced a re-action in the Eeformation of the Church.^ The abuse of his philosophy, thus manifested, tended greatly * Roger Bacon, Opus Majus, part i. Life of Wichliffe ; Lewis's Life of p. 13, 19, ed. Jebb, Lond. ; Lewis's Bishop Fecock ; Mosheim's Eccles. I HIS PHILOSOPHY. 19 to shake the empire which it had held over the minds of men. Had Luther, accordingly, stood alone in the work of reform, Aris- totle would perhaps have been altogether banished from the schools of the Eeformed. But his roughness of hand was tempered, in this point as in others, by the milder spirit of Melanchthon. Melanchthon, whilst he had too deep an acquaintance with classical literature not to feel the charm of the writings of Plato, justly vindicated the superiority of Aristotle's philosophy as a discipline of the mind. He therefore assisted in supporting the established dominion of Aristotle in the Schools ; whilst he rejected the errors to which it had administered.^ Afterwards the disputes among Protestants themselves served to perpetuate that dominion : and, from the same cause as before, the subtilties of the Logical and Metaphysical Treatises were studied rather than the more practical parts of the philosophy. Thus, even after the labours of Bacon in dispelling the mists which the too elaborate study of Aristotle's system and method by the doctors of the Middle ages had diffused, his works continued to be read and taught in Protestant Universities. His Philosophy, during an empire of centuries, had occupied so many posts in the field of science and literature, that no other, however great the improvement, could at once displace it. For thus we find even Bacon himself, in the process of counteracting it^ and introduc- ing his " Interpretation of N'ature," compelled to use a phraseology founded on the dogmas of the Schools. It is then of great importance to examine the system of Aristotle in its own authentic sources. Such an examination will convince us, that the philosopher is not to be censured for that depravation of philosophy to which he was made sub- servient ; but rather that, had his teaching been rightly applied, and pursued in the spirit of its author, the Schoolmen could hardly have been led into those airy and unreal speculations Hist. vol. ii. p. 216, 218, Lond. 1823; ^ Melanchthon in Aristot. et Platan. Pegge's Life of Bishop Grosseteste ; ii. p. 370, iii. p. 351 ; Bayle's Bid. art. JRecherehes Critiques sur VAge et V Ori- Melanchthon, note K. ; Brucker, Hist, gine des Traduct. Lat. d' Aristotle, par Crit. Phil. iv. p. 282. M. Jonrdain, p. 16, 81, 94, Paris, 1819. 20 ARISTOTLE. which constituted their science of Nature. We are compelled, indeed, to take our estimate of it from such imperfect and often confused relics, as time has spared to us out of a far greater mass of his original writings.^ Fortunately, however, those relics include a great variety of treatises, affording a specimen at least of his mode of philosopliizing in every department of science. State of Philosophy before Aeistotle. General Character OF HIS Philosophy. Aristotle was the first who really separated the different sciences, and constituted them into detached systems, each on its proper principles. Before his time philosophy had existed as a vast undigested scheme of speculative inquiry, fluctuating in its form and character according to the genius and the circumstances of its leading teachers. Thus the two great fountains of Grecian science, — the Italic school, founded by Pythagoras — the Ionic, by Thales — were both in principle mathematical ; though, when we look to their actual results, as they were moulded by their respective masters, the Italic is characterized as the Ethical school, the Ionic as the Physical. Both appear to have been drawn from the same parent-source of Egyptian civilization and knowledge. The mystic combination of mathematical, physical, and moral truth exhibited in the ancient theological philosophy of Egypt, found a kindred spirit in Pythagoras. Hence that solemn religious light shed over his speculations. Mathematical science was the basis of his system. He conceived Numbers to be the primary elements of all things ; regarding all other objects of thought as *' imitations," or " representations," of Numbers.^ But the system, as a whole, was a mystic contemplation of the universe, addressed to the moral and devotional feelings of man. Thales was a ^ Diog. Laert. in Aristot. ffvny^a-<^i instinct with Pythagorean doctrine, Ti -rafjcrXuffra (hi^xla. makes Prometheus say, Ka< ftftv a^tS/iov ^ Metaph. i. 6, ii. p. 848, Du Val. 'i^o^ov ffois ^ Ta yxo «"^>} ^ai^ZTu' rs^iriff/^tarci yuo HXuTcovos ut^sffius, h "Tt^) rSv voyiruv ttrri. Aristot. A.nal. Post. i. C. 22, \). heirecl^is. (Atticus Platonic, apud Euseb. 513, ed. Buhle. Pr(Bp. Evan. xv. c. 13.) 24 ARISTOTLE. moral science, no distinct collection of the proper facts of those sciences, untO. the Treatises of the Organon and the Ehetoric and Ethics of Aristotle appeared. We may easily conceive the ardu- ousness and importance of this service in the cause of philosoj)hy. For any one person to have fully carried into effect such a design, might well be thought impossible. And we shall not wonder, therefore, that in some instances he should have failed, or have merely indicated the proper method to be pursued. It was not indeed to be expected, that one trained in the dialectical philosophy of Plato should have emerged at once from the prejudices of that system. Aristotle, though professedly opposed to the realism involved in Plato's doctrine of Ideas, yet betrays the power of language over his own speculations, by the importance which he attributes to abstract notions as the founda- tions of scientific truth. It is a delusion, which the simple attention to the phraseology of one language (and there is no evidence that Aristotle knew any language but his own) is apt to produce. In the analysis of words, we are apt to lose sight of the merely arbitrary connection between them and the objects designated by them, and to suppose that we have penetrated into the nature of the thing, when we have only explored the notions signified by the term. Thus Aristotle, whilst he rejected the Platonic theory of Ideas, still conceived that there were certain immovable principles, in the knowledge of which true science consisted. He differed at the same time from Plato in his esti- mate of their nature. Plato regarded the Ideas as archetypes and causes of all sensible and actual existences ; whereas Aristotle contemplates them simply as causes or first principles from which all knowledge is derived. He did not allow that these abstractions had in themselves any objective reality or any active power ; but he conceived that the speculation about them was an insight into the secrets of Nature. Philosophy, accordingly, under his hands, stripped of its metaphysical mysticism, assumed a strictly logical aspect. The foundations of science were laid in definitions of those essential natures which constituted the first principles of. his I GENERAL CHARACTER OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. 25 system ; and from tliese definitions the truths of the particular sciences were to be deduced. From this view of the nature of Science, it followed that he should employ Induction, rather to determine notions, than to arrive at general principles, such as in modern philosophy are denominated Laws of Nature. In order to discover a first prin- ciple, on which a system of science might be raised, it was necessary to state exactly that conception of the mind which belonged exclusively to any particular class of objects. The stating such a conception was, in the phraseology of Aristotle, the assigning of the 'Koyog of the O0(y/a, or the giving a definition of the object as to its essence. A definition of this kind required an accurate analysis of thought. Every notion common to other objects was to be rejected ; and after such rejection, that which remained exclusively appropriate to the object under considera- tion, was to be assumed as the principle by which its real nature was expressed. The process was not dissimilar to that by which the truths of modern science are elicited ; except that the Induc- tion of Aristotle terminates in universal notions ; whereas the Induction of Bacon terminates in general facts ; — such facts being the utmost that can be obtained from outward observation of objects. It is precisely indeed in this point that the great dif- ference consists between the science of Aristotle and that of Bacon. Aristotle, for example, inquires into the nature of light, and endeavours to define it exactly as it differs from all other natures. This definition is an expression of that principle on which the whole nature of light is conceived to depend. A modern philo- sopher pursuing the method of Bacon, examines facts concerning it, and, distinguishing those which really belong to it from those which do not, concludes from the remainder some general affir- mative respecting it. A modern philosopher often draws a con- clusion as to the nature of a thing ; as when he infers that light is material, or that the soul is immaterial. But then he does not hold such inferences as principles in the sense of Aristotle ; nor does he employ them to interpret the facts of a science. He acquiesces in such conclusions as ultimate principles. He finds. 26 ARISTOTLE. for example, the facts belonging to the falling of bodies on the earth's surface, and to the revolutions of the heavens, coincident in the same general law. He pronounces, therefore, that the principle signified by the term gravity, whatever its nature may be, is the same in both classes of facts. His conclusions at the same time in Natural Philosophy are independent of this assump- tion ; as these would not be affected, though the principle of gravitation were proved to be different in the two cases. If you overthrow, on the other hand, a speculative doctrine of the ancient Physics, all the conclusions of the system fall to the ground. We shall wonder the less at the peculiar complexion of Aristotle's philosophy, when we observe that even modern philo- sophers have been by no means exempt from the Eealism wliich language tends to suggest, and which might almost be termed the original sin of the human understanding. Such then, according to Aristotle, was the character of philo- sophy, so far as it was purely theoretic. It furnished the mind with the means of contemplating nature surely and steadily, amidst the variety of phenomena which external objects present, by fixing it on abstract universal principles, eternal and unchangeable. But this was not the only view which he took of Philosophy. He did not limit its use to Contemplation ; though Contemplation was its proper function. He regarded it further under two other distinct points of view — as it studied the principles either of Effects produced, or those of Human Actions. Thus, he distributes Philosophy in general into three branches : — I. Theoretic ; II. Efficient ; III. Practical. By Theoretic, he denotes, 1. Physics, 2. Mathematics, 3. Theology, or the Prime Philosophy, or the science known by the modern name of Metaphysics ; by Efficient, what we understand by the term Art, as Dialectic or Logic, Rhetoric, Poetics ; by Practical, Moral philosophy, as Ethics and Politics. Whilst, then, in order to a purely Theoretic philosophy, he endeavoured to present to the mind the primary elements of Thought, following the order and connections of human reason rather than looking to the phenomena of nature, he had a different aim in the two other branches of inquiry, and pursued a different I GENERAL CHARACTER OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. 27 '^ method. In these, his aim was to enable the student to realize some effect, or to attain some good ; in Efficient Philosophy, to lay before the mind those principles which impart skill in the arts ; in Practical, those by which the goods of life are attained, whether by individuals or by societies. Thus, in both these branches his object, though comparatively limited, was in fact the same as that of Bacon — to increase human power by increasing human knowledge. He has accordingly adopted, in pursuing them, the Inductive method. We find him in these strictly attending to Experience — deducing his speculative principles from facts, and pointing out their application to the purposes of the arts and the business of life. Under the term Tlx^'^, indeed, which we trans- late Art, he comprized much more than is understood by Art. Chemistry, for instance, might justly be referred to this branch of philosophy, so far as its principles are applicable to the pro- duction of any effect. In fact, it corresponds more nearly with Science, in the acceptation of the word by Bacon, or to what is understood by the term " Applied Science." Eor Aristotle himseK expressly asserts it to be the result of Experience — observing, that memory of particular events or facts is the foundation of Experience, and that from several experiences Art is produced.^ So also, in his Practical philosophy, he directs us not to seek a speculative certainty of principles, but to be satisfied with such as result from the general experience of human Hfe. He further even gives express caution against treating this department in the a priori method of his Theoretic philosophy, in remarking that the abstract speculation concerning " universal good " was unpro- fitable in that kind of inquiry.^ Had he viewed Natural Philo- sophy in its application to the arts, he would surely have intro- duced the Inductive method there also. Indeed he has done so, wherever particular departments of Nature are explored in his writings in order to particular arts. But his works professedly treating of Natural Philosophy belong to a higher speculation, according to his estimate, than those which concern human life. He conceived the things of the material world to be unoriginated ^ Metaph. i. 1 ; Analyt. Post. ii. last chap. Mag. Moi\ i. 1 ; Eth. Nic. i. 6. 28 ARISTOTLE. and indestructible in their essential nature, and therefoi^e the eternal objects of scientific, truth/ whilst everything belonging to man was temporary and variable. The former, therefore, were not satisfactorily investigated until they were referred to their primary fixed principles ; but of the latter it was sufficient to obtain such knowledge as the contingency of the objects ad- mitted. He perceived, from his accurate and extensive know- ledge of human nature, that there was no ground for that realism in Morals which the more uniform aspect of the physical world tended to inculcate. The immense variety of objects to which the appellation of " good " was applied, impressed on his acute mind the conviction, that there was no one fixed and invariable principle implied by that term ; and that the truths of Moral Philosophy, accordingly, were to be sought simply in an obser- vation of facts, without endeavouring to trace the general facts thus collected to some further abstract principles. It will illustrate this arrangement of the sciences to look to the Theory of Causation, or the several classes into which ancient Philosophy distributed the principles of scientific investigation. Now, the classes of such principles assigned by Aristotle are, \st. The Material, or that class which comprehends all those cases in which the inquiry is, out of what a given effect has originated. From the analogy which this principle has to the wood or stone, or any actual matter, out of which a work of nature or art is produced, the name " Material " is assigned to the class. But it is not commonly so termed by Aristotle, whose description of it is more precise and just.^ Unfortunately the term " Mate- rial " introduces a misunderstanding on this head. It may be supposed to mean something physically existing, some sensible matter, as wood or stone ; whereas, according to Aristotle, it denotes antecedents ; that is, principles whose inherence and ^ Analyt. Post. i. c. 8 ; Ethic. Nic. vi.7. whatever the moderns may understand ^ Nat. Amc. ii. c. 3, to I^ oZ ymrai by that word. To them, certainly, it rt Uuvra^x,°^TOi, p, 330. Analyt. Post. signified no positive actual being. ii. c. 11, ri rlvuv ovruv avayxn tout Aristotle describes it as made up of tJvat. Ed. Du Val. 1619. negatives, having neither quantity, nor "Neither Plato nor Aristotle, by matter quality, nor essence, etc." Bishop vkti, understood corporeal substance, Berkeley, Siris, p. 397. GENERAL CHARACTER OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. 29 priority is implied in any existing thing.^ The Material cause, then, is properly an intellectual principle — one of the elements into which the mind resolves its first rough conception of an object. The second class of Causes is that to which all inquiries be- long which respect the Characteristic nature of a thing. To this Aristotle gives the name of sJdog, species, form or exemplar.^ It corresponds with what are termed in Modern Philosophy " laws of nature." According to Aristotle, and the Ancient philosophy in general, it is the abstract essence or being of a thing, — that pri- mary nature of it on which all its properties depend. Bacon, indeed, has retained the name "Form" in his Organum, and applied it to denote the generalizations of his philosophy^ ; — a general fact, from its excluding all merely accidental circumstances, being in a manner the proper form of the particular facts from which it is inferred, under all the variety which they may exhibit. The third class of Causes comprehends all inquiries into the Motive or Efficient principles of a thing. It differs from tlie Material cause — which it resembles, so far as it is an investigation of antecedents — in its reference to such antecedents only as are the Means in order to an Effect. We may contemplate a given effect as such, and not simply as a mere event ; and in that case we inquire into the power by which it was produced, or the Motive cause. It is to this class that the term Cause "^ is popularly applied, by analogy from the works of human art, in which we discern the connection between means and results. Aris- totle, however, did not suppose that we could discover such neces- sary connection in Nature ; signifying by such a cause merely those principles under which all effects, as such, might be arj?anged. The fourth class in the ancient theory of Causation is what has obtained the appellation of the Final Cause, or, to express it ^ The premises of a syllogism accord- ^ Bacon, Nov. Org. ii. 2. ingly are the material cause of the con- * The word cavse is indeed, as has elusion. often heen pointed out, only a verbal ^ Thus he terms it also Ta^cc^wyfix, generalization of the different principles Nat. Ausc. ii. 2, Du Val. i. p. 330, the to which it is here applied. The Greek pattern, as it were, of the thing, or its word amov, " account," or " reason archetype, in the mind. why," is nearer the truth. 30 ARISTOTLE. more after the mind of Aristotle, Tendency, or an account of anything from a consideration of its perfect nature or tendency. For example, when we appeal from virtue militant in the world to virtue triumphant in heaven, and explain the present state of moral disorder, by this ultimate view of virtue, or of the end to which it is tending, we argue from a Final Cause in the sense of Aristotle. So, again, when it is argued that the eye was formed for seeing, because its nature is perfected in the act of seeing ; or, in general, whenever it is inferred that such is the nature of a thing, because it is test that it should be so. According to modern views, Design is always implied in a Final cause. In Aristotle, it is an intrinsic Tendency in Nature, analogous to the effect of Design. The division of Philosophy adopted by Aristotle corresponds with this classification of Causes. Physical science, as concerned about objects, of which one rises out of another, or is produced after another, is an investigation of Material Causes. The inquiry is into the law of continuation and succession observed in the natural world, — what the antecedents are in this course, — what the primary principles into which the succession of physical events may be resolved, or from which they may be traced. The First Philosophy, including Theological, Metaphysical, and Mathematical science, belongs to the Formal Cause. It en- deavours to draw forth that secret philosophy by which the mind administers the world of its own ideas ; and, by this process to arrive at those primary abstract forms which are the originals, and patterns, as it were, of the various actual forms of things throughout the Universe. Dialectical science, and the Arts in general, are inquiries into Motive Causes, since it is by the Arts that human power is exerted in producing certain effects. The principles of Rhetoric, for instance, are the means by which persuasion is effected. In order to produce any effect, we must observe what acts, what moves, what influences — not simply what precedes or follows in the order of nature ; and a study of this kind constitutes what Aristotle calls Efficient philosophy. I I GENERAL CHARACTER OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. 31 The Final cause is the science of human actions, or Practical philosophy. Actions, being the exertions of the inward principles of our moral constitution towards some end, cannot be rightly estimated by viewing them merely as effects, but must be con- sidered in their design or tendency. A compassionate action, for example, may, in its actual effect, be productive of evil ; but we cannot conclude as to the nature of the action from this result. We must further inquire, whether the result was coincident or not with the effect intended, or what it would have been, had the action been perfect as the exertion of the principle ; that is, we must inquire into its Final cause. The same principle applies to the arts also, so far as the skill in any art is exerted in action. We then judge of the art so exemplified by its tendency to pro- duce the proper effect ; of the wisdom, for instance, of the poli- tician by the adaptation of his counsels to the welfare of his country — or of the military skill of the general by his plans — not simply by their result ; which may accidentally be untoward. But though this is the appropriate classification of the principles of the several sciences, it does not follow that any particular science is restricted to one particular mode of specu- lation. The several kinds of Causes are all employed as modes of analysis under the same head of philosophy. Thus an action may be analyzed into the affection exerted in it (the Material or Physical cause), the choice of the agent (the Motive cause), the end to which it tends (the Final cause), the definition of the virtue to which it belongs (the Formal cause) ; and yet the science of the action is fundamentally an inquiry into the Final cause. As all Philosophy, indeed, ultimately refers to the principles of the human mind, so far every science is a speculation of the Formal cause. In Aristotle's system of Physics, the speculation of the Final Cause occupies the principal place, instead of being employed, as in Modern Philosophy, in subordination to the in- quiry into the Material and the other Causes. *. ^Nat.Ausc.W.lji-riiVa'taWntiriffffa vXvv, to tT^og, to xivnffxv, to oZ 'ivtxei. ^iS,'ri^) "Txa-a/y TOO ^vtrixou u^ivKi' xa) iJs -x-ei- t^^iTai Ti Toe, T^ia us to ?» •roWuxif' x. jy ^CXev, ^ ko.) to ov. Metaph. i. 1 . Herodot. Euterp. 109. I THEORETIC PHILOSOPHY. 45 In some instances, indeed, his view was more correct. He admits the spherical^ form of the earth, from the evidence of lunar eclipses, in which he had remarked that it always exhibits a curv^ed outline ; and infers its magnitude to be not very great,^ from the variation of horizon consequent on a little variation of our position on its surface. But, in acknowledging these facts he was influenced by their accordance with his speculations a priori, as he rejected or misinterpreted other facts from their repugnance to these speculations. For the spherical form of the earth resulted from his theory of heaviness. It was the effect of the tendency of all the particles of the earth to the lowest point ; this lowest point being a centre of the two opposite hemispheres of the heavens. For, that the whole heavens were spherical, he supposed a necessary consequence of the perfection belonging to them, a solid being the perfect mathematical dimen- sion. The tendency, consequently, of all the particles of the earth to the lowest point, was a tendency towards a middle ; or this lowest point would be a centre round which the earth would adjust itself in a spherical mass. The reason assigned by Aristotle for the revolutions of the heavens, as appears, then, is precisely opposite to that of modem philosophy. He conceived revolution to be performed, not in consequence of a tendency to the centre, but of the absence of any such tendency in the revolving body. Eevolution and gravity are, according to him, contradictory terms. The motions of the several heavenly bodies result from their being carried round by spheres, which consist of this revolving element. That they do not revolve in themselves he considers to be evident from the fact that the moon always presents the same side towards us. They are incapable indeed of motion in themselves, he argues, in being spherical, nature seeming purposely to have denied them all power of motion in giving them the form least apt for motion. They revolve, therefore, from being bound in ^ He speaks of it in Meteor, ii. c. 5, p. 562, as shaped like a tympanum. ^ Mathematicians, he says, had computed its circumference to be 400,000 stades, or about 40,000 miles. 46 ARISTOTLE. revolving spheres, the first in order of which is that in which the fixed stars are placed, and then the several planets (five in number), the sun, and next to the earth the moon;^ and to account for the apparent irregularities in the motions of the heavenly bodies, he supposes, following the theory of Eudoxus,^ that there were as many additional spheres employed in the revolutions of each body as it appeared to have different motions. The oblique motion of the sun, viewed in connection with the successive renewals and decays of nature, as he approaches or recedes from the earth, suggested the most ready link for connecting the phenomena of the earth with those of the heavens. It is, accordingly, to the revolution of the sphere of the sun, that Aristotle ascribes the continuation of generation and corruption in unbroken series, and the consequent perpetuity of being in the world around us. It might be supposed that generation and corruption would be carried on at equal intervals. But the unequal temperament of material things prevents such a uni- formity ; and occasions that variety of duration, which we observe in different things within the sphere of the moon, the sublunary world, or the limits of Nature properly so called.^ Still, however, it remained to be explained what it was that imparted to the sphere of the sun, as weU as to the several other spheres, their principle of motion. To every thing that is itself moved there must be a mover : and the successive motions, there- fore, as communicated from sphere to sphere, must be traced up to some first principle, itseK unmoved, in which they originate. Here, then, we discern the close connection of Aristotle's ^ The Pythagoreans connected with this as what may reasonably be thought ; this notion the beautiful fancy of the leaving, he says, the assertion of its music of the spheres. Aristotle expresses necessity to others more positive, -v 7^? '** ^ ^"^ separate and take that only which was iZ"' '«a^'*'f » ««' '^^f « xoi.oy(^ x,Z^ff6a.t, Sclieib- respondent 'on a given question, main- leri Logica, p. 45. Some, he observes, tained in the Schools of the Middle Ages, from their ignorance of Greek, derive and still subsisting as an exercise in the word from %vo and Xs^/j, sermo vel our own Universities, is only a modi- ratio duorum, hoc est opponentis et fication of the original notion of Dia- respondentis. The practice of Dispu- lectic. EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 75 The original logic of the Greek schools took its complexion from the requirements for this purpose, and in that character was perpetuated by the Latin Churchmen and Logicians of the Middle Ages. It was necessary that the disputant should be furnished with an instrument of oral discussion, both in order to put his questions in due form, so as to draw forth the desired answers, and also to enable him, in performing the part of the answerer, to see to what point a questioner might be leading him, and to main- tain any view of the subject which he had taken up, with consis- tency. There would be a demand, therefore, for instruction in the nature and use of words as they served to characterize and state the natures of things. Exact distinctions must be given of the notions implied in the terms of any question proposed for dis- cussion ; and the world of thought must therefore be surveyed and mapped out. The disputant must be prepared, by a study of the Categories, to say whether a given object belonged to the category of Substance or Quality, and so forth. He must also have gone beyond this preliminary study of words in their primary relation to things as their immediate objects of thought, and explored them also in their secondary relation, as classes of purely notional objects, such as the Heads of Predicables are, so as to be able to say in respect to any object, what its genus was, what its species or definition, what its properties, what its acci- dents. These matters of inquiry, then, whilst they are valuable and interesting to logical students of all times, would be of espe- cial practical importance in the Ancient Schools ; that so, the disputant might enter the lists fully equipped in his proper intellectual armoury, provided with weapons of attack and de- fence, ready to meet all challengers in the field. Accordingly, in the Treatise which follows the Categories in the arrangement of the several portions of the logical works by the commentators of the Middle Ages — that " On Interpretation"^ — in wliich Pro- positions come to be considered, it is shewn, what propositions having the same terms are opposed, or not, to each other, and ^ 'Eofi'Anla. is not adequately rendered by Interpretation. It means the Expres- sion of Thought by Language. 76 ARISTOTLE. what may or may not be true together. Still more does the same appear in a subsequent Treatise, entitled the Tojncs, in which the author is engaged throughout in suggestmg to the disputant principles for maintaining, or impugning, the alternatives on any given question. In that Treatise the reference is immediate to Dialectic, as the method by which one might reason about any proposed problem from probabilities, and in sustaining an argu- ment might avoid saying anything contrary to the purpose. And he describes that method, not only as useful for exercise in conversational discussions, but also as availing, in a measure, for the sciences belonging to philosophy ; because, when we are able to raise objections on both sides, we shall more easily discover in everything both the truth and the falsehood ; and further, be- cause the first principles of any science are incapable of demon- stration, and a way may be opened to the reception of them by adducing probable arguments concerning them.^ Such, indeed, is the practical design of both Treatises of the Analytics, whilst in that entitled the Prior Analytics, the theory of the Syllogism is accurately and fully developed ; and more obviously still of the Treatise " On Sophistic Refutations " or Fallacies. But though the several Treatises of the Organon have this direct practical design, and are therefore dialectical rather than logical, yet it is evident, that a view of Logic as an art of Dispu- tation did not satisfy the penetrating mind of Aristotle. He saw that there was a real science of the connexions of Thought, as expressed in Language, involved in the method of disputation, which, in pursuance of the track marked out by his predecessors, and for the introduction of a better system, he had been led to search out and unfold. And though we may have no occasion to apply his observations to the same purpose, and their essential instruction to us is in the theory of Argumentation, they are not without their use to us, even according to their original design, as aids in the study of the truths of a science, and in order to the methodical pursuit of any matter of literary inquiry. ^ Topica, i. c. 1, 2. I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 77 In the Categories, then, we have the Metaphysical Being of things, so far as it is denoted by Language, drawn out into its various modes, and distinctly characterized. They are not arrangements of things existing in Nature or classification of objects. They are nothing more than a classification of objects as represented by words to the mind. As no one supposes that the parts of speech enumerated by the grammarian are a theory of the universe, whilst they give all the general heads under which the truths of the Universe fall when stated in sentences ; so neither should it be supposed that the Categories are designed to be a system of the Universe. If they be taken apart from their place in a science of Logic, they may be objected to by some as incomplete, by others as prolix ; and attempts, accordingly, have been made both to extend and to reduce their number. But •the question with regard to them is, whether in their present form they answer the purpose of the logician ; whether they suffice to reduce the objects of thought, innumerable in them- selves, within the horizon of its survey, and enable us to deal with them and reason about them with clearness and accuracy. In the Heads of Predicables, we have the Secondary or Logi- cal Being, the various modes of existence created by Language through its power of representing multitudes under single terms or expressions. For there is no limit to that power. It is not with these as the case is with the Categories. They must have a reference to existing things, since they are classes of our notions about existing things ; and they are limited therefore in number. But we may create, and give a logical existence, to innumerable, even fictitious and imaginary thoughts ; as when, for instance, it may be said of anything that it is a chimera, that term may con- stitute either the subject, or the predicate, of a proposition, to be employed in reasoning, no less than if it expressed a reality. All that is meant, in fact, when in a proposition any object is said to be this or that — as when it is said, *'that Socrates is wise," — it means logically, the existence in our conception of Socrates, of something belonging to that class of notional beings 78 ARISTOTLE. which is denoted by the term " wise/^ or that, on the other hand, "wise" is a quality comprehended in our conception of the indi- vidual Socrates. The Treatise on Interpretation brings us more immediately into the presence of logical facts, by exhibiting the combination of words in propositions ; whereas, hitherto, we have considered them rather as distinct expressions of thought in themselves alone. We now proceed to examine them in their bearings on each other when connected in an enunciation. Here it becomes important to us accurately to distinguish between the respective functions of Grammar and Logic, inas- much as both these sciences are conversant about words in their application to the communication of knowledge. The rise of a science of Grammar has been admirably sketched by Adam Smith, in his observations on the Origin of Language; He points out how the ancient languages are more simple, and one in the expression, than the modern. What is one word, for instance, "venit" in the Latin, becomes in the English, " he is coming ;" the modern, as he shews, dropping the various inflections, and becoming, at once, more simple in its elements, and more complex in structure, by the various com- bination of fewer elementary sounds. In its progress, accord- ingly, Language carries on the analytical process, with which it set out, when single words were broken up into a sentence con- sisting of several words ; when the relations of thoughts which had been expressed by different terminations of words, had each their separate distinctive signs ; just as writing, from being at first in pictures and symbols, became at length alphabetical. What is gradually effected in regard to the study of Grammar, by the natural progress of Language, that. Logic takes up as already accomplished to its hands, in every information sub- mitted in words to its survey, or else reduces that information into a form which conveys it without any extrinsic addition — that is, as either an affirmative or negative proposition, declaring what the fact or truth, or thought, communicated, is. Now, if we desire to communicate anything in words to others, whether EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 79 it be matter of history or of our own observation, or an opinion, or a feeling, the communication, stripped of all its adjuncts of description or grammatical proprieties, or ornaments of style, will be found in all instances to be reducible to the form of the bare statement that this is, or is not, that. What was a whole, as perceived and apprehended by the mind of the per- son who desires to express it, becomes, in communicating it in words, divided into three several parts, constituting together an enunciation: 1. a subject; 2. a predicate; 8. the verb sub- stantive, — " is," on the one hand, if it be an affirmative ; on the other, if it be a negative, " is not," — tlie same in all cases, uniting the subject and predicate, the two terms or extremes,^ in the one expression, as existing, or not existing, together. And this formula is the same for all instances ; whether the expression be of something real or unreal — a truth of history and experience — or a mere speculation and opinion — one relative to external nature or of our own consciousness — a principle, or an inference. For the inquiry of the logician is not into what is true or false, probable or improbable, in the statement before him, — which it belongs to the philosopher, and the observer, or the historian, or the man of judgment and information in the matter concerned, to determine, — but simply into what is affirmed or denied, in the enunciation, into which the alleged fact is now, as it were, translated. The logician, like the philo- sopher in general, has his peculiar class of facts presented to his survey, which he is to observe and study, and reduce to their general principles, as far as may be. And the facts in his case are, the instances in which one term is predicated of another, either affirmatively or negatively. He has to explain what the nature of that connexion is, and trace it out as a phenomenon to its cause and principle. In like manner, he proceeds also with those inferentially connected ; as where something is alleged as resulting from another, or propositions are stated as conclusions from others. These also he reduces to their simplest form of ^ Such is the original meaning of " term," now popularly applied as synony- mous with "word" or "expression." 80 ARISTOTLE. enunciations, in each of which there is presented for his con- sideration the relation of two terms, of which one is the subject, and the other the predicate of a proposition, connected by the substantive verb, "is," or "is not."^ Each of the terms, either the subject or predicate, may con- sist of several words, as must happen, when no single word adequately conveys the thought intended ; for then it must be expressed by description and circumlocution. But this makes no difference in the estimate of the subject or predicate as terms of a proposition. The logician simply looks to the thought ex- pressed as if it were denoted by a single word, and compares the subject and predicate of the proposition as universals so con- nected or disconnected. An erroneous view of the formation of logical propositions has been given in the popular Compendium,^ according to which they are represented as the results of a synthetic process, instead of being, as here stated, the results of an analysis effected by Language. The mind, it has been said, sits, as it were, in judgment on two objects, and, on comparing them, pronounces that they agree or disagree, and so forms affirmative or negative propositions concerning them. This is to build the science on a metaphorical assumption. The only agreement or disagreement between two objects is their being found in some one fact, whether real or supposed. Affirmative propositions, accordingly, are not judgments, the results of a previous comparison, and afterwards put together in words, but analytical statements of what is observed in the concrete ; and likewise negative propositions on the other hand analytical statements of what, by the like obser- vation, has been found or supposed not to be the fact. It has been part of the same misconception of a proposition to regard the substantive verb as only the " copula " or tie of * Hence it is said, that the noun and which are in fact nouns ; as is tlie case the verb are the only parts of speech with even the verb "is," when used in which belong to Logic, and of verbs, a proposition without any predicate ex- only the verb substantive signifying pressed ; for it then stands for, " is exist- existence ; all other verbs resolving ing." themselves into this and their participles, - Aldrich's Logic, I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 81 connexion between the two objects supposed to be compared, like the Conjunction in Grammar uniting two words or two sen- tences, or disuniting them. In reality, the substantive verb is the most important word in the analysis, expressing, as it does, the existence or non-existence of some fact, real or supposed ; denoting the affirmation, or negation, without which there could be no proposition. The logician, then, has to explore how words can thus become the subjects and predicates of propositions about existence. That A is B, or that A is not B, — these are the fundamental general facts of his science, which he has in the first place to investigate, and then to apply the results in explaining the process of Argumentation. For Argumentation is but a series of connected propositions. The first thing which occurs to observation is the position of the two terms, one as the predicate of the other. This implies that the latter is a term of greater extent than the former, bear- ing the relation of a genus to a species ; and that the former, the subject, is a term of greater comprehension than the other, inasmuch as it may have resemblances to many other objects besides those intimated by the predicate, and each of which re- semblances may be the ground of as many different predicates. Each of the terms, then, of the proposition being universals, one in the sense of comprehension, and the other in that of extension, it becomes necessary to express further in the proposition whether the logical being denoted by the predicate extends, or not, over the whole conception of the subject ; or in other words, whether not only the predicate itself is universal, but the predication universal. For in all instances the predicate as well as the sub- ject are in themselves universals, no less if the proposition of which they are the terms, be particular, than if it be universal. If the I fact or observation, accordingly, which the proposition is meant to express, be general, — or not restricted to particular instances, but unlimited in application, — the proposition which expresses it, must, in its logical form, correspond in its universality. If, for instance, the observation be that " Knowledge is Power ;" in order to avail 82 ARISTOTLE. ourselves of that proposition as a premiss in a logical argument, we must reduce it to a determinate form, since, as it stands in the general assertion, it may mean " all knowledge," or " some know- ledge." And if the universality is the chief thing respected in the observation, it must be stated so as to imply that the predicate "Power" extends over the whole subject "Knowledge." In such case, the abstract form of the proposition becomes all A is B. So, also, if the observation be universally negative, the state- ment becomes " No A is B." But if the universality of the fact or the observation be unascertained, or it be accompanied with exceptions, the form will be some A is B, as well as some A is not B, to indicate that the predicate applies only to the subject as partially connected ; that though the predicate be an universal itself, it is not predicated universally of the subject. Hence all Propositions on any matter whatever are reduced to four kinds : — 1. Universal Affirmative, in which one class or universal is affirmed of the whole of another ; 2. Universal Negative, in which two classes or universals are mutually ex- cluded from one another, because, if anything in the subject did belong to the universal denoted by the predicate, or any of the predicate to the universal denoted by the subject, the assertion that " No" A is B " could not be made ; 3. Particular Affirmative, in which one class or universal is affirmed of some of the parti- culars included in the other; 4. Particular Negative, in which one class or universal partly excludes the other. These are the only varieties of form under which any two classes of objects can be combined in Affirmations or Negations. Every Proposition, accordingly, in order to be brought fully and strictly under the survey of Logic, must be referred to one or the other of these Forms, as the case may be. Hence we may proceed to examine these ultimate forms to which propositions are reducible, inde- pendently of the things themselves about which the propositions are ; and draw from them logical principles applicable to every particular case. Thus, the form of a Universal Affirmative, " All A is B/' in which the letters A and B are put as the representa- tives of any objects whatever, is the proper datum, from which the EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 83 whole logical nature of any Universal Affirmative Proposition may be explored. So also with regard to the remaining abstract forms. Aristotle, accordingly, has thus examined the nature of Pro- positions, and pointed out their force as principles, both in them- selves and when connected in reasonings. He does not separately consider the nature of Propositions under the view of their admitting the reciprocation or conver- sion of their terms, though in the book on Interpretation he has discussed the various forms of Opposition. The discussion of the nature of Opposition would be more particularly required of him from the metaphysical disputes of the day ; some philo- sophers denying the absolute truth of any proposition, or the possibility of Contradiction. But the subject of Conversion is one of simple logical consideration, as to what inferences may be made from an interchange of position between the subject and predicate of a proposition ; and, on this account probably, he has not treated it apart from the exposition of the syllogism. For it is in the course of his examination into the construction of syllogisms that he practically points out its principles ; shew- ing, that Universal Affirmatives cannot be simply converted ; but that when the predicate takes the place of the subject in the proposition, the predication must be limited; since, for the truth of the proposition " All A is B," it is enough that some B is A ; but, at the same time, that it would not be true, that all A is B, unless some B were A. In like manner, he shews that no Parti- cular Negative can be converted, because, when the subject of such a proposition becomes its predicate, it is then universally denied of the subject, but not the subject, of it ; that is, if some A is not B, it may be true also, that " some A is B ;" and that would not be true, if some B were not A. In his Prior Analytics he passes on to the consideration of Syllogisms, or arguments logically viewed. Here it is that the logical theory is properly unfolded. Syllogisms are the perfect developments of the theory of language, as language consists of signs expressive of Being, — as it manifests of the general fact, that 84 ARISTOTLE. a word denoting Being is the representative of a class of obser- vations on some subject to which they refer as to their founda- tion and support. This theory is first intimated in the ordinary use of single words. It is next more disclosed in the connec- tions of words, as terms, in propositions affirming or denying one term of another. It is lastly laid open in the Syllogism, in which the principle of classification is fully exemplified as the tie of connection between two terms affirmed or denied of each other. Since, then, the evidence of the connection subsisting between the two terms brought together in any affirmation or negation is the point in every argument ; it is evident that the reasoning on any subject whatever may be exhibited abstractedly from the par- ticular matter about which it is. Terms can only be connected as they are classes more or less extensive, relatively to each other ; and this relative extent is evidenced at once, as before shewn, by the abstract forms of the propositions in which they are connected. Three abstract propositions, accordingly, in which the terms whose connection is explored, are, first (i. e., in the two premises), separately stated in their relation to some intermediate class or middle term, — and then in their relation to each other (i.e., in the conclusion), as it is the result of their premised relations to the intermediate class, — will enable us, without reference to any other consideration, to judge ol' the conclusiveness of the argu- ment. The Syllogism is nothing more than this abstract state- ment of an argument. Accordingly, in entering on the discussion of Argument, Aristotle premises the Definition of Syllogism, as a " Sentence, in which certain things being stated, something different from what has been laid down, results, of necessity, on account of what has been laid down,"^ — a definition, which being evidently drawn from observation of the particular instances, in which that connection between the three terms employed in an argu- ' "S.uXKoyifffA.Oi ^5 s^Ti Xoyo;, iv ^, riSiv- rocvra, ttvcci to 5/a t»vtu. ffvfjL(->u.iviiv. T'Mt T/vary, 'iTi^ov ri Tuv K-i/uivwv i^ u.vd,yz'/ji AiialyticR Priora, i. c. 1 ; also Topica, Ti rv i. 1. I I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 85 ment, which constitutes its logical validity, is exemplified, in the development of his system serves as the principle, by which the conclusiveness of an argument from any given combination of two propositions as its premises, may be tested. As he pro- ceeds, he appears to be distinguishing syllogisms into the' two kinds of demonstrative and dialectical. But this is a difference, not in the form of the reasoning, but in the matter of the propo- sitions, with which the dialectician has to do, as he differs from the philosopher. The dialectician is regarded as a controversialist on some proposed question, on which he has to take his side, and to support his own view, and impugn that of his adversary, who takes the contradictory of it, by every argument in his power. He reasons, accordingly, from the apparent and the probable : such principles suffice for his purpose : wliereas the philosopher, having immutable truth for his end, according to the strict ancient notion of science, 'E'riffTrifir,, is restricted by the object of his pursuit to such principles as are both primary and true. In the proceedings of both, however. Syllogism is the one and the same Form into which their arguments, so far as they are valid, are capable of being resolved ; so that there are not, in fact, two kinds of syllogistic reasoning, but one common method under the name of Syllogism, whether the conclusions drawn by the reasoner be necessary, or only apparent and pro- bable truth. For the probable or apparent truth of the conclu- sion must as iiecessarily follow from the probable premises, as the necessary truth of the philosophei-'s conclusion from the necessary premises from which it is argued. Such being the case — Syllogism being the universal Form of all arguments, — it has been attributed to Aristotle as an incon- sistency, that he does not use that form in his own discussions, but adduces his arguments in the ordinary popular way. And this has been alleged as an objection against the usefulness of his exposition of the Syllogism. By the Schoolmen, indeed, of the Middle Ages, we find the method of arguing in formal syllo- gisms adopted, through a perverse application of what Aristotle himself intended to be an instruction in the nature and resources 86 ARISTOTLE. of argument, and not as a pattern to be actually followed in the business of discussion : and this notable example has probably given occasion to a similar objection in modern times. Such a misapplication, indeed, was not unlike the absurdity of a sculptor or painter ostensibly displaying his knowledge of Anatomy, by executing the forms which he carves or paints, according to the framework of the skeletons which he has studied, without the clothings of the flesh and the roundings of the joints, as they appear in the living and moving form. In earlier times, this objection took the form of a doubt as to the propriety of Aris- totle's proceeding in reasoning or using syllogisms in establish- ing the truths respecting Syllogism, as he has done in his Ana- lytics ; because, it was said, we " cannot use an instrument before we have constructed it." It was felt necessary, therefore, to answer this objection, by the distinction between " natural and artificial " Logic — " the natural, being that which even the most ignorant employ, as an instinctive power by which they form syllogisms and carry on argumentation ; the artificial, that which Aristotle had constructed out of the natural, by observing the methods and processes by which others, by means of natural logic, philosophized, and reducing them all to precepts and rules of art."^ So just is this observation of the ancient Latin logi- cian, that it at once explains and vindicates the importance attri- buted by Aristotle to the Syllogism in every exercise of reasoning. ^ " Quum enim duplex sit logica, una quae dicta sunt de syllogismo natural! et naturalis, altera artificiosa, logicam qui- artificioso, colligitur solutio cujusdam dem naturalem, nemo unquam invenit, dubii, quod plerisque negotium facessit : vel coraposuit ; est enim innata qusedam Aristoteles enim in lib. Categoriarum, vis, et animis hominum insita, per quam et in libro de Interpretatione, ssepe ra- etiam ignorantissimi homines, syllogis- tiocinatar et syllogismos facit ; quum mos et argumentationes faciunt, quum tamen nihil adhuc de syllogismo docue- nullo studio, nulloque labore, eam acqui- rit ; quod quidem non recte factum vide- siverint ; sed logica artificiosa ab Aris- tur ; quia non possumus instrumento totele inventa et composita esse dicitur ; uti, priusquam ipsum construxerimus. ex logica namque naturali, qua alii, solo Ad hoc dicimus, ignorari quidem syllo- ducti instinctu naturae, utebantur, Aris- gissimum artificiosum ante libros Analy- toteles artificiosam logicam genuit; nimi- ticos, sed non propterea tolli usum syllo- rum observans methodos et progressus, gismi naturalis,'' etc. — Jacobi Zabarellae, quibus per logicam naturalem alii philo- Oper. Logic. — De Ata Fig. Syllog. c. 5. sophabantur ; omnesque ad praecepta, et p. 106. Basil. 1594. ad regulas artis, redigens. . . Ex his I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 87 In following out his application of the Definition of Syllogism as a test of the validity of Arguments, we shall obtain a clearer idea of his proceeding by observing the peculiar phraseology which he employs. And this is rendered the more necessary by the fact, that his Logic has descended to us of the Western Church, in a Latinized form, by which it has lost something of its primitive character in appearance. The original technical terms appear to have been drawn from notions belonging to Geo- metry or Arithmetic, indicating their derivation through the schools of the Pythagoreans ; devoted, as these were, to mathe- matics, and fond of interpreting the truths of Philosophy by fanciful applications of geometrical figures and of Numbers. Thus, what is "proposition" in the Latin expression, is in Aris- totle, crgoVac/s, " extension, as from one point to another ; " it would be represented probably by a line drawn; of which the two extremities would be the two terms ; therefore called the extremes, azoa, or the boundaries, ofo/, of the proposition ; and the distance between them as the "interval," ^/aoryj/^a, — another form of expression for a proposition, as a line situ- ated between its extreme points — carrying on the same notion. The two terms are distinguished as the first and last in posi- tion, and as the major and minor in magnitude ; and when he has further to introduce the consideration of a third term, he characterizes it as intermediate in position, and also in magni- tude, relatively to the two terms of tlie proposition with which it has successively to be compared in an argument. Even the derivation of the word Syllogism is from Arithmetic, as it implies a reckoning or summing up in a result the several items, like those of a sum in Arithmetic, which have been previously separately stated.^ His use again of Letters to represent the subject and predicate of a Proposition, seems to have been adopted from the practice of mathematicians in denoting magnitudes in that manner. ^ Among the moderns Hobbes has treme Nominalism. With him, reasoning carried this notion of reasoning to the is nothing but reckoning of consequences uttaost excess, as it favoured his ex- of words. 88 ARISTOTLE. The schoolmen, in carrying the notions of the Physics and Metaphysics into the science of Logic, obscured, by the strange dialect in which the truths of the science were thus delivered, its proper nature as a science conversant about language. Thus, according to them, we hear of the " substance," and "matter," and "form," of propositions and of syllogisms. On the contrary, the technical expressions of Aristotle himself are extremely few, and those strictly appropriate to the subject, elucidating the characteristic nature of a science conversant about words as they are signs of thought. The scholastic method and language however, from long prescription, have so. ingrafted themselves on our modes of writing and speaking, that some acquaintance with them is in fact become necessary to us at this day ; and may so far, therefore, be regarded as constituting a legitimate part of modern logic. But when the technicalities of this system are made a ground of objection to the Aristotelic logic, it may be answered, that these are not parts of Aristotle's system, as it is found in the original, but the refinements of his commentators. It is, however, to the Latin schools, that our established ter- minology in Logic is to be almost exclusively traced as to its actual form ; and much of the modern misconceptions of its nature may be attributed to that source. Aristotle pursues the examination into Syllogisms, and de- termines what are, or are not, valid forms of its expression, in the following manner. Every conclusion is to be viewed, anterior to its proof by argument, as a question to be proved, and its subject and predicate as the terms of the question. The object of the argument is, to bring those terms into logical connection with each other, by means of a third, with which they separately have, each, such connection. This third term is designated by Aristotle a " mean*' ^erfov, or middle term. We must suppose a line on which the three terms stand, the first which is also the major, on one extremity of it, the third, also called the " last and minor," on the other extremity, and " the middle," on the middle of the line, or somewhere between the extremities. The first, the major, is I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 89 defined as " that in which another is ; " the last, and minor, " that which is in another ;" the middle, ''that in which another is, and which is itself in another." When the major and middle and minor are placed in the three propositions of a syllogism in this their proper order, we obtain what Aristotle calls, by a mathematical designation, the First and perfect Figure, cyJrii^oL^ the true and proper model, as it were, of every valid argument ; because in it the evidence of the necessity of the conclusion is direct, needing no extrinsic consideration to make it manifest ; a valid conclusion in this Figure following, of necessity^ from the premises, fulfils the requirement in the definition of Syllogism.^ But the middle term may be so displaced in an argument, as to occupy the position of the major instead of its own, and to become, in fact, the major term, and the predicate, of both the premises. Or again, the middle term may occupy the place of the minor, and become the subject of both premises. In the former of these two instances we have Aristotle's Second Figure ; in the latter, his Third Figure. And these three Figures, according to him, are all the varieties of position in which the three terms can be regarded, in their relations to each other in a syllogism. His commentators, — Galen, or whoever it was that introduced the innovation, — added a Fourth Figure ; looking rather, it seems, to the various combinations which might be formed of the four kinds of Propositions in the premises, than to the different positions of the middle term in relation to the two terms of the question, according to Aristotle's more correct view. But this Fourth Figure, whilst it reverses the proper position of the middle term, as it stands, according to its definition, — making it the predicate of the premiss in which the first and major term ^ Quemadmodum enim figura mathe- figures used in illustrating the logical matica consurgit ex dispositione linea- treatises of Aristotle, that St. Augus- rum, ut patet in triangulo et quadran- tine refers, when he spVi^s {Confess. 4 dispositione terminorum. — Cursus Phi- ries, magistris eruditissimis, noiT^-^ gulo, sic etiam syllogistica consurgit ex iv. 16) of some studying-..':'^ \Catego- losoph. Acad. Complutens. per Fr. Mur- quentibus tantum, sod multa in pulvere ^ ciam. Colon, 1644, p. 58. depingentibus. It is to some geometrical lines ov ^ Anal. Pr. 1, 4. 90 ARISTOTLE. is,^ and the subject of that in wliich tlie last and minor is, and greater in extent, accordingly, than the major, yet less in extent than the minor, — involves an absurdity in the conception of it as a middle term ; so that we must then abandon Aristotle's defini- tion of it, and in such case regard the major as, virtually, the middle. On this account the Fourth Figure of modern logicians appears to have been justly omitted by Aristotle.^ Subordinate to this arrangement of Syllogisms in the Three Figures, is the distribution of them into Cases, crrwj oTi xa.6oXov ToZ evofiaro; » xa^oXov irtjf^,octvn 'aXX' on kx6'oXov }cciTd(pciffiv v ixTo(pxtnv. CiffTi TO ^a?, r, |£t>jSsi;, ouTiv a.'k'ko 'X^o- 102 ARISTOTLE. of Virtue generally, is not true of Temperance or Courage, as these differ from one another individually. On this account, it is clearly unnecessary, for a just infe- rence from Induction, when considered as an Evidence of fact, that all the individuals belonging to the subject should pass in review before the mind. It is enough that a large survey of instances should be taken in which the predicate is found to hold good; and if it be found in such as have fallen under our notice in this survey, we may then infer, that the predicate applies universally to that common nature which exists in those instances, and in any others resembling them that may subse- quently occur to our observation. Hence, in the investigations of Modern science, according to the method of Bacon, one instance, if only thoroughly examined, is sufficient for establishing the general fact resulting, or what, in Ancient Philosophy, would be called " the universal." Aristotle, however, looking to Induction as a mode of Argu- ment, rather than as an Evidence of Pact, requires that an Induc- tion should be from '' all the particulars."^ Otherwise, indeed, it would not furnish a conclusive argument ; there would be no formal necessity in the inference.^ But the higher kind of Induction is also employed by him, and in its application, as has been observed above, to the exact definition of terms. As it appears that words, when predicated of any object, are classes, more or less extensive, of observations on that object, it is evident, that we must gradually approximate towards a definition of any individual notion, by assigning class within class, until we have narrowed the extent of the expression as far as may be required in order to a distinct apprehension of it.^ The first definition of any object cannot but be rude and imperfect, as founded on some obvious resemblance which it exhibits to ^ AnalyL Pr. ii. c. 25 As? ll voiTy to as above in saying : — estque ea enume- r s'l a-reivTuy tmv xa^ixcitrrov a-uyxiifitvoy ratio particularium, haud aliud quam V yet,^ iTaycayh "lia, -zuvtuv. ipsum generale aliis verbis prolatum, seu ^ Wallis reduces Induction to a Syllo- ipsius exegeticum. — Logica, iii. c. 15. gism both in the First and Third Figures, ^ Analyt. Post., ii. c. 13, Zr^TiTv Ti lu but prefers the resohition into the Third; l-rilhki'royra, l-rt to, ofiota xec) aBta(po^a, and for this purpose explains it nearly t^utov r'l oL'xa.yra. tuvtov 'i^ovtriv, ». r. x. f I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 103 other objects. And it has been further pointed out, how, as we continue our observation, we find other classes included in the extent of the one to which it was first referred. Hence, as these several classes are subordinate to each other, and are all depen- dent on the primary one (for this primary one will be different according to the purpose contemplated in defining the object),^ the full definition of the object, under the aspect taken of it in each case, will be the result of successive eliminations of everything extrinsic to it, everything unessential to it.^ Now, the process by which we discover these successive genera in forming a definition, is strictly one of philosophical Induction. As in the philosophy of Nature in general, we take certain facts as the basis of inquiry, and proceed by rejection and exclusion of principles involved in the inquiry, until at last — there appear- ing no ground for further rejection — we conclude that we are in possession of the true principle or law, of the facts examined ; so in the philosophy of language, in drawing forth an exact out- line of any object of thought, we must proceed by a like rejection and exclusion of notions implied in the general term with which we set out, until we reach the very confines of that notion with which our inquiry is concerned. This exclusion is effected in language by annexing to the general term denoting the class to which the object is primarily refen-ed, other terms not including in them those other objects or notions to which the higher general term applies. For thus, whilst each successive term in the definition, in itself, extends to more than the object so defined, yet all viewed together do not ; and this their relative bearing on the one point marks out and constitutes the being of the thing.^ This is thus illustrated by Aristotle : — "If we are inquir- ^ "Definitions are divided into Nomi- it be the enumeration of attributes, or nal and Real, according to the object of the physical or the metaphysical accomplished by them ; whether to ex- parts of the essence." — Abp. Whateley, plain, merely, the meaning of the word, £lem. of Logic, B. ii. c. 5. or the nature of the thing : on the other hand they are divided into Accidental, ^ Analyt. Post., ii. c. 13, uv 'ixaa-rev Physical, and Logical, according to the f^h It) tXbov vtu^^u, ctTavTei Ts f/,r. l^t means employed by each for accomplish- tXiov' tclvtviv ya^ a.va.yxn ovffiuv tivat toZ ing their respective objects ; whether T^ayfjuuToi, p. 173, Du Val. 104 ' AEISTOTLE. ing,'^ he says, " what magnanimity is, we must consider the instances of certain magnanimous persons whom we know, what one thing they all have, so far forth as they are such ; as, — if Alcibiades was magnanimous, or Achilles, or Ajax, — what one thing they all have; say 'impatience under insult;' for one made war, another raged, the other slew himself : again, in the instances of others, as of Lysander or Socrates, — if here, it is *to be unaltered by prosperity or adversity;' taking these two cases, I consider, what this 'apathy in regard to events,' and * impatience under insult,' have the same in them. If now they have nothing the same, there must be two species of magnani- mity." ^ So, again, he suggests a similar process in order to ascertain the nature of anything. He directs that the investiga- tion should commence from the genus ; since, having discovered the properties or sequences of the genus, we have also the se- quences to the next class in the series, — and so on from that class to the next below in order, — until by this continued pro- cess we reach the individual object examined. In the course of investigation, also, he observes, that we should attend to whatever is common, and examine to what class of objects that belongs, and what classes fall under it ;2 and for the same reason select analogies ; since, in both these instances, we obtain genera, under which the object investigated may be arranged. The process is virtually the same as if we should investigate a fact or law of nature. But the Induction of Aristotle, having for its object to deteimine accurately in words the notion of the being of things, proceeds, according to the nature of language, from the general, and ends in the particular ; whereas the investigation of a law of nature proceeds from the particular, and ends in the general. In the process each kind of Induction is an analysis. But logical Induction is synthetical in the result, whilst philosophical In- duction is analytical throughout. The former labours to par- ticularize as much as possible, counteracting the uncertainty occasioned by the generalizations of language, whilst the latter is engaged in penetrating the confused masses in which objects 1 Anal. Post., ii. c. 13, p. 175, Du Val. ^ jj^^ jj ^. 14 EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 105 first present themselves to the mind, and exploring their most general and characteristic form. Thus the Induction of Aristotle was strictly l-^aywy^, or the bringing in of notion on notion, each successively limiting the application of the preceding one in regular series, so as at length to present a distinct notion of the object defined/ The notion thus obtained in words is the logos, or expressed reason of the being of the thing ; and hence perhaps the prevalence of the name Logic ^ as appropriate to this branch of science, instead of the more general and ancient designation of Dialectic, — which expresses rather the application of the science to the ancient mode of disputation, than its philosophical nature. It would appear, then, that Bacon has not done strict justice to Aristotle in the contemptuous manner in which he has spoken of the Induction adopted and practised by philosophers before himself, as if the fault of it were entirely attributable to Aristotle. Doubtless, in the view of Aristotle, Induction, even in its higher sense, is extremely limited in its design and pursuit ; as con- versant about the correct statement of the particular notions on which an inquiry turns, rather than the discovery of new truth : nor is it set forth with a due appreciation of its scientific im- portance, or with any approach to that method which Bacon de- veloped in the Novum Organum. But it is sound and valid so far as it reaches ; and it shews that Aristotle was not intent on corrupting Philosophy with Logic, but rather on applying Logic to that very purpose which Bacon himself so much insists on — the bringing the intellect even and unprejudiced to the business of Science. Of the practical application of Induction in its extreme importance as an Evidence of fact, Aristotle presents abundant specimens, and particularly in his Treatises on Ethics and Ehetoric. His discussion of the Passions in the latter treatise is a masterpiece in that way. He sets out, indeed, abstractedly with definitions of the several passions ; but these are the results at which he has arrived by Induction ; being obtained, as his ^ Anal. Prior., ii. c. 23. not the noun Xay;x^ to denote the science, •^ Aristotle uses the adverb koytKus, and only ^ixXiktikyi, as in Met., vii. c. 4, and elsewhere; but 106 AEISTOTLE. subsequent observations shew, by a close interrogation of Nature ; by examining accurately what belongs, or does not belong, to each particular passion, — and thus eliminating its exclusive character and proper nature. Ehetoric. As the Speculative Sciences had been confounded under a vague notion of Dialectic, so had Ehetoric, in the ostentatious study of it prevalent before the time of Aristotle, drawn into its system the practical sciences of Politics and Ethics. Observa- tions had been accumulated on the mere accessories of the art ; but the proper business of the rhetorician — the inquiry into the argument itself of which a composition must consist — had been overlooked. Aristotle had therefore to dig a foundation for the fabric of a real science of Ehetoric. He had to clear away mis- conceptions ; to shew the data on which Ehetorical science must proceed, and the relative importance of its several parts. He commences, accordingly, with pointing out the nature of its connection both with Dialectical and Moral science. It is first and most directly connected with Dialectic, inasmuch as it is a general method of providing arguments on any subject whatever. As Dialectic examines and discusses the principles of various sciences, considering them in their relations as princi- ples in the abstract, and not as the principles of this or that science, and is so far equally conversant about all subjects ; so Ehetoric inquires generally into the nature of the principles of Persuasion, and therefore is also of equal application to the various subjects of human thought. In the discussion of these abstract principles under the head of Dialectic, it is found that they are referable to two general classes — that they are either probabilities or necessary truths. And Aristotle, accordingly, after having explained the nature of Syllogism, or the more general connection of principles, which is independent of their peculiar nature, proceeds to investigate the nature of deductions as drawn from necessary principles or from probabilities. The I I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 107 consideration of tliis distinction anticipates in some measure the province of Ehetoric, touching on the point, as has been observed, in which Ehetoric differs from Logic strictly so called. As the science of eloquence, its oftice is to speculate on the effect of different principles in producing persuasion, ^and not simply on their abstract relations ; and therefore it must examine the force of arguments, whether probable or necessary, in their in- fluence both on the judgment and the will. Principles, in short, •as they are grounds of Credibility, and not as they enter into a reasoning ^process, constitute its proper subject. In this respect it coincides with a part of the ancient Dialectic. But it differs, again, from Dialectic, inasmuch as it is connected also with Moral Science. In Dialectic the force of man's moral nature on his opinions is not considered. Will such or such a con- clusion result from such or such arguments, according to the procedure of the human intellect in forming its judgments ? is the whole inquiry of Dialectic. But Ehetoric further con- siders, what is the practical force of such and such arguments ? what effect are they found to have in actual experience ? — not according to their mere speculative truth, but as acting on the complex nature of man. Practically, it is found that questions are not examined on their positive merit as simple questions of truth, but with feelings and sentiments thwarting or aiding the discernments of the intellect. Here, then, is opened a wide field for a philosophical inquiry of a peculiar character, distinct from Dialectic, and yet strictly founded on it, and implying it through- out, as well as of the highest importance in order to the success of truth in the world. This inquiry is what Aristotle institutes under the head of Ehetoric. He has evinced the most perfect comprehension of the nature of the science which he had undertaken to develop, in holding it, as he does, in exact balance between the two sciences of Dialectic and Morals with which it is associated. There is much of logical matter in the course of his inquiry, and still more of ethical. But he never suffers us to forget that we are not examining those sciences in themselves under the head of 108 ARISTOTLE. Ehetoric, but in their relations to a science compounded of both. He would have the rhetorician versed in Dialectic, and deeply acquainted with Human nature. But he is intent on shewing how he is to apply his knowledge of both these sciences to the proper business of Ehetoric — the influence on the heart and mind of the persons addressed. It is not a vague and popular knowledge of those sciences which he is inculcating throughout, but a popular application of authentic principles drawn from them both, and a popular application founded on a deep philo- sophy of Human nature. This philosophy consists in an investigation of the kinds of Evidence by which the minds of men are commonly swayed in accepting any conclusion proposed to them, and of those princi- ples of their moral nature which generally induce belief. The whole, accordingly, is an inquiry into what is probable, or rather what is credible and persuasive, to a being so constituted as man. Ehetoric, then, does not consider arguments as they are abstractedly necessary or probable. Such arguments appeal to the intellect alone ; and the result from such is, either a full conviction, or a presumption of some point in question. Ehetoric, on the other hand, looks to probability in the result Whether an argument be necessary or probable in principle, is comparatively of no consequence to the rhetorician, provided it be persuasive in its effect He has to consider, therefore, only a probability of this kind — on what grounds men commonly helieve an argument to be just, or are influenced by any state- ment.^ Now men are found to receive arguments as conclusive on two different grounds — from considering them either as logically sound, deducible from admitted principles, or as co- incident with some previous observation or fact. Hence the distinction between probability and likelihood ; probability denoting conclusions proved by some reason alleged ; likelihood ^ When it is asserted, that Dialectic thing is, but what will give & jpersuasion is concerned about truth, and Rhetoric or belief that it is. At the same time, about opinion, this must be understood those principles on which such a per- to mean that Rhetoric has for its object suasion depends, are real truths about to discover, not what any particular which the science is conversant. efficie:nt philosophy. 109 denoting conclusions grounded on matter of fact, the conclusion being something like what has been experienced. Aristotle dis- tinguishes these two kinds of rhetorical arguments as proba- bilities, £/xoVa, and signs, .av6a.vn ttus 'ix^i, xx) o'ffus-, ^vvocffSxi Tithtv, xadaTip «ai iv Totg aXXov ^pwfiivou roii koyoi; avroTs f^h ffvX\oyifff/.o7i' oh^ o-rw? a.fji,(poTipa 'Vpu.TTu- ^ixutafi, Xvav 'i^ufAiv. 116 ARISTOTLE. style and method engross an undue importance. We are thus led to think that eloquence consists in the skilful use of the ornaments of style, in the flow of periods, and the structure of a composition advantageously distributing its lights and shades. The attention is diverted from the material itself of eloquence, the strong framework of argument, without which no eloquence can subsist. Aristotle, in proceeding to the discussion of style, has cautiously maintained the subordination of this part of Ehetoric to the proper business of the art — Persuasion ; treating it as a necessary condescension to the weakness of the hearers. If, however, the manner in which we express our thoughts may contribute to the reception of our assertions and arguments, and it be allowed that the principles of Taste are real parts of the human constitution — the consideration of style must necessarily enter into a philosophical system of Ehetoric. The effect of the style is part of the whole result of the composition on the mind of the hearers, and is so far, therefore, an ingredient in that Probability or Credibility about which Ehetoric is con- versant. In conformity with this view of the importance of style, Aristotle lays down perspicuity as the great principle of good composition. It is with him "the virtue of style." ^ All the ornaments of language, whether from the structure of periods, or from the various modes of thought, by which a point, a propriety, or a dignity, or an animation, is imparted to a subject, are explained in reference to this fundamental law. Nor has he left unconsidered the arrangement of the parts of a speech ; though this also was in his opinion scarcely a legiti- mate portion of the art. Former rhetoricians had encumbered their systems with numerous artificial divisions, giving precise rules for the composition of each distinct head. Aristotle's more exact method admits no other divisions than the Proposition and the Proof ; the former, founded on the necessity of stating the subject of discussion ; the latter, on the necessity of proving the point stated : though he afterwards allows the convenience 1 EM, iii. 2. Poetic, c. 22. I EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 117 of a fourfold division into, 1. Tlie Proem or Introduction; 2. The Proposition ; 3. The Proof ; 4. The Epilogue or Perora- tion. The subject of Delivery, rh 'Trspl rrjv vToxpic/v^ did not escape his notice : but nothing had been effected by previous writers in this department of Ehetoric. And though he admits that the attention to the mode of Delivery might serve to recommend a speech, it is only, he observes, through the depraved taste of the people ; as, in the contests of the drama, the poets who were actors, carried off the prizes ; and in the correct view of the art of the orator it was a vain and superfluous addition.^ So deeply and fully has the science of Ehetoric been con- sidered by Aristotle. His treatise on the subject, the Rhetoric, in three books, addressed to his disciple Theodectes, and his Nico- machean Ethics, are perhaps the most perfect specimens of syste- matic moral sciences extant in ancient or modem literature. For extent and variety of matter, the Rhetoric may be ranked even above the Ethics. It has been justly characterized as " a maga- zine of intellectual riches. JSTothing is left untouched," says one who could well appreciate the value of the work, "on which Ehetoric, in all its branches, has any bearing. His principles are the result of extensive original induction. He sought them,- if ever man did seek them, in the living pattern of the human heart. All the recesses and windings of that hidden region he has explored ; all its caprices and affections — whatever tends to excite, to ruffle, to amuse, to gratify, or to offend it — have been carefully examined. The reason of these phenomena is demon- strated ; the method of creating them is explained. The whole is a text-book of human feeling ; a storehouse of taste ; an exemplar of condensed and accurate, but uniformly clear and candid, reasoning."^ It is professedly adapted to the business of the orator ; that being the original occasion of an Art of Ehetoric. But it is in fact a body of precepts for good writing ; ^ MJiet. iii. c. 1 . Kai loxu (poprixiv dafF, in his Defence of the Stiidies of uvaf, xaXu; V'Toku/u.^ccvoftivov. Oxford, p. 27. * The late Bishop Copleston of Llan- 118 ARISTOTLE. furiiisliing authentic principles of criticism in every department of prose composition. His smaller Treatise in one book, entitled Tlie Rhetoric to Alexander, the genuineness of which is question- able, is more strictly a science of political eloquence ; being written, as the introductory address would intimate, in obedience to the King Alexander, who had requested a work of that description.^ The same philosophical views of eloquence may be traced in this work ; but more popularly set forth, with less of technical precision, and more of illustration from examples. Poetics. No work of Aristotle has been more justly estimated, in general opinion, — as none perhaps is so generally known, — than the fragment which has survived to us under the name of his Poetics. Imperfect as it is, it has been uniformly regarded as the great authority of the laws of criticism in poetry ; subsequent writers having only extended and illustrated the principles laid down in it. The excellence of this little work, which is only one book of the three of which the whole Treatise is said to have consisted, shews how much we have to regret the entire loss of his other works on the same subject. The treatises On Tragedies and On Poets, mentioned in the catalogue of Laertius, probably contained much valuable information concerning Greek writers, whose works, perhaps whose names in some instances, have not been transmitted to us. That portion which time has spared of the Poetics, is almost exclusively confined to the consideration of dramatic poetry. But the philosopher, with his usual depth and reach of thought, has here laid a broad foundation of principles applicable to the whole subject. ' He derives the nature of Poetry in general from the principle of Imitation inherent in man. Two natural causes, ^ Bhet. ad Alex. c. 1. Quintilian excogitavit in Gryllo. He considers {Instit. Orat ii. c. 17) speaks of a rhe- the Rhet. ad Alexandrum to have been torical work of Aristotle, entitled Gryl- the work of Anaximenes of Lampsacus, lu8. Aristoteles, ut solet, quserendi gra- a contemporary of Aristotle, tia, quaedam subtilitatis suseargumenta EFFICIENT PHILOSOPHY. 119 he says, appear to have originated Poetry ; the natural power of imitation, — and the pleasure which all men take in imitation, that is, in recognizing likenesses between distinct objects. These two causes thus stated by him are in fact but one principle ; the pleasure resulting from imitation being the principle itself of imitation, viewed in its tendency or proper effect, the production of pleasure : though, in the language of his philosophy, the first would be the motive cause, the second the final. The science then termed Poetics, is that which treats of the method by which the natural principle of Imitation obtains its proper and full expression ; or a collection of observations on the mode by which pleasure is produced in imitations of which language is the instrument. Hence the business of the Poet is stated by Aris- totle to consist in representing things, " not as they have been, but as they ought to be ;" and therefore is described by him as of a more philosophical and excellent nature than that of the historian.^ The pleasure of Imitation will not be answered, unless a likeness be recognized between the objects and events described, and the objects and events observed in the general course of nature. Otherwise it wiU be a mere pleasure in the execution, or in some circumstance of the work. The poet, therefore, in order to accomplish the end of his art, must possess a philosophical power of observation. He must have compared objects and events, and detected points of resemblance, and thus formed for himself general principles on which he may proceed to model his ideal world. At the same time he differs from the philosopher much in the same way in which the orator differs from the dialectician. He has not to consider what is abstrac- tedly like in things, but what wiU be viewed and felt as like in its effect on the sentiments and feelings of men. Therefore it is that his creations are clothed with a beauty and loveliness sur- passing nature. The resemblances which he shadows out par- take of those hues, which the imagination, and the feelings, and every beautiful and noble sentiment of the heart of man, reflect upon them.^ ^ Foet. c. 9. ^ Poetic, c. 4, 9, 25. 120 ARISTOTLE. These fundamental notions of the art pervade the system of Aristotle's Poetics, though, from the briefness of the work in its present imperfect state, they are by no means fully developed in it. In the work, indeed, as it now is, the basis of the poetic imitation — the actions, passions, and manners of which a poem is descriptive — are exclusively considered ; and we have no inquiry, as in the Ehetoric, into the principles of Human nature by which the pleasure resulting from the imitation is modified in its effect. From this circumstance, as well as from his accounting for the pleasure of poetry on the ground of a natural delight in tracing out resemblances, Aristotle has been sometimes thought to have placed the excellence of a poem in the mechanism of its story,^ and to have neglected altogether the intrinsic poetry of thought and expression. But we shall not do justice to the comprehensiveness of his views, if we estimate them by the limits of the present work. He seems here to have premised only, what ought naturally to occupy the first place in a philo- sophical system of the art. It must be remembered, also, that Greek Poetry was essen- tially dramatic. It was expressly composed with a view to public recitation or exhibition ; and in poetry of this kind the character of the incidents would hold a much greater importance than in poetry intended chiefly to be read. The incidents would here hold a place analogous to the thoughts and expressions of the poem submitted to the contemplative study of a reader. This may further account for Aristotle's laying so much stress on the interest of the plot in Tragedy. The definition of Tragedy given by Aristotle is remarkable, as savouring more of the spirit of Plato's philosophy than of his own. Describing its nature as it differs from Epic poetry and from Comedy, he farther characterizes it as, " by means of pity and fear, accomplishing the purification of such passions."^ The ^ Poetic, c. 6, a,zx}> z"*^* "^^ ^'^^ «'^'' speaks of " purification" as an eflfect of ■^vx^t f*vSos rrii T^ecytfi^ias. music. There he promises to explain ^ Ibid., c. 6, Vt iAiov Kot) KOi jilOV TiXilOU. 128 AEISTOTLE. abstract method of Ancient Pliilosopliy. In reality he is pur- suing a course of investigation strictly inductive. The terms themselves, "a perfect life," carry on the idea of the soul's working out its perfection ; in which process the perfection of its physical existence would necessarily constitute a part. Thus, too, the notion of Pleasure, considered as an abstract good, is distinctly examined in his Ethics.^ The practice of Ancient Philosophy obtruded the question on his notice ; whether Pleasure was to be identified with happiness, or was to be regarded as an evil. He accordingly formally discusses it ; refuting the existing opinions on the subject, and establishing, that pleasure is a good, so far as it necessarily accompanies the exercise of every natural principle ; and consequently, that the highest pleasures are attached to the exercise of the highest principles. The discussion itself is thrown into a form highly abstruse and speculative. But the conchision at which he arrives is entirely practical, and of the greatest importance in order to a just theory of Virtue. It amounts to this, that the mere gratification of every natural Affection, by its exertion in action, is not to be distinctly proposed and aimed at as the end of that Affection. This would be to grasp at the result, and neglect the means in order to it. It may be illustrated thus : Suppose, in travelling, some place were pointed out to us in the distance. We may imagine that we shall arrive at it by making it our immediate object, and shaj)ing our course directly towards it. But such a course might lead into insuperable difficulties ; whereas by going along the road leading to it, though circuitous and indirect, it wiU be safely and surely reached. For, the gratification is, as explained by him, the mere resnlt of the adaptation of the affection to its object, — something accruing and consequent on the attainment of the object, — not the object itself. It is the completion of the process of Nature involved in an Action. The attainment, therefore, of the highest pleasure attached to our nature, presupposes that the perfect work of Virtue has been performed, in adjusting the Moral and Intel- ^ Eth. Nic. vii. c. 11-14, x. c. 1-5, i. 8; Mag. Mor. W. c. 7. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 129 lectual Principles to their objects. Pleasure, accordingly, is defined by liim, in his Rhetoric^ physically, as "a kind of motion of the soul, and the bringing it into that full and per- ceptible state which is its proper nature." In proceeding to expand this outline, or " type '' as he calls it, of his Ethical system, Aristotle appears to have adopted the language of the Pythagoreans, according to which Virtue was defined a "Disposition or Habitude of Propriety ;" or that state of man's moral nature in which all the Affections are in their due measure and proportion. Analyzing the moral principles into, 1. Affections, 2. Powers, and, 3. Dispositions, he rejects the first two classes of principles as inadequate to the production of Virtue ; and directs attention to the Dispositions as its proper seat. He observed that the Dispositions were subject to modi- fication by custom or habit, — that a moral character did not precede, but resulted from, moral actions ; and that a character so formed alone enabled, one to act morally. As it was thus evident that virtuous habits were the bond of connection between virtuous action and virtuous principle in the agent, he con- cluded, that the principle by which the soul " energized," — by which its Affections were perfectly exerted in act, — was in its general nature, a Disposition, or Habitude, influencing the Choice. He had observed also, that in every instance in which Good resulted from the exercise of the Affections, due regard was had to the person of the Agent, to the occasion, to the matter in hand, to the persons respected in the action, to the purpose, etc. ; that thus, the virtuous character consisted in its power of due adjustment to all the circumstances of the case in every action. On the ground, then, of this general fact, he further concluded the nature of Virtue to consist " in a mean relatively to our- selves," — relatively, that is, to the individual agent in each instance.2 The abstract mode of expression is a continuation of the same physical notion under which his theory of the Chief 1 Ehet. i. 11. '^ Eth. Nic. ii. 6, V|/j •r^eaioiriKyi, £v /MKrcmri olxra. rfj v^o; ri/xxj. K 130 ARISTOTLE. Good is represented. The soul when truly virtuous, is con- ceived to be wrought to a temperament or mean state, all its Affections and Actions being in their due proportions to one another, and to the whole nature and circumstances of the indi- vidual man. To determine, however, this due measure of the Affections, is the great question of Ethics. An exercise of Eeason is implied in the adjustment of the Affections and Actions, so as neither to exceed nor fall short of the due measure on each occasion, and of that particular function indeed of Eeason which is conversant about the affairs of human life, and which we call Prudence. Aristotle, accordingly, includes in his out- line of Virtue, the statement that "the mean" must be "defined by Eeason, and as the prudent man w^ould define it." Still the question remains, what is the standard of adjustment — what the criterion of the mean, as a mark to which the moral aim is to be directed ? Now, the instances in which this self-moderation belonging to the character of virtue is observed, become in themselves the objects of Approbation, exciting in us sentiments of love, esteem, admiration, honour, sympathy, etc. Hence the various expres- sions introduced into Moral Philosophy, of fitness, propriety, proportion, the decent, the fair, the honourable, the amiable, the expedient, etc. ; the adoption of one or more of which tests of the morality of Actions, has given its peculiar complexion to different systems. Aristotle contemplates these sentiments of Approbation, not as they are in themselves, but as they are outwardly evidenced by the Praise accompanying certain Actions.^ It is clear that men commonly praise some actions and censure others. Where men — not any particular class of men, but society at large — agree in praising any action,^ there the action so commended may be regarded as good in itself, and an evidence of virtuous principle in the agent. The approbation thus signified was expressed in the Greek language by the term ^ jE^/A. Mc. i. cap.ulr., ii. cap. 5, 8, 7 ; ^ Ibid. x. cap. 2, o yu^ -ruct ^oKiT, De Virt. et Vit. p. 291. toZt uvai ipuf^tv. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 131 TtaXov} to which we have no perfect counterpart in our language, though the word " honourable " if understood in its full meaning, may sufficiently represent it. Aristotle proceeds to apply this criterion to the discrimina- tion of the several virtues ; a distinct class of objects of the Affec- tions constituting in his system the ground of a distinct virtue. His enumeration of the virtues of which the perfect Moral Character consists, is, as we might naturally expect in an ethical writer of his age and nation, incomplete. It is, however, abun- dant as an evidence, by induction, of that moderation of the affections — "the mean" — in which the nature of moral Virtue consists.^ His division, indeed, of Virtue is an analysis of it ' into its constituent parts, as a whole ; such as, in fact, the moral world in which he lived presented it to his survey. He has been accused of attending chieHy to the splendid virtues. He was probably led, by the very criterion which he employed, as well as by his view of the connection between Ethics and Politics, to sketch more prominently those particular virtues which re- commend a man in society. And thus he has drawn beautiful outlines of those charms of familiar intercourse — affability, frank- ness, agreeableness.^ His introduction, indeed, of these quali- ties among the virtues of his system, is a striking evidence of the practical nature of that virtue which he inculcates. It is a virtue which is not to be forgotten in any part of a man's daily life. Whilst it nerves his arm in dangers, distributes his bounty, shields him against temptations of pleasure, — it unbends him in the hours of leisure, and is ever on his tongue, whether gravely pronounc- ing in his assertions and judgments, or plajdng in the sallies of his wit. These very instances shew that he did not regard splendour as the exclusive attribute of virtue. On the contrary, he expressly speaks of it as the heightening and decoration of the several virtues, and as excellent, because it presupposes all ^ Ethic, passim ; Hhet. i. cap. 9. rag mffTiucraifjt.iv olvj W) Tavruv ouru; ^ JEtJl. Nic. iv. 7. MaXXov ri yap av 'ix,°^ ffvvihovTtf. tt^iin/U'tv 7a Tip) TO 'a6o;, x.a6^ ixaffrov ^ Ihid. iv. cap. 6, 7, 8. dnXSovTt;' Kou (/.icr'oTTiTai iivai tk; apt- 132 AEISTOTLE. other virtues in tlieir perfection.^ Another evidence of his not being exchisive in his regard to the more showy virtues, is his treating of Gentleness.^ He selects the virtue of Justice^ for more particular discus- sion, distinguishing it as a particular virtue from the whole of Justice, of which it bears the name — in its being the modera- tion of the love of gain or self-interest.* Seduced, however, by the example of Plato, he departs, in his mode of treating this virtue, from the strict province of Ethics into that of Politics. The Justice which he explains is a political virtue, applicable to the citizens of a common state, rather than to man as man. And this confusion of ethical and political justice has led him into a speculative refinement, which involves a difficulty in reconcihng the notion of Justice with his theory of Virtue. Looking at Justice as a dispensing and regulating power, he observed that it was concerned about " a mean,'^ in things themselves ; either in distributing to each person in a state his proportionate share of its common advantages, or in vindicating the persons and property of its members from aggression and wrong. On the ground of this observation he points out that justice is not " a mean," as the other virtues are, but is " of the mean " — not in itself " a relative mean," but " relative to a mean." Had he considered Justice solely as a moral habit ; he would have seen that the dis- tinction was unnecessary : since in this point of view it conforms precisely to his general notion of Virtue in being a principle of self-moderation. There is, however, a foundation for the remark in the circumstance, that Justice admits of greater exactness in its exercise than other virtues. " The rules of Justice," says an excellent writer, ^ " may be compared to the rules of Grammar ; the rules of the other virtues to the rules which critics lay down ^ Eth. Nic. iv. cap. 3, 'ioixi fAv ovv v " On Justice,^^ in four books. (Diog. fAiyaXo-^u^ia,^ otov KofffAos rig ilva-t ruv Laert.) u^iTuv f^i'i^ous ya,^ auras *ois7, xa) ov * Z»jToy^8y 'hi yi tyiv iv f^ipn hxaiorv- y'tvirai eiviu ixtivuv ^la rovro ^aXivov rn vriv' tjv olffiuv, Kcu thc productlon of virtue, as the theory TOV Xoyov TOV Ti nv tivcci XiyovTa, //ic-irn; of Socratcs did. 140 ARISTOTLE. have been devised by men who had no positive belief in a Divine Providence. Independently of the excellence of such theories, the mere fact of their existence as accounts of Human Duties is sufficient for the argument. Tliat " the difference, and the only difference," between an act of prudence and an act of duty is, " that in the one case, we consider what we shall gain or lose in the present world — in the other case, we consider also what we shall gain or lose in the world to come ; "^ — is an asser- tion, disproved at once by the fact, that Aristotle saw a difference between the two acts, independently of that consideration on which the notion of duty is there made to rest. Whether he has stated the difference correctly or not, is immaterial to this point. The principle of Self-love has also been well illustrated by Aristotle in its relation to virtue. He distinguishes between the culpable form of it or selfishness, and that form of it which is auxiliary to virtue. Self-love, then, in its good sense, may be acted on by the virtuous man, whose character is already framed on the principle of " the honourable ; " and in that case, he shews, it wiU be coincident with Benevolence ; since the person so pursuing his own interest, will also effectually promote that of others. But this is not the case with the bad man ; since, in pursuit of his views of self-interest, the bad man will at once injure himself and others by compliance with bad passions.^ It is further evident from the above, that he does not admit of Benevolence being made a principle of conduct, otherwise than as it presupposes other moral principles, and is regulated consequently in its exercise by a prevailing regard to the " honourable " or right. He has also enforced his primary notions of Duty by pointing out the proper amiableness of Virtue, both as the only sure tie of attachment between man and man,^ and as the only thing which produces tranquillity, self-satisfaction, and delight, in a man's own bosom. On the latter point, indeed, he speaks almost in terms descriptive ^ Paley's Moi\ and Pol. Philos., book * Eth. Nic. vol. ix. cap. 8 ; Mag. Mor. ii. chap. 3. ii. 13, 14; Polit. ii. 3. ^ See Bishop Butler, Serm. i. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 141 of the joys and pangs of Conscience. ^ So justly has he embraced in his view the most powerful auxiliary principles, without ex- alting them, as some philosophers have done, to an undue place, by making the Theory of Virtue to rest on them. Such, then, is that account of Virtue which Aristotle's Practical Philosophy develops. He delivers it as the theory of perfect conduct — as that which is exemplified in operation whenever human good is realized in life. It is at the same time, it should be observed, both on account of the i^Tature of Virtue, and of the internal process of Man's Constitution by which Virtue is produced. The affections being all habitually mode- rated by Prudence, Virtue is the result ; and in that Moderation consists the Nature of Virtue. He was not, however, inattentive to the fact, that the specu- lative perfection of a practical rule is not realised in Human Life. He was aware that a complete subordination of the Affections to the principle of Prudence, was a task of difficulty above the efforts of Man as he is. So also his view of Vice, as that state of man in which his principles are entirely corrupted,^ — the affections being conformed to evil, so that he continually and insensibly^ chooses evil rather than good* — is a philosophical limit of the extent of human depravity, and not an account of Vice as it actually exists in the world.^ It is, indeed, a just conclusion, from experience of that degradation to which our nature is brought — the hardening of the heart, as the Scripture terms it, by the habitual violation of duty. " For of Virtue and Depravity," he observes, " the one impairs the moral principle, ^ Eth. Nic. ix. cap. 4, EJ "hh to ovre^s xtuxM, i^xiffToe. aiir^TiTa, oc^ixia, ku) u(p^o- tX,nv xiocv \ff'T]\i oi&kiov, (piVKTiov TYiv [jt,o^dyi- ffvtyi. See Bishop Butler's Analogy, ^ixv '^tocTiTo.u.ivus^ xeti tru^ariov iTistxij Chapter on Moral Discipline. iJvai' auru) yko kou •xpoi Ituvrov (tiiXtxu; «v i tt • 7 •• o tt^ ■^ v ^ , ,^ , , r. 7 Ibid. vn. cap. 8, Or/ (/.iv olv xa- ty-oi, xa.1 iTioM (SiXos yivoiro. Eudem. , , , > . n ^ ' . , , / * xia, yi ux^affia, ovx tiTTt, (pavi^ov' ccXXa, •^rvi 'Iffus' TO f/.iv yos.^ -rcc^x ^^oai^tirtv, ro ^i xocra. 'TF^oot.i^Knv la-rtv. I vii. cap, G. ^ Ibid. vii. cap. 8, 'H yu^ upirh xk) f/,ox,h{ia, rhv ot^X^^i ^ H-^^ (phlpu, h "hi ffe!tZ,ii ; vi. 5, "¥.tm yoc^ h KUKia. j ; 2. Art, or the knowledge of Contingent Truth in the operations of man, rsx^r} ; 8. Prudence, (ppovrjffig, or the knowledge of Contingent Truth in the conduct of Life ; 4. Intelligence, or the knowledge of First Principles, voug ; 5. Wisdom or Philosophy Go(p/a ; he assigns the pre-eminence to the last, as the. perfect combination of Science and Intelligence, and as having for its objects the highest natures. That a philosopher, living amidst the disorder and misery occasioned by the want of true Eeligion, should have sought for a perfection of happiness out of the troubled scene in which moral virtue is disciplined, cannot excite our wonder. The calm regions of philosophical contemplation — sapientum templa serena — ^presented a natural refuge to the anxious mind, eager to realize its own abstractions in some perfect form of human life. It was a search, indeed, after that happiness which Eevelation has made known to man — a happiness out of his present sphere of exertion and duty, where he might obtain the full end, or ^ Eth. Nic. vi. c. 2 ; Eudem.W. c. 11 ; Metaph. vi. c. 1. L 146 ARISTOTLE. consummate good, of his being. Aristotle accordingly describes the pursuit of this ulterior happiness, as the " immortalizing" of our nature ; as the living according to what is " divine " in man ; as what renders a man most dear to the Divinity, most godlike.^ Not attributing, however, any real immortality to the nature of man, he could only draw his notion of perfect happiness from a view of the present life.^ In this view, the Intellectual virtues are undoubtedly entitled to the preference ; though experience must have convinced him, that even these were not without their alloy .^ , He by no means, however, regards the exercise of the Intellectual ; virtues as an exemption from the necessity of cultivating the I Moral. The happiness of the Theoretic life is the highest privi- / lege of man's nature. StiU the practice of the Moral virtues is enjoined, that each person may perform his part as a man living amongst men. No philosophy but that of Aristotle has so justly maintained this proposition. Plato would lead his followers into the indolent reveries of mysticism ; the Stoics would reduce theirs to indifference about human things ; the Epi- cureans would absorb theirs in the fulness of present delights ; Cicero would degrade the higher functions of the contemplative life below the ordinary moral duties, confounding the dignity and the indispensableness of an employment. But Aristotle elevates the aim of man to that happiness which, as purely intellectual, is inadequate to the wants of a nature consisting of body and soul ; whilst he calls him also to the strenuous dis- charge of the duties belonging to that compound nature, and to his actual condition in the world. Politics. The experienced inefiiciency of ethical precepts in themselves to produce morality in the lives of men, and the consequent appeal to some external sanction for their enforcement, led to ^ Eth. Nic. X. c. 7 and 8. ' See Bishop Butler's Sermon On the * Ibid. X. c. 8, ai Ti Tov .utriv, Ti'T'Afufji.iyov rpi^iiv. jt. r. X. ^ Ibid. vii. 16, 'r(^v uUhfftv iyyivierdai ^ Ibid. vii. cap, 14. PKACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 157 tendency of particular studies was to contract the mental powers to that particular range of vision to which they were confined : whereas he sought rather to impart a largeness and masculine strength to the understanding, commensurate with the varied demands of the world in which human life is cast. It was what we should express by the education of the accomplished gentle- man, — of one who, exempt from the drudgery of life, and having his actions freely at his own disposal, might be quahfied for the liighest functions to which Nature has destined man in forming him a moral and social being. For it should be observed, that Aristotle throughout supposes an entire immunity from all servile employments, both to the happy man and the happy citizen.^ According to liis view, a large proportion of mankind are physically incapable, either of the happiness of moral beings, or of that of social life. Persons so imperfectly constituted he conceives to be wholly dependent on others, and to be by nature relative beings or slaves ; their proper nature being comprized in this relationship of dependence.^ To this class, accordingly, he would commit all the labours of agriculture, of the mechanical arts, and the market, and all menial offices : whilst others, more gifted by nature, enjoy leisure for the proper duties of man, in the various relations of a moral and social being.^ The justification of the condition of slavery is thus rested by Aristotle on abstract grounds. He viewed it as an institution of nature; differing in this from other philosophers, and from the popular notion of his own countrymen, who either founded it on the right of conquest, or on an assumed original difference between Greek and Barbarian. This was a far more liberal view of the subject than that which prevailed generally in his time. For it implied, that no one had a right to retain another as his slave who was not thus physically dependent. Every one had a right to be free, who was capable of enjoying freedom in the performance of the duties for which man in his perfection was constituted. This doctrine further imposed on the master * Eth. Nic. X. cap. 6, 7 ; Polit. iii. cap. 6, iv. 4. 2 Polit. i. cap. 3, 6. ^ Ihid. vii. cap. 9, 10. 158 ARISTOTLE. a strict moral attention to his slave. The slave was thrown on him not only for support, but for direction in his duties.^ That Eehgion should have formed no part of the business of Education in his system, was further consistent with his Ethics. The Moral xaXbv terminated in the perfect fulfilment of all those relations in which man was placed as a being of this world. It was heightened by the consideration, that Gods might delight in looking down on such perfection, and that in its highest state it resembled the excellence of divinity. But it did not strike its roots into, or draw its nourishment from, Eeligion. Nor did the xaXhif of Social life. The accomplished citizen might "be taught to contemplate himseK in the thoughtful activity of a philosophical leisure, as holding a dignified station among men, analogous to the divine principles which maintain the order of the universe.^ But there was 'no connection between his social virtues and his religious system. The religious colouring was only the borrowed light of Philosophy. All active Eeligion was consigned to the instrumentality of a particular body of men — ^- the Priests. The obligatory force of Eeligion was recognized ; but, being lodged in an external establishment, as its. depository and sanctuary, reverence was sought for it by outward bo ds of respect, by the privileges of the order to whose care it was intrusted, and the splendour of its public spectacles. Aristotle, accordingly, treats the subject merely as one of policy. He observes, that no one of the rank of a mechanic or peasant should be appointed a Priest, since it was necessary that the gods should be honoured by the citizens ; and he points out the importance of the religious character to the absolute sovereign of a state, in order to the obedience of the subject.^ Aristotle's account of his theoretic Polity leaves off abruptly * PoUt. i. cap. 13, vovhr Tiov ya^ agendum, esse natum, quasi mortalem fzcixxov Tovi '^ovXavs *i rovg -reelects. Deum." (Cicero De Fin. ii. cap, 13.) ^ Ibid. vii. cap. 3, 2;^oX>7 ya^ S,v ho; ^ Ibid. V. 11, vii. 9. In CEconom. i. 11:^01 xaXcus, Ku) ?raj o xotrf/.os, oii ovx tii-y\TiKov' xa'Auf Ti TavT/x, 'Ucoi ^^aXi'rov, i PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. IGl ■ I I CONCLUSION. DESIGN OF ARISTOTLE'S PHILOSOPHY — STYLE OF HIS WRITINGS — HIS OBSCURITY — METHOD OF DISCUSSION — ORIGINALITY. From the review which has been taken of the extant writings of Aristotle, it would appear that the great object of the philo- sopher was to discipline the mind by a deep and extensive course of literature. The various inquiries embraced in those writings, — the unwearied research into subjects the most repul- sive from their abstruseness, or the most interesting from their connection with the feelings and actions of men, — the richness of illustration from the volumes of ancient genius, and from observations of mankind with which they abound, are so many proofs of the noble object proposed in his philosophy. It may be fully concluded that it was not the mere sophist of former days, or the disputant on any given question, that Aristotle aimed to accomplish. His object was, like that of Socrates, to render man really wise, by a cultivation of all the moral and intellectual powers of the soul ; in order that the great moral of the whole — the good towards which Nature tends — might be realized in each individual so instructed and disciplined. Agree- ably to this view is the answer attributed to him, when, on being asked what advantage had accrued to him from philosophy, he replied, " To do without constraint what some do through the fear of the laws."^ Some of his works appear to have been written in the form of Dialogue. These were probably of the class called Exoteric ; that form being more adapted to the purpose of explanation and fuller discussion, — which seem to have been characteristics of the Exoteric treatises, in contrast with the concise and sugges- tive form of the Esoteric or Acroamatic. Among his works are also mentioned Epistles to Philip, to Alexander, Olympias, Hephsestion, Antipater, Mentor, Ariston, Themistagoras, Philo- ^ Diog. Laert. in Aristot. M 162 ARISTOTLE. xenus ; besides a collection entitled Epistles of the Belymhnans. A liynin in praise of the virtues of his friend Hermias has been already noticed ; which formed matter of accusation against him on the ground of impiety. It has been preserved by Diogenes Laertius. It consists of twenty-three lyric verses, celebrating Hermias among the heroes who had sacrificed their lives for the cause of virtue. Laertius has also preserved four lines inscribed by him on the statue of Hermias erected at Delphi. His poetical talent was further displayed in verses addressed to Democritus, and in the composition of an elegy ; of both which poems the first lines are given by Laertius. The titles of various other works, or parts of works, occur in the catalogue of his writings. So laborious, and so diversified, were the literary pursuits of this great philosopher. These were w^orks, too, written, we must remember, not by a sequestered individual, enjoying the privacy of a privileged leisure like the Priests of Egypt, but amidst the agitation and troubles of Grecian politics, or in the courts of princes. We may well, therefore, wonder at the abstractedness of mind, the single-hearted zeal of philosophy, which thus steadily pursued its course, creating its own leisure, and keeping the stillness of its own thoughts. Probably, indeed, such writings could hardly have been produced, except with a concurrence of such opposite circumstances. They imply at once the man of the world, and the retired student, — ample opportunities for the contemplation of human nature in the various relations of life, familiarity with the thoughts of others by reading and conversation, as well as intense private medita- tion, that communing with a man's own heart, which alone can extort the deep secrets of moral and metaphysical truth. The style of his writings bears the impress of his devotion to the real business of philosophy. The excellence of his style is, we believe, the last thing to attract the notice of his readers ; and yet, as a specimen of pure Greek, it is found to stand almost unrivalled. The words are selected from the common idiom; but they are employed with the utmost propriety ; and by their collocation are made further subservient to the perspicuity and PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 103 force of his meaning. There is nothing superfluous, nothing intrusive, in his expressions ; but the very ornaments add to the terseness of the style. The metaphors and illustrations employed are apt and striking analogies, availing as arguments, whilst by their simplicity they familiarize the truth to the mind. That these excellencies should escape the notice of the reader engaged in the matter itself of the author, is a proof of the strict adapta- tion of the style to the matter. We can imagine, that to the Greek reader nothing could have been easier than to apprehend the meaning of the philosopher. To the modern, the necessity I of studying the language gives an apparent hardness to expres- sions, whose propriety depends on an accurate perception of the genius of the language. Thus, what was a facility to the ancient reader is a difficulty to the modern, until the latter, by study of the language, has brought himself as much as possible into the situation of the former. This observation will be illustrated by a comparison of the style of Plato with that of Aristotle. Plato's style, undulating with copiousness of diction, is more attractive to the modern reader; his meaning is often more readily appre- hended at the first glance, by the number of expressions which he crowds on a point, and their accumulated force of explanation. But in Aristotle, if we miss the force of a term or a particle, or overlook the collocation of the words, we shall sometimes entirely pervert his meaning.^ There are, however, passages in which Aristotle departs from his usual conciseness, and approaches towards the eloquence of Plato. The concluding chapters of his Nicomachean Ethics may here be particularly pointed out ; or a pai-t of the ninth book of that treatise, in which, evidently imitating Plato, he compares the tumult of uncontrolled passions to the disturbance of civil sedition. There is a dignity and a pathos in these passages, controlled by the general character of severe precision belonging H to his style, yet admirably harmonizing with it. Sometimes, ^ It is probable that the number of tant being described by the titles of the his distinct works has been made to particular subjects to which they refer, appear larger than it really is, by the and thus represented as separate trea- circumstance of parts of those now ex- tises. I 164 ARISTOTLE. indeed, his style is chargeable with too strict a conciseness, as well as, on the other hand, with prolixity. These opposite faults are in him the same in principle ; resulting from the pursuit of extreme accuracy ; — an error in composition, compared by him- self to that illiberality, which consists in too close an attention to minute matters in contracts. ^ 'Nor can it be denied that there is considerable obscurity in the writings of Aristotle. It is important, however, to distinguish this obscurity from that of mere style. It is an effect of the peculiar design with which he appears to have composed them. Some are evidently outlines for the direction of the philosopher himself and his disciples in their disputations — notices of points of inquiry rather than full discussions of the subjects. This is very observable in the MetapJiysics, the Nicomachean Ethics^ and the Rhetoric. Sometimes he contents himself with a reference to his exoteric discussions. ^ It is probable that the most important works of his philosophy were not published in his lifetime ; and that they thus constantly remained by him to receive improve- ments which further observation might suggest. This may partly account for some abruptness in those treatises. In our progress through them, we come to discussions which we had not been led to expect by anything previous in the work. The seventh book of the Ethics, for instance, appears to have been an afterthought ; and so also the eighth and ninth of the same treatise. The work might have been regarded as complete in itself without them. In the Metaphysics, indeed, we can hardly judge what was the exact arrangement of the work ; since it has descended to us in an imperfect, irregular form. But there are like marks in it of successive additions from the author.^ The fact that the writings of Aristotle were left to Theophrastus, and not to his own relatives, would further imply, that they were intended primarily for those who had been trained in his school, ^ Metaph. ii. 3. pixols koyoa, De Ccelo, i. 9, xa.da.'^ip h ^ Eth. NlC. i. 13. Xiysrai 2\ ftp) etur'tjs 'roTs i'yxvxX.iats fpiXoertxprif^acri. £udein,\, 8. xai Iv ToTs i^iariptxots koyoi; apxouvras ^ J^iGhnhr [Jlistory of Some, travs. "p. tvia, xai pf^ptiiTTioy avroT;. Ibid. vi. 4, 16) remarks this particularly of the viffrivo/jLiv IX Tip) ccvtZv xk) roii j|&/ti- Rhetoric. PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY. 165 and by whom his philosox^hy would be rightly transmitted. The immediate occasion of this reserved mode of writing may have been the jealousy of rival philosophers/ or the dread of pagan intolerance. His method of discussion is conformable with the principles proposed in his Dialectical treatises. It is throughout a sifting of the opinions and questions belonging to the subject of inquiry, by examining each in its several points of view, and shewing the consequences involved in it. Accordingly, generally, before fully stating his own conclusions, he considers what may be urged on both sides of the question, putting the objections strongly and fairly, and giving the most candid construction to the views of his predecessors.2 The difficulties proposed he sometimes briefly removes in passing on, having just glanced at them ; at other times he devotes several sentences to their explanation. This, which is his method in parts of his system, is only a specimen of what is the collective result of the whole. His philosophy, dialectically viewed, is an analysis of the theories proposed by the philosophers who had preceded him. Consistently with this, he commences sometimes with observations on logical grounds, or those views of a thing implied in the classifications which language expresses ; and afterwards inquires into the subject physically or philosophically ; when the discussion pro- ceeds on principles of physics or philosophy in general.^ With respect to the originality of his writings, there can be no doubt that he derived important aid from the labours of his predecessors, and especially from those of Plato. An accurate examination of his writings will convince the reader that they are ^Valerius Maximus, viii. 14, repre- ^ Occasionally he illustrates from ety- hends Aristotle's sensitiveness on this mology, as in deducing «^«,- from 'ihs point, mentioning his annoyance at the (Eth. Nic. ii. 1), a-uippoa-vvn from ffu^uv authorship of his -RAetoWcheing imputed (ppovntriv {Eth. Nic. vi. 5). "It is a to Theodectes, to whom he had pre- practice with us all," he ohserves {De sented the work for publication, and his Coelo, ii. 13, p. 467), " to pursue an care to assert his right to the treatise inquiry, not as it belongs to the thing, in a subsequent work. but relatively to an opponent in argu- ^ Metaph. iii. 1 ; Topic, i. 2 ; Dc Ccelo, mcnt." ii. 13, etc. 166 ARISTOTLE. the productions of one who had deeply drunk of the fountain of Plato's inspiration. But they shew, at the same time, such a dis- ciple as we may suppose the spirit of Plato would have delighted in ; one who cherished the authority of the preceptor, and yet had the courage to love the truth still more ; ^ one who thought it necessary to consult what others had said wisely and truly before him, and yet would examine a question finally with an inde- pendent discriminative judgment.^ Estimating his philosophy thus, we may pronounce it to be truly his own. It was the fruit of his own sagacious, penetrating mind. A sufficient proof of this is his disagreement with Plato on the theory of Ideas, — the Origin of the universe, — and the Immortality of the soul. He has been charged, indeed, with invidious opposition to Plato, with corruption and misrepresentation of the tenets of his pre- decessors. Jewish writers have even absurdly accused him of plagiarism from the books of Solomon.^ But there is no real foundation for these charges ; they are at best but surmises ; and they are fully contradicted by the internal evidence of the writ- ings themselves. ^ Eth. Nic. i. 6, ocfji.(po7v yap ovroiv (p'lKoiv, ^i»dZ,iff0a.t "^oxitv, x. t. X. ; Pollt. ii. 6 ; o(Tiov 'rportfi.S.v rhv akrjuav. This is Metaph. xiv. 8, p. 1002, Du Val. also the sentiment of Pluto, Rep. x. 595, ® Biucker, Hist. Grit. Phil. vol. i. p. aXA.' ov yap -rpi yi rtj; akr)hias Ttf^riTios 794. This was merely to excuse theii' «»«/'. own adoption of his philosophy, as - De Ccelo, i. 10, ro yap i^^f^nv xara- Brucker observes. PLATO The birtli of Plato is nearly coincident with that great epoch of Grecian history, the commencement of the Pelopennesian war. In the first year of that war, the Athenians, having ejected the unhappy people of iEgina, apportioned the island amongst colo- nists from themselves,^ Amongst these Athenian occupants were Aristo, and Perictione or Potona, as she is also called, the father and mother of Plato. Their residence, however, in the island was not permanent nor even long, as the intrusive colony was in its turn ejected by the Laced£emonians, on which occasion his parents returned to Athens.^ It was during this interval, and in the year 429 B.C., that the philosopher was born.^ From these circumstances, it has been commonly supposed that Plato was born in ^gina. They are not, however, sufficient to establish such a conclusion. For a colonization of the kind here described did not necessarily imply residence on the part of those persons to whom the lands were allotted.* Nor is the fact of the recovery of the island by the Lacedaemonians from the hands of the Athenians, mentioned by the contemporary historian, ^gina was still in the occupation of the Athenians in the fifth year of the Peloponnesian war ;^ and in the eighth year of the war we find that the poor exiles, who had meanwhile obtained a refuge at Thyrea, were there cruelly exterminated by the Athenians,^ On the whole, it seems more probable, from the constant designation of Plato as " the Athenian," without any other addition, though 1 Thucyd. ii. 27. = Diog. Laert. in Vit. Plat. 3 Ibid. * Thucyd. iii. 50. ' Ibid, iii. 72. « Ibid, iv. 56, 57. 168 PLATO. this alone, it must be allowed, is not decisive of the fact, that Athens itself may claim the honour of having been his birthplace. It is remarkable that his proper name was not that which his fame has immortalized, but Aristocles, after his paternal grandfather.^- The name of Plato is said to have been given to him by the person who was his master in the exercises of the gymnasium, as characteristic of his athletic frame in his youth.^ In this way, being familiarly applied to him, it gradually pre- vailed, to the entire disuse of his family name. The philosopher was connected by descent with the ancient worthies of Athens ; on his mother's side with Solon, and on his fathei-'s with the patriot king Codrus.^ And thus, according to the notions of nobility prevalent amongst the Greeks,* he could trace up the honours of his parentage to a divine founder, in the person of the god Neptune. A circumstance is related of his infancy, which, though ob- viously fabulous, cannot properly be omitted in his biography, as a pleasing and appropriate tribute of the imaginative genius of the Greeks to their poet-philosopher. Wliilst he was sleeping when a babe, on Mount Hymettus, in a bower of myrtles, during the performance of a sacrifice by his parents to the muses and the nymphs, bees, it is said, lighted on him and dropped honey on his lips, thus giving an evident augury of that peculiar sweet- ness of style by which his eloquence would be distinguished.^ For the same reason, a similar fancy, which has thrown a poetical ornament over the account of his first devotion to philo- sophy, must not be passed over in silence. Socrates, it is related, was apprized beforehand, in a dream, of the first visit of the gifted pupil, who was destined to carry philosophy forth on ^ Aristocles was also a Spartan name, ^ His family also is shewn to have being the name of the brother of the been of rank, from its connection with king Pleistoanax. Thucyd. v. 17. some of "the Thirty," called "the '^ As derived from irXarh, hroad. La- Thirty Tyrants," established at Athens ertius gives this explanation, which Se- by the Lacedsemoniang. See Plat. Ep. neca also adopts {Epist. Iviii. 27), but vii. says others interpreted the name as de- . „ tt i . t^ - , .« noting a broad forehead; others, as cha- ^'^ "''•"^"*- ^"''^- ^^^' racteristic of his style of eloquence. '' Cicero, De Divin. i. 36. L HIS LIFE. 169 the wings of his genius to its "boldest flights. Socrates was tell- ing his dream to some persons around him, how he seemed to see a young swan coming from an altar in the grove of Academus, and first nestling in his bosom, then soaring up on high, and singing sweetly as it rose in the air, when Aristo p'esented him- self, leading his son Plato, whom he committed to the instruction of the sage. Socrates, it is added, struck by the coincidence, immediately recognized the fulfilment of his dream, and wel- comed Plato as the young swan from the altar, represented to him in the vision. The accounts of his early education, to which we should naturally have looked with great interest, are extremely meagre. We only know by general notices that he passed through the usual course of education adopted amongst the higher classes of the Greeks. That education was directed to the cultivation at once of the powers of the mind and of the body, under the two great divisions of literature and gymnastics. The youth was delivered to the charge of the grammarian, the teacher of music, and the trainer. Prom the grammarian he learned the art of reading and writing his own language, and a knowledge of its authors, especially its poets ; from the teacher of music, skill in performing on the lyre and the flute, together with the principles of the science of music ; from the trainer he acquired strength and expertness in the several exercises of wrestling, and boxing, and running, by which it was intended not only to mature the powers of the body, but to qualify the youth for attaining emi- nence at the public games. These were the schoolmasters of the accomplished Athenian, and with these he was occupied until he had reached about his twentieth year. Accordingly the names have been transmitted to us of those who discharged these offices for Plato ; of Dionysius,^ as the grammarian under whom he learned the elements of that command over his own language, and its lite- rary resources, which his matured eloquence so richly displayed ; of Draco of Athens, and Metellus of Agrigentum, as his masters in music ; and of Aristo the Argive, as his master in gymnastics. ^ Mentioned by Plato in Amatores, and by Aristotle, Top. vi. 10. 170 PLATO. It is added that he also studied painting ; but the name has not been given of any individual who acted as his preceptor in the art. In evidence of his great proficiency in these early studies, it has been stated that he gave specimens of his genius in every department of poetical composition ; that in epic poetry he laboured after the highest excellence, and only abandoned the attempt on comparing his efforts with the poems of Homer, and despairing of reaching so high a standard ; that in dramatic poetry, he had prepared a tetralogy, the four plays usually re- quired of an author in order to competing for the prize at the festival of Bacchus, but changed his purpose only the day be- fore the exhibition, in consequence of impressions received from Socrates. And even in gymnastics excellence has been claimed for him ; since it has been asserted that he actually entered the lists at the Isthmian games. Whatever credit we may give to these particulars, there can be no doubt, that so inquisitive a mind as that of Plato, and so resolute a spirit in the prosecution of its undertakings, received the full benefit of this preliminary culture ; and that he was thus amply prepared for entering on the severer discipline of those pursuits which engaged him when he became a hearer of Socrates. This preliminary education, in fact, was very imperfect as a discipline of the mind. It gave the youth a forwardness and fluency of knowledge, so that he was fain to fancy himself, when he had scarcely attained manhood, equal to undertake affairs of state, and to serve the highest offices of the government. But it did not form his mind or character. He had yet to learn the nature of man ; to study the principles of ethics and politics. This task of instruction devolved on the sophist or the philo- sopher (as the same person was at first indifferently called), into whose hands the Greek youth was now delivered. Plato, accordingly, at the age of twenty years, began to be a regular attendant on the lessons of Socrates. The reputation of Socrates as a teacher in this higher walk of education, now eclipsed that of all other professors of philosophy. He had at I HIS LIFE. 171 once exposed the incompetence of the Sophists who preceded him, and superseded them in their office. Plato would be con- ducted to him by his father, as the account states he was, very- much in the way which is depicted under caricature by the comic poet,^ as to the most distinguished master of the day, to be qualified for taking on him those public duties to which every citizen of Athens might be called ; to enable him to distinguish himself in counsel and argument, and obtain influence and im- portance in society. From the numbers that resorted to Socrates, as well as to the Sophists before him, it is plain that, to ob- tain instruction in Philosophy for its own sake, or to become philosophers themselves, was not the object with which he was sought by the generality. Here and there the spark fell on a kindred genius, and lighted up a flame of philosophy in the breast of a disciple. Thus from the school of Socrates came the founders of several other schools ; and, on the whole, a greater impulse was given by his teaching to the study of Philosophy than had ever been felt before in Greece. Still, as Socrates him- self did not profess to teach his hearers wisdom, so neither did they in general come to him as learners of wisdom, or as actuated by the pure love of wisdom, but to acquire practical information which their previous studies had not given them. We may imagine such a disciple as Plato first presenting himself amongst the multitude of hearers ; how he would be struck, on the first observation of the extraordinary manner of Socrates, especially at finding the very person to whom he came to be taught pro- fessing that "he knew nothing;" and that he was only wiser than other men on this account ; that, whilst others knew not and presumed they knew, he neither knew nor presumed that he knew. The interest of such a mind as Plato's could not but be powerfully called forth by so strange an avowal on the part of a man whom he had been led to look up to as the wisest of men. To him it must naturally have prompted the questions, what Philosophy might be ; what the nature and condition of Man ; what the criteria of truth and falsehood ; and thus have firmly ^ Aristoph. Nubes. 172 PLATO. laid hold of those tendencies to speculation which we see fully- developed in the mature fruits of his genius. Again and again he is present at the searching investigations carried on in the discussions of which Socrates is the leader ; soon he is himself interrogated by Socrates ; and we cannot doubt that he is thence- forward irrevocably become, not the disciple of Socrates only, but the disciple and votary of Philosophy. That Plato was thus won over to Philosophy from an early period of his life, is evident from the statement of Aristotle respecting him, that " from his youth he had been conversant with Cratylus, and the opinions of Heraclitus,"^ and from the indications in two at least of his dialogues (and these supposed to be the earliest in the date of their composition, as written indeed during the lifetime of Socrates), the Phcedrus and the Lysis, of his early acquaintance with Pythagorean notions. There seems, too, but little room to doubt that he had begun at the same time to study the doctrines of the Ionic school under Hermogenes, as well as those of Parmenides and Zeno. For what he puts into the mouth of Socrates in the Plicedo^ respect- ing Anaxagoras, is probably (as Socrates himself was known to have had a strong aversion to physical science) the expression of his own disappointment and dissatisfaction at the outset of his studies, in the conclusions of the school, of which Anaxagoras was then the chief authority. Of Parmenides, again, he more than once speaks in terms of enthusiasm, as of a name with which he had very early associations of reverence ; ^ here, as an instance of Anaxagoras, we are disposed to think, depicting in the person of Socrates, a portion of the history of his own mind. Judging indeed from the tenor of his writings, we should conclude that his curiosity was excited, from a very early period, to explore the whole field of philosophy ; and that, so far from * Aristot. Metaph. i. 3. fj.oL {feaiverai to tov 'Ofi-fjpov, aibolbs ri 2 Phced. pp. 220-225, ed. Bip. ixol elvac &/jLa SeLvSs re' avixirpoaiixi^a yap ^ M^Xicraov /xh Kal roiis &X\ovs, ot iv drj ry dvdpl, irdvv vios, irdvv TrpeaSirri' earbs Xiyovai rb irdv, alcrx^vbaevos p-r) Kal pi,oi iipaprj /3d^os ti ix^iv iravTdiraai (popriKuis s firjd^ fieO'' eT^piav. ol AaKedaifiSpioL vTrjp^av, roi>s ifjiiropovs ^ The conduct of Dionysius towards oils ^XaSov 'A^fjvdLcov Kal tCov ^vp.p.dx(^v Pliiloxenus, the dithyrambic poet, for ev okKdai irepl HcKoirbvvqpov irXeburas freely giving his opinion on the bad aTOKTdvavTes, Kal is (pdpayyas ea^aXov- poetry of Dionysius, was very similar, res. travras y&p dr} Kar dpxds rov iroXi- See Diodorus Siculus, xv. 6, who also, /xov ol AaK€daifi6i'iot daovs Xafioieu iu rfj in xv. 7, confirms the account of this I '^aXdcrari, ws TroXe^u/oi'S di^^^eipov, Kal treatment of Plato. 186 PLATO. little interruption, the course of philosophical labour for which his whole previous life had prepared him. The term " Academy" is now familiar to every one as synonymous with a place of learning. How strongly does this mark the celebrity of a school, which has thus immortalized in vernacular language the grove of the hero Academus or Hecademus, the ground on which Plato walked, and, as he walked, imparted to the throng around him the riches of his genius, and taste and learning ! Here, in the most beautiful suburb of Athens, the Ceramicus, Plato possessed a small patrimony, a garden, where he fixed his abode, in the immediate vicinity of the grove, his daily resort. Here, amongst the tall plane-trees which shaded the walks, were assembled, year after year, the master-spirits of the age, whether in pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, or for counsel in the direction of public or private life, — the philosopher, the statesman, and the man of the world, — to converse with the Athenian sage, and im- bibe the wisdom which fell from his lips. What an interesting assemblage must that have been which comprised in it, amongst other influential persons, and young men who afterwards rose to importance in their respective states, Demosthenes, Hyperides, Aristotle, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Dion! At once you might see in the throng the young and the gay by the side of the old and the sedate ; the stranger from some distant tow^n of Asia Minor, or Thrace, or Magna Grsecia, and the citizen of Athens ; the Tyrant of some little state learning theories of govern- ment and laws from the philosopher of the Eepublic ; and the haughty Lacedaemonian paying deference to the superior wisdom of an individual of a country which his own had humbled in arms.^ Nor was the audience exclusively of the male sex. The wives and daughters of Athenian citizens, indeed, were not in that assembly ; for custom excluded these. But the accom- plished courtezan, whom the unnatural exclusion of the chaste ^ In the Dialogue " on Laws," it is was seen in the Academia itself. So- the Athenian stranger who instructs the crates is away ; Plato speaks ; Cretans Lacedaemonian and Cretan in the theory and Lacedaemonians, among others, are of legislation. Here we have pro- the auditors, bahly a representation of what actually tHIS LIFE. 187 atron and daughters of a family from the social circle beyond their own homes, had raised to importance in Grecian society, was there, seeking the improvement of her mind by joining in the discussions and listening to the instructions of the philoso- pher, and thus qualifying herself for that part which she had to fciustain as an intimate with the men of the highest rank and most intellectual cultivation in Greece. As Aspasia, so cele- brated in History, on account of her intimacy with Pericles at the height of his power, and her influence with that great man, was herself a disciple of Socrates ; so in Plato's own school of the Academia were found, with others, probably, of less name, of the same class, the Mantinean Lasthenea, and Axiothea of Phlius. Socrates attracted persons around him from all parts of the Grecian world, by the charm of his engaging conversation, and thus became in himself a great object of interest.^ Plato made Athens itself also, even more than his own person, an object of interest to the civilized world of his day ; converting it from being only the centre of political intrigue and agitation to the cities of Greece, into a common university, and common home for all. Compare what was said of Athens about half a century before, "that it was the nature of Athenians neither to keep quiet themselves, nor to suffer other people to do so,"^ and its well-known character at that time of a "tyrant state," with the respect which Plato had won for it, when it became, not through the versatility of its citizens, and its inexhaustible resources, but by a truer title, through the lessons of virtue and wisdom, which it freely imparted to all, pre-eminently the School of Greece ; — and what an exalted opinion does the change now operated give us of the influence of Plato ! Isocrates had, at the same time, his school of Ehetoric over- flowing with pupils. Aristippus, also trained in the school of Socrates, was inculcating his scheme of ethics, which maintained ^ During the representation of "the philosopher who had attracted so much Clouds," he stood up in a conspicuous notice as to he personated on the stage, part of the theatre to gratify the curiosity ^lian. Var. Hist. ii. 13. of the audience, many of them strangers vidting Athens at the festival, to see the - Thucyd. i. 70. 188 PLATO. the theory of Pleasure as the Chief Good. But esteemed as Isocrates was for the gentleness of his life, and his skill as a master of Ehetoric ; and acceptable as the doctrines of Aristippus must naturally have been to a corrupt society ; neither of these great names sufficed to obscure the greater name of Plato, or could rival the pretensions of the Academia to be the great school of philosophy, and literature, and civilization. A mind so intensely occupied as that of Plato, would scarcely find leisure for taking part in the political affairs of his country. The profession of Philosophy was not as yet, indeed, become entirely distinct ; but the teaching of Socrates had greatly tended to render it so. His rigorous method of interrogation which called forth the latent difficulties on other subjects, could not but produce great distrust in those who laid themselves fully open to it, as to their own ability to manage the complex matters of public concern, as w^ell as impress them with despair of success in that walk of exertion. Socrates himself avoided as far as possible all interference in the politics of Athens. Plato strictly followed his example. Accordingly, we find, in several places of his writings, a contrast drawn between the philosopher and the man of public life ; and an indirect apology for himself, as one who kept aloof from the public assemblies and the courts.^ He betrays, indeed, strong disgust, not unmixed with contemptuous feeling, at the state of misrule into which the democracy of Athens had degenerated in his day, and he was evidently glad to avail himself of the plea of Phi- losophy, to absent himself from scenes so uncongenial to his taste. Doubtless, independently of any political bias, he was glad to escape from the sycophancy and tumult of the popular assemblies at Athens, and to enjoy the calm shades of his beloved retreat. This was the sphere of action for which nature and his whole previous life had peculiarly fitted him. Here he could effectually diffuse the salutary influence of his philosophy, in counteracting, in some measure at least, the selfishness of the ^ Phfedo, p. 145; Tkea't. p. 115, ct scq. ; Gorg. p. 82, et seq. ; Jlepuh. vi. p. 79 ; ^pist. vii. ed. Bip. His LIFE. 189 ■ world. Here lie could maintain an undisputed supremacy over minds, which (such was the impatience of all authority in those times) no mere external power could have controlled, or so entirely subjected to the direction of an individual. B Through the influence, however, of his Pythagorean friends, with whom he appears to have held constant intercourse, Plato twas prevailed upon, at the age of sixty-five years, to quit the retirement of his garden for a time, and pay a second visit to Sicily.^ It was the policy, indeed, of the Pythagoreans, like that of the Jesuits in modern times, to keep up an active intercourse with society, whilst in their internal system they cultivated phi- losophy with the ardour of exclusive devotees. Socrates wished to govern the conduct of men by an appeal to their reason ; con- vincing them of their errors and follies, and leading them to seek the means of informing themselves aright. The Pythago- reans, like the Jesuits, aspired to carry out their views by a moral hold over men in society ; by taking part, accordingly, in the management of states, and by a secret influence over those in power. The accession of the younger Dionysius to the throne of Syracuse, and the opening presented for producing an effect on him through Plato's influence with Dion, the next in power to the Tjrrant, were opportunities which would not be lost by their watchful zeal. Such seems, if we may proceed on the authority of the Epistles, to have been the occasion of this invi- tation of Plato to Syracuse. We see, at the same time, that there was a struggle of factions at Syracuse at this period. The party opposed to Dion, in order to counteract his influence, obtained the recall of Philistus, a man distinguished alike as a statesman, ^L a commander, and an historian,^ and a strenuous supporter of I ^ Diogenes Laertius says, he went to '^ Cicero speaks of Philistus as a writer Sicily on this occasion, in order to found in the following manner : Philistum a city according to the principles of his doctum hominem et diligentem. {De Republic, but that Dionysius failed in Divin. i. 20.) Catonem cum Philisto et his promise of land and men for the pur- Thucydide comparares? . • . quos enim pose. But others, he adds, stated that ne e Grsecis quidem quisquam imitari the object of his visit was the liberation potest. {De Clar. Orat. c. 85, Op. Tom. of the island from tyranny. In Vit. Plat. i. p. 480, ed Olivet, 1758.) 190 PLATO. the existing government, but then in banishment through the ingratitude and caprice of the elder Dionysius. The result was, that though the reception of Plato at Syracuse was most flatter- ing, for he was welcomed with the royal pomp of a decorated chariot, and the celebration of a public sacrifice, his mission was, after all, utterly fruitless. At first everything seemed prosperous. The change wrought in the manners of the court is described as marvellous. Philosophy became the fashion ; and the very palace was filled with the dust stirred up by the number of geometricians. Even the expulsion of Dion, which soon followed, through the successful intrigues of his enemies, did not at once estrange Dionysius from the philosopher. He would not, indeed, allow Plato to leave Sicily with Dion : but, using a gentle constraint over him, detained him within the precincts of the citadel ; shewing him at the same time all respect, and hoping at last, as it seems, to bring him over to his interest. At length the attention of Dionysius was called to preparations for war ; and Plato, released from his embarrassing situation, was enabled to return to Athens. He was not, however, deterred from once more making the trial, how far an impression could be made on the mind of Dionysius, and the restoration of Dion to his country effected ; and, as on the former occasion, so now, he was chiefly induced to undertake the enterprise, by the earnest intercession of his P3rthagorean friends. Dion himself was living at Athens, wait- ing the opportunity of returning to his country ; and his relatives at Syracuse sent letters to Plato, urging him to use his exertions in behalf of Dion. Even Dionysius himself wrote a letter to him, entreating him to come, and promising satisfaction at the same time in regard to Dion. He also sent a trireme for him, with Archidemus, a disciple of Archytas, and others with whom the philosopher was acquainted, to render the voyage more agreeable to him.^ For a while Plato persisted in declining the invitation, pleading his advanced age, for he was now sixty-eight years old ;^ but at length he gave way to these united solicitations. 1 Plat. Epi8t. vii. p. 124. 2 g ^ ggj HIS LIFE. 191 The second Dionysius, indeed, like his father, was fond of drawing around him men of eminence for literature and philosophy. At this time, amongst others of the same class at his court, were the philosophers Diogenes, ^schines, Aristippus, and some Pytha- goreans. Plato might have not unreasonably hoped, therefore, that a mind delighting in such society, or at least ambitious of the reputation of being a patron of literature, might yet be influenced to sound philosophy. He was, besides, desirous of making an attempt to produce a reconciliation between Dionysius and Dion. Thus did he pass the Straits of Sicily a third time, to be a third time disappointed in the object of his voyage. Though he was welcomed, as before, with great splendour and demonstrations of respect, not only were his endeavours for the restoration of Dion unsuccessful, but he incensed the tyrant by venturing to intercede in behalf of Heraclides, a member of the liberal party at Syracuse, who was under suspicion of having tampered with the mercenaries. Still Dionysius was desirous of retaining the friendship of the philosopher. Plato was removed, indeed, from the garden in which he lived, under the pretence of a sacrifice about to be performed there by women, and placed in the quarter of the mercenaries. Such a situation was most unplea- sant to him ; as he could not but feel himself in danger amongst that lawless class, who naturally disliked him, as an enemy of the power which gave them employment and pay.^ But this indignity was probably more the effect of the hostility of the opposite party against Dion, than an act of the weak Tyrant himself. Plato, in his perplexity, applied to Archytas and the Pythagoreans at Tarentum, to extricate him from these difficult circumstances. At their instance, accordingly, Dionysius con- sented to the departure of Plato, and dismissed him with kind- Iness, furnishing him with supplies for his voyage. Thus did Plato once more return to Athens, heartily disgusted with the untoward result of his visits to Sicily.^ Though the ^ Plutarch, in Dion. 'M.efiiarjKojs t^v irepl ^LKeXiap ir\dvrjv Kol arvx^o-v. (Plato, Ejp. vii. 149, Bip. ed.) 192 PLATO. acted ill Sicily consistently with liis conduct at Atliens, in not taking any active pai-t in political affairs. Even Dionysius him- self seems, throughout his conduct towards him, to have been jealous rather of his personal regard for Dion, than suspicious of any exertion on his part in the cause of Dion against him, and to have sought to detain him at Syracuse, not out of fear or ill will, but for the honour of the presence of the philosopher at his court. This is further evinced by the subsequent conduct of Plato. For, in the expedition which Dion planned and executed against Dionysius, he took no part ; making answer to the invi- tation to join in it, " that if invited to assist in doing any good, he would readily concur ; but as for doing evil to any one, they must invite others, not hiin."^ The remaining years of his life were gently worn away amidst the labours of the Academia. These labours were unin- termitted to the very close of a long life ; for he died, according to Cicero's account, in the act of writing ; his death happening on the day in which he completed his eighty-first year. " Such," adds Cicero, " was the placid and gentle old age of a life spent in quietness, and purity, and elegance."^ Another account, how- ever, of his death, states that he died during his presence at a marriage-feast.^ And another account besides (evidently the invention of some enemy to his fame), attributes his death to a loathsome disease.* On his first residence in the garden of the Academia, his health had been impaired by a lingering fever, in consequence of the marshiness of the ground. He was urged to remove his residence to the Lyceum, the grove afterwards fre- quented by the school of Aristotle ; but such was his attachment to the place, that he preferred it, he said, even to the proverbial salubrity of Mount Athos ; and he continued struggling against the disorder for eighteen months, until at length liis constitution successfully resisted it.^ Adopting habits of strict temperance, he thus preserved his health during the remainder of his life. * Ep. p. 149. ^ Diog. Laert. in Vit. after Hermippus. ^ j)q Senect. c. 5. * Diog. Laert. in Vit. ^ iElian. HIS LIFE. 193 amidst tlie harassings of foreign travel, and tlie nnderminiiig assiduities of days and nights of study. Plato was never married. He had two brothers, Glauco and Adimantus, and a sister, Potona, whose son, Speusippus, he ap- pears to have regarded with peculiar affection and interest, as the destined successor to his school of Philosophy. He inherited a very small patrimony, and he died poor, leaving but three minas of silver, two pieces of land, and four slaves, and a few articles of gold and silver, to the young Adimantus, the son, or grandson, as it would seem, of his brother of that name.^ In person he is described as graceful in his youth, and if the etymology of his name be correct, as remarkable for the manly frame of his body.^ One circumstance, however, is mentioned, which detracts in some measure from his bodily accomplish- ments ; the imperfection of his voice, which has been character- ized as wanting in strength of tone.^ In regard to moral qualities, he was distinguished by the gravity, and modesty, and gentleness of his demeanour. He had never been observed from his youth to indulge in excessive laughter.* Several anecdotes are told of his self-command under provocation, as, for example, his declining to inflict the due punishment on a slave when he found himself under the excite- ment of anger.^ A pleasing instance is given of his amiableness and modesty, at a time when his fame was at its height. Some strangers, into whose company he had been thrown at Olympia, coming afterwards to Athens, were received by him there with the greatest courtesy. All the while, however, they were ignorant who their host was. They merely knew that his name was Plato. On their requesting him to conduct them to the Academia, and shew them his namesake, the associate of Socrates, ^ Diog. Laert. in Vit. ; Aul. Gell. ^ Diog. Laert. in Vit. Seneca De Noc. Att. iii. 18. Ira. The anecdotes themselves can 2 Eratquidem corpus validum ac forte hardly be regarded as original. Similar sortitus, et illi nomen latitude pectoris stories are told of others, as of Archytas. fecerat. (Seneca, Epist. 58.) Ex quo illud laudatur Archytse ; qui cum ^ 'l(Txv6ing and subduing the wild aberrations of his speculative fancy. His remains were buried in the place which he had ennobled whilst living. JSTor were they unattended by the customary tributes of honour and affection. Aristotle, who had been his constant disciple during the last twenty years preceding his death, displayed his veneration for his preceptor by consecrating an altar to him. A festival, called after him Platonea, was instituted in honour of him, and celebrated annually by his disciples. A statue, dedicated to the Muses, was afterwards erected in the Academia by Mithridates the Persian. He had not, indeed, been dead but a very few years, when the great celebrity of his name called forth from his nephew and successor, Speusippus, an express work in his praise. Seneca further tells us of a singular mark of honour which was paid to him on the very day of his decease. There were some Magi, he relates, at Athens at the time, who, struck by the singular circumstance of his having exactly completed the perfect number of nine times nine years, performed a sacrifice to him, esteeming him On that account to have been more than man.^ The story is evidently the invention of his later admirers. It is referred to here, as a testimony of the enthusiastic admiration with which his name has been ever attended. To the same feeling must be ascribed the fiction of the discovery of his body in the time of Constantine the Great, with a golden tablet on the breast, recording his prediction of the birth of Christ, and his own belief in the Saviour to come.^ ^ Senec. Ep. Iviii. 28. ^ Brucker, Hist. Crit. Phil. torn. i. p. 654. I 198 ^ PLATO. PLATO'S WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. The writings of Plato obtained an early popularity. Already, during his lifetime, copies of them appear to have been circu- lated. An iambic line, "koyoiaiv 'E^/m^oduPog s/M'Tro^iusrui, proverbially applied, long after the time of Plato, to those who made a traffic of the writings of others,^ shews that there w^as an immediate demand for them in Greece. The Hermodorus here referred to, was one of his hearers, who is said to have sold the writings of the philosopher in Sicily for his own profit. The fact of their early circulation is further evidenced, if it be true, as has been stated, that complaints were made by some of the persons whose names appear in the Dialogues, and even by Socrates himself, of the manner in which they had been represented in them by Plato.^ It is very probable, also, that during the long time in which he was publicly teaching at Athens, and, doubtless, recur- ving frequently to the same topics of discussion, considerable portions of what he delivered orally, were treasured up in the memory of some who heard them, and afterwards written down, and thus published to the world without having received the finishing touches of the author's hand. The practice, indeed, of thus carrying off tlie oral lessons of the philosopher is alluded to by Plato himself in passages of his writings, as in the Plicedo, and Thecetetus, and Parmenides ; where the dialogue is related l)y some one remembering what has passed in conversation on a former occasion. This circumstance may, at once, account for the comparative inferiority of some of the DialogTies in point of execution, and for the fact that some have been passed under his name which are not really his ; whilst we have, at the same time, a very considerable collection of writings authenticated by testimonies descending from his own times. ^ Die milii, placetne tibi, primum, ros solitus est divulgare ; ex quo \6yoi- rdere injussu meo ? Hoc ne Hennodo- civ 'Epfx^diopos. Cicer. Bp. ad. Att. nis quidem faciebat, is qui Platonis lib- xiii. 21. * Atlieiia^ns, xi. 113. H7S WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 199 ■ It is by no means necessary for our purpose here (wliicli is to obtain a just general view of the character of the philosopher and his writings), to enter into the criticisms by which doubts ■ have been thrown on particular Dialogues, and on different dia- H logues by different critics, out of the number commonly included H amongst the genuine works of Plato. We may only remark, that H these doubts do not rest on external testimony, but are drawn from H considerations of the internal character of particular writings, H which have been judged inferior to the rest in matter and execu- W tion. Nor is it necessary that we should discuss the various theo- ■ ries proposed for connecting the several Dialogues, and tracing in them the gradual formation and development of the philosophical system of the author. This inquiry certainly has its interest ; and could we arrive at any clear results in the prosecution of it, it would be valuable, for the light which it would throw on the interpretation of the philosophy of Plato. But though we can discover a connection between several of the Dialogues, like that of a series of discussions on the same subject, it is not possible to decide on tlie order in which the points discussed presented themselves to the philosopher's mind, or which we are to regard as the more mature expression of his doctrines. This inquiry further demands a decision of the agitated question concerning the double teaching practised in the ancient schools, known by the technical division into esoteric and exoteric, or mystic and popular ; the former addressed to the mature disciple, the latter to the novice or general hearer. There are undoubtedly marks of a recognition of this distinction throughout the writings of Plato ; ^ and it is also probably referred to by Aristotle, when he speaks of the " unwritten doctrines " of Plato.^ But we cannot practically employ it in determining the relative value of parti- cular discussions or statements in his writings, without involving ourselves in a maze of theoretic disquisition, and ending at last, perhaps, in absolute scepticism respecting his doctrines. But there is a particular class of writings attributed to him, I which would possess a peculiar interest for us, if we could ^ Conviv. p. 245. ^ Aristot. PJiys. iv. 2. rots Xeyofiiuocs dypd(pois ddyfiacny. .200 PLATO. establish their genuineness ; respecting which, however, the severe verdict of modern criticism compels us to hesitate in pro- nouncing on their genuineness. We mean what are commonly published in the editions of his w^orks as the Epistles of Plato. By some the question has been regarded as settled beyond controversy, against their reception.^ The style of their com- position has been judged to be quite below the character of Plato's mind. The apologetic tone of the chief part of them has also been considered as evidence of their having proceeded from friends or disciples of Plato, vindicating his character from mis- representations in regard to his intercourse with the court of Syracuse. But though we may allow weight to these considera- tions, they are not sufficient peremptorily to decide the question against the Epistles ; particularly as we have in their favour the authority, not only of Plutarch, who founds much of the narra- tive in his life of Dion upon them, but of Cicero, referring to them and quoting them expressly as writings of Plato.^ Perhaps no philosophical writer has ever received so early and ample a recompense of his labours, not only in the reception and circulation of his writings, but in the still more glorious tribute of the spread of his philosophy, as Plato has received. We have mentioned the ordinary marks of admiration which accompanied him during his life and after his death. A more enduring monument was reserved for him in the foundation of the school of Alexandria, not many years after his voice had ceased to be heard in the groves of the Academia. There, as in a fitting temple, on the confines of the Eastern and Western Worlds, was enshrined the Philosophy that had moulded into one the philosophical systems of the East and the West. And though, in the course of things, the infusion of Eastern Philo- sophy predominated at Alexandria, it was still under the vene- rated name of Plato that the new system was taught. The dis- ciples of the Alexandrian school were proud to call themselves ^ Mitford, Hist, of Greece, vol. vi. ; Ins fere verbis : " Quo cum venissem, Ritter, Hist, of Anc. Phil. vita ilia beata qureferebatiir," etc. Tusc. "^ Est praeclara Epistola Platonis ad Qa. v, 35; also De Offic. i. 7 ; and De Dionis propinquos ; in qua scriptum est Fin. ii. 14. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 201. 'Platonists, and to regard themselves as interpreters of the teach- ing of Plato, whilst they altered and disfigured that teaching. Here, then, was erected the proper monument to his fame. Meanwhile, in the Academia, teachers in regular succession I transmitted their inheritance of his name, and by the charm of that, prolonged a feeble existence. For the spirit which had formed and animated the school had fled with him ; and the Middle and New Academics only attested, by their lingering decay, the strength of the foundation on which they had been built. How great the influence of Plato was on the philosophy of the Eomans, needs not to be told to those who are even slightly acquainted with the philosophical writings of Cicero. And even when Christianity threw into the shade all systems of man's wisdom, the only philosophy which maintained its credit at the first, was that of Plato. Christian teachers were found, not un- willing to own that there was great accordance between his doctrines and the revealed truth. Whilst, on the one hand, there were disciples of the philosopher who claimed for him all that was excellent in the Christian scheme, there were Christians who asserted, that he had learned his superior wisdom from the elder Scriptures. All this shews the hold which his name still retained over the minds of men at this period. The great Father of the Western Church, St. Augustine, avows himself a warm admirer of Plato. He concedes the approximation of the Platonists to the Christian doctrines ; affirming that all other philosophers must yield to those who had speculated so justly as they had respecting the Chief Good.^ Afterwards, indeed, we find Aristotle supplanting Plato in favour with the Christian controversialist. The struggle had been for some time between their respective advocates, which of them should obtain the lead in the Christian schools. But Plato, on the whole, had the mastery, though the result of the struggle was an eclectic system, in which the prin- cipal differences of the two philosophers were studiously recon- ^ Angnstin. De Civit. Dei, \u\. Chap- ing the agreement of Plato with the ter after chapter is taken up in Euse- Scriptures, bius' Prceparatio Evangelica, in shew- 202 PLATO. I ciled. In fact, we may consider Platonism as in the ascendancy in the Christian Schools, until the period of Scholasticism, that is, until the twelfth and the following centuries, when the disci- pline of argumentation was at its height in the Church, and with it the study of Aristotle's Philosophy. Even then the theories of Plato maintained their ground. The speculations pursued by members of the Church continued to be for the most part Platonic in their principles, though they were conducted and modified by the dialectical method of Aristotle. What, then, was the character of this philosophy, it will naturally be asked, which both rendered it so attractive to those amongst whom it arose, and also secured for it such an immortality ? It is a very remarkable circumstance that, as far as we know, Plato should have escaped all censure at Athens on account of his philosophy, when other philosophers, who, like him, became centres of popular attraction, were the objects of extreme per- secution. It is the more remarkable, as not only his master experienced such persecution, but his immediate disciple, Aris- totle, was forced to fly from Athens to escape the storm with which he was threatened. Coming between these two, and enjoying, at the height of his popularity, an influence perhaps surpassing that of either, he yet was suffered to wear out his life unmolested, amidst the tranquil labours of his school. The only evidence to the contrary of this is an unauthenti- cated anecdote, told by Laertius, of Plato's having accompanied Chabrias to the citadel of Athens, and shewn his zeal in support of that general, under the capital charge brought against him. Upon this occasion, it is said, Crobylus the sycophant, meeting him, observed, " Are you coming to plead for another, as ignorant that the hemlock of Socrates awaits you too ?'" to which he re- plied, "When I served my country in the field I underwent dangers, and now in the cause of duty I undergo them for a friend."^ But though we may refuse to believe this story, it is quite evident, that the condition of Philosophy at Athens was not ^ Diog. Laert. in Vita Flat. 18. HIS WPaXlNGS AND PHILOSOPHV:. 203 without its obloquy and danger even in its most flourishing times under Plato. We may gather from many passages of the writings of Plato, that the cause of Philosophy still needed defence, and that great caution was required on the part of those who publicly professed the study of it. A re-action indeed had taken place in lUvour of philosophers, in consequence of the severity with I which Socrates had been treated ; and the assailants of Socrates feuftered retribution from the popular feeling. Still there was in (ihe mass of the Athenian people a strong antipathy to Philosophy, from their ignorance of its real nature. They had been taught ito regard philosophers as idle and mischievous drivellers, ever prosing about nature and the phenomena of the heavens, and as contemners of tlie gods.^ They had seen also how some of those to \Vhom Athens owed her greatest calamities, had been amongst the students of philosophy. Alcibiades, for example, had been a hearer of Socrates ; one of singular natural endowments, in the formation of whose mind Socrates had taken especial pains, and who might therefore be regarded as the test of what Philosophy could effect. The people had loved him as their spoiled child, in spite of all his follies ; but they had felt also the mischief and misery of his wild career of ambition; and they threw the blame on his instructors, and the system in which he had been trained. Again, a great prejudice had been excited in the public mind against Philosophy in general, from the many low and mercenary professors of it with which Greece abounded ; minute Philo- sophers, patronized by the public for their temporary services in teaching the arts of public life, but who produced ignominy and disgust to the true profession by their unworthy monopoly of its name. Add to tliis, that popular opinion had been corrupted by le false teaching, which had been so long and extensively at ^ork throughout Greece. Erroneous principles of judgment and jonduct had taken root in the public mind ; or, to describe the jase more correctly, all principles were unsettled ; and the state ^ OuKQvv y av olfxai, i) b' 6s o'ZojKpdTTjs, (T'okoutcov rovs \6yovs xoiov/xai. Phcedo, llir€LV Tiva vvv aKovaavra, oi'5' ft Kio/xcxido- Op. vol. i. p. 159, ed. Bip. ; Polit. vol. vi. rotos ei'7;^ (is dSoXecxw, /cat ov irepl irpo- p. 92, et alih. 204 PLATO. of the public mind was one of inward anarchy, and insubordina- tion. A Philosopher, therefore, especially in questions of Eeligion and Morality relating to the conduct of life, seriously devoted to his profession, and pursuing it with a single eye to the advance- ment of truth, was necessarily regarded with suspicion and dislike. For it is a natural propensity of the mind to adhere to established opinion, simply because no effort of thought is required, no trouble of self-examination imposed, no censure of self exacted, in leaving things as they are ; and there appears difficulty and hazard in a change; and what is inveterate in their own minds, often passes with men for the oldness of truth and nature. A reformer, therefore, is always at first an object of aversion ; and no reform is successfully accomplished, until it has worked its way by subduing the prejudices which it has to encounter at the outset, and turning the majority committed against it into a minority, by its gradual advances, like a wave encroaching on the shore on which it has long seemed to beat ineffectually. Not only was the opposition to sound philosophy produced in the minds of the vulgar by this distemper of public opinion; but even the better part of society, the more educated and reflecting members of the community, were infected by it. The majority of these would be deterred from taking up a pro- fession exposing them to so much dislike and risk. Some of them, too, with a view of standing well with the mass of those amongst whom they lived, and promoting their own interest, would avail themselves of the popular clamour against Philo- sophy, cry down the pursuit of it as innovation and danger, and make it their business to exaggerate, instead of counteracting, vulgar prejudices on the subject. These obstructions to the teaching of philosophy are pointedly referred to by Plato, as existing in his time, and demanding his attention, in order to the success of that mission of reform which he had undertaken. He treats the vulgar prejudice against philosophy as not altogether unreasonable,^ in consequence of ^ ''O fiaKcLpLC, 9jv 8'iyiS}, fxr] irdvv ovtco ^^ovaiv, iav avroh (xt) (pikoveiKQiv, dXXd rujf iroXXQv Karrjydpei dXX' 6iav toi 86^av irapafJLv^oijfievoi, Kai dTo\v6/xevos t7)v ttjs HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 205 IBthe perverse opinions which had been popularly inculcated ; and endeavours to disarm the public hostility, by alleging the causes of the disrepute into which philosophy had unjustly fallen. Alluding, as it seems, particularly to the instance of Alcibiades, he points out, that it is not philosophy which corrupts the young, but the passions of the young and high-spirited which pervert the means of good to the greatest mischief. None but those of the highest order of talent and natural gifts are fully susceptible of its influence ; but then these are the very cases, ■Khe observes, which are also capable of the most mischief, through f their greater susceptibility of the seductions of the world. There cannot but be objections against Philosophy, he further observes, as long as the mass of mankind is, as it is found, incapable of appreciating real essential good for its own sake ; and as long as those of superior nature, who should be its devoted friends, and examples of its influence, are drawn away from it in pursuit of popular opinion. He endeavours accordingly, to evince that there is no just ground for alarm, at least in those days, at the power of Philosophy. It was now deserted and helpless, fallen amongst those who were not its own people. If disgrace now attached to pliilosophy, it must be imputed to the unworthy connexion into which it had been forced by circumstances. The mean mechanic, " the smith, bald, and little," (such is his illustra- tion of the unhappy condition to which Philosophy had been reduced in those times), who has obtained some money, and has just been released from his bonds, and washed in a bath, having got a new dress has decked himself out as a bridegroom, about to marry the daughter of his master, on account of her poverty and destitution.^ It was no wonder, therefore, that such spurious (fruits, of so unsuitable an alliance, were then • seen in the world, land that the few who chmg to the true profession were like stran- (piXo/xa^eias 5ca§oX^v, ivheiKvirj ots XiyeLS 0aXa/c/)oO koL a/niKpov, veuarl jxev e/c 5es s iSeip dpyijpiou KTrjaa/x^vov xa^f^ws, yafieiv ; (Hep. vi., Op. vol. vi. p, 93.) 20G PLATO. gers iu the world, living away from public affairs, as unwilling to join in the general iniquity, and unable to resist it effectually by their single strength.^ If Plato thought it necessary thus to apologize for the pursuit of philosophy, it is clear that there was yet reason to apprehend an outbreak of violence against its professors. In fact, however, he appears not only to have escaped all such outrage, but, whilst he propagated, by his oral teaching and Ids writings, a system of doctrines directly contrary to the impure morality and superstition established around him, to have enjoyed an esteem beyond that which any other teacher on the same ground ever obtained. The explanation of this is in a great measure to be sought in the circumstances under which his philosophy was formed and matured, and to which it was peculiarly adapted. What Themistocles admitted truly of himself when he answered, that he should not have achieved his glorious deeds if Athens had not been his country, was as truly applied by Plato to himself, when he enumerated amongst his causes of gratitude to the Gods, that he was born an Athenian. For his philosophy was eminently Athenian. Viewed at least as we have it in his writings, it was the expression, by a master-mind, itself imbued with the spirit of the age, but rising above that spirit by its intrinsic superiority and nobleness, of those ten- dencies of thought and action, which had been working in Greece, and especially at Athens, the centre of Grecian civiliza- tion. The Peloponnesian war terminated with leaving Athens humbled before the confederacy, which the hatred and jealousy of her power had leagued against her. But the loss of her ascendancy in Greece was not the worst evil brought on Athens by the effects of that war. The machinery of faction, by whicli the war had been principally can-ied on, produced the most mischievous effects on the character and happiness of the Greeks at large ; aggravating the symptoms of evil already existing in ^ Bep. vi. p. 95. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 207 Khe constitutions of the several states, and, not least, in that of Athens. Not only did the insolence of the Athenian democracy gain strength in the result, and rise beyond all bounds, but the excesses in which party spirit had indulged, drew into pro- minence the selfishness and ferociousness of a demoralized people. Then might be clearly seen the levity and licentious- ness of men, who, living amidst constant hazards, had learnt to regard nothing beyond the enjoyment of the j)assing hour; the ■cunning and cruelty engendered by mutual distnist; and the wanton contempt of all law and religion, prompted by the sight of the calamities which the tempests of social life scatter indis- criminately on the good and the evil. The first impulse to this decline appears to have been given by the outbreak of the plague which desolated the city in the second year of that war. For so the great historian describes that dreadful visitation as the first beginning of the increase of lawlessness to the city. And he sums up the account of the evil which had already manifested itself, in saying that, " as for fear of Gods, or law of men, there was none that restrained them." ^ On this stock of corruption, speculative irreligion, and speculative immorality, had grown up as its natural offshoots. Men were found harden- ing themselves against the reproaches of conscience and the fear of retribution, by arguing against the fundamental truths • of religion and morals. In Eeligion, it was contended that there were no Gods; or that if the existence of a. Divine power were conceded, there was no Providence over human affairs ; or, lastly, that if there were a Providence, the wrath of the offended Deity was placable by the prayers and sacrifices of the offender. In Morals, the question was debated, whether all was not mere matter of institution and convention, and the device of the weak against the stronger power ; and whether right might not change with the opinions of men. This state of things had fostered a peculiar race of philo- sophers, familiarly known by the name of the Sophists ; a term, not at first implying that disrespect with which it subsequently 1 Thuc. ii. 53. 208 PLATO. marked the ambitious pretensions of the class to which it was attributed, and wi'th which it is now regarded amongst us. Thus, we find Herodotus speaking both of Solon and Pythagoras as Sophists, and even Pindar does not disclaim the title for the poet. Those who obtained celebrity on account of their intellectual ability as instructors and benefactors of the world of their day, appear to have been, at first, distinguished only by the general appellation of G6(poi, the wise, as in the case of " the Seven '^ so called ; men, who were not mere students, but actively employed, if not in legislation, as Solon was, in some other public service. As, however, in the progress of civilization, leisure was afforded to many for devotion to intellectual pursuits for their own sake, and a taste for such pursuits was more widely spread, and they who had taken the lead in cultivating that taste would be looked up to, as authorities and guides for the instruction of others ; there would arise, in the course of time, some who would no longer be known, like those of a former age, simply as " the wise," but as professors of that wisdom which was now admired and sought after in the world around them. Henceforward, the term '* Sophist," would be the appropriate designation of those who professed wisdom as the pursuit of their lives, denoting not only a student of wisdom but a teacher of it. Such were those men, so eminent in their day, Protagoras of Abdera, Prodicus of Ceos,^ Hippias of Elis,^ Gorgias of Leontium, chiefly known as the Ehetorician, and others, men of great ability and various extensive acquirements, and whom we may justly re- gard, notwithstanding the ridicule and contempt which are thrown on them by the sarcastic irony of Socrates, in the Dialogues of Plato, as useful in their generation ; so far as they excited or sus- tained attention among their contemporaries to the need of men- ^ Author of the well-known " Choice the Olympic festival, on some occasion, of Hercules," given by-Xenophon, Mem. in a splendid vestment, and which, as ii. c. 1. well as his shoes and the ring on his ^ Hippias of Elis appears to have sur- finger, with the device engraved on it, passed all in vanity and ostentation. he asserted, were all the workmanship He boasted a skill in every kind of com- of his own hands. He has the merit position in prose and verse, and in vari- of having invented a system of mnemo- ous arts ; making a display of himself at nics. Plato Hippias, Op. vol. iii. p. 208. I HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 209 and moral improvement, and thus, unconsciously, preparing the way for the wiser teaching of their great antagonist, Socrates him- seK; leaving him indeed many a false opinion, and immoral specu- lation, to root up as a noxious weed out of the soil, but opening at Bthe same time, the ground for receiving the good seed which he should scatter on it, as he followed on their steps. Viewed as they are by us, in a picture painted by a master-hand, in which the figure of Socrates occupies the foreground, they are cast into deep shadow in contrast with the full light in which he stands out to the eye ; and we can hardly avoid forming a disparaging opinion of them, as a class. We must then look off for a time from Plato's picture before us, if we would do justice to these celebrated men, and assign to them, in spite of all their faults, their due importance in the History of Philosophy. There were doubtless some who were indeed a scandal to their profession, pursuing it as a matter of personal profit to themselves, mere arrogant pretenders to that wisdom which they professed to impart ; who corrupted instead of improving the young men by the principles which they inculcated. Such appear to have been Thrasymachus, introduced in the RepuUic of Plato, as arguing that the interest of the ruling power is the law of right, and that injustice was more expedient than justice ; and Callicles in the Gorgias, advocating the free indulgence of the passions as virtue and happiness. Yet there were others of the class, who, though they made the profession of a Sophist a source of gain, and who obtained great wealth by means of it,^ and incur on that account the strong reprobation of Socrates; who, nevertheless, by their earnest and sincere application of their minds to the studies in which they were engaged, evinced a real love of that wisdom which was their ostensible pursuit, and would be entitled, there- fore, to the far higher praise beyond that of Sophists, of being ■^ Protagoras is described, in the Hip- works ; Hippias also, as boasting that 2?ias Jt/ajor, as having made more money he had obtained by his teaching, in a by teaching in different places of Greece, short space of time, more than 150 during the forty years of his employ- minse in Sicily, and 20 minse from one ment in it, than Phidias and ten other small place, Inycus, in that island, sculptors together had made by their 210 PLATO. "lovers of wisdom," philosophers in truth as well as in name. In time indeed, the name of Sophist would "become odious and disreputable, and fall into disuse, as we find it in the time of Plato and Aristotle, and that of philosopher would prevail and be affected by all engaged in the pursuit. The Sophists, so called, evidently were not the primary cor- rupters of the public mind in Greece, but themselves the offspring of that moral chaos, which resulted from the internal disorders of the country, and which they sustained by the character and tendency of their teaching; like children paying the due but unhappy recompense of their education to the parent that had trained them in evil. They were an evidence of the corruption having reached the higher classes of society ; for their instruc- tions were sought by those who could pay liberally for them, and who desired to qualify themselves for office and power in the state. Going about from place to place, wherever they could obtain a reception at the houses of the wealthy, everywhere, indeed, except at Lacedaemon, where the discipline of Lycurgus excluded all foreign element from the education of the young, they undertook to render all that flocked to them, adepts in the art of government, in oratory, and even in virtue. This last pre- tension would have been extravagant and absurd, but for the prevailing looseness of opinion on moral subjects. But when the notion of right was understood, or could be represented at least, without shocking public feeling, as nothing more than what was instituted and in fashion, there was an opening to every unprincipled teacher, to adopt his moral lessons to the varied requirements of each distinct society. At no place were these universal teachers more cordially received than at Athens. The anxiety with which an expected visit from any one of greater note among them was expected at Athens, and the zeal with which the young hastened to see and hear the wise man on his arrival, are depicted in lively colours by Plato. In the dialogue entitled Protagoras, Socrates gives an account of the reception of the famous Sophist of that name, with other eminent individuals of the class, at the house of Callias, the HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 211 L ............. family of Athens, having heard of the arrival of Protagoras, is so impatient to see him, that, by the dawn of day, he is on his way, in company with Socrates, to the house where the great man was lodged. Socrates and himseK arrive at the house, where there is already a considerable gathering of Sophists, and also of young men of rank and importance. Alcibiades and Critias, and two sons of Pericles, are among those attending on the occasion. The crowd is so great that they have great difficulty in obtaining admission. The porter, an eunuch, as Socrates ironically describes him, disgusted with the intrusion of so many visitors, on opening the door and seeing them, at once repels them with the exclamation, " Ha ! some Sophists ! he is not at leisure ;" and, at the same time, vehemently with both his hands, shuts the door against them. They continue, however, knocking ; and the porter answers them again from within, without opening the door, "Sirs! have you not heard that he is not at leisure?" "My good man," says Socrates, "we are not come to Callias, nor are we Sophists ; but take courage ; it is Protagoras we want to see ; announce us therefore." At length then, though reluctantly still, he opens the door. On entering, they find Protagoras walking up and down in the vestibule, with several persons following in his train, who were studiously attend- ing on his steps, taking care to give him precedence as he turned, by filing off and opening a way for him through them- selves. Socrates immediately addresses him, expressing the purpose for which they were come, and the interest with which the young Hippocrates had sought that interview. Callias has given up his whole house to his distinguished visitors, for even his store-room is occupied. In that apartment was observed Prodicus, not yet risen from his couch, covered up with skins and carpets, with a group of persons around him ; and in another opposite vestibule was seen Hippias, with his circle of listeners, discoursing to them about questions of meteorology and astronomy. The attention of all, however, is soon concentrated on Protagoras, who proceeds, at the request of Socrates, to give 212 PLATO. them a display of his art, m a discourse illustrative of the nature and importance of that moral instruction and general education which it was the profession of the Sophists to impart. All were charmed with his eloquence, even Socrates himself; only he can- not let the opportunity pass without an exercise of his elenchtic skill, and by his method of interrogation clearing up those points which Protagoras, in his discursive style, had left indistinct and uncertain. They part, however, with mutual expressions of goodwill, notwithstanding their differences of opinion in the discussion. And so the scene of this interesting dialogue closes. At Athens, evidently, if anywhere, the Sophist felt himself at his proper home. There, at the houses of the noble and rich citizens, was his readiest market. Herodotus may justly have been surprised at the success of so vulgar a deception at Athens, the seat of literature, as that practised by Pisistratus, when he exhibited to the people a woman of great stature, arrayed in full armour, and pompously borne in a chariot into the city, as the goddess Athena, rein- stating him in her own citadel.^ It would have been still stranger if these impersonations of Athenian wisdom had not succeeded in imposing on the understanding of Athenians. For their minds were in that fluctuating state which disposed them to receive every various form of impression from any plausible teacher. Their general cultivation of mind, and taste for litera- ture, prepared them for listening with pleasure to exhibitions of rhetorical and dialectical skill, such as the Sophists gave. And from admiration of the skill thus displayed, the transition was natural to regard that as the only wisdom, which was capable of maintaining both sides of a question with equal plausibility, and that as the only virtue, which could shift and accommodate itself to every expedient with equal satisfaction. Yet the Athenian was not entirely the creature of those cir- cumstances, which had so considerably modified his character. He still retained some traces of that high feeling so beautifully touched by his own tragic poet, when that poet speaks of " the 1 Herodot. Clio, 60. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 213 ■ pious Athens," and appeals to the ancient associations of Eeligion W which consecrated the land. Eeligion indeed had acquired the name of superstition, or the fear of supernatural powers, budibaiiMovicK. : but even this marks that there were some who cherished, though in that degenerate form, a veneration for the truths of the existence of the Deity, and of the Divine agency in the world. Nor was the Athenian ever insensible to his pride of birth and rank among those of the Grecian name.^ He dwelt ■ on the recollections of a remote antiquity of origin, as distin- guishing him among the members of the Greek family. He claimed to be the offspring of the Attic soil, ahro-^cav, whilst others were descended from successive immigrations of strangers. Amidst his fickleness, and susceptibility of every passing im- pulse, he yet felt himself strongly influenced by his veneration for the past, and loved to connect himself with the ancient glories of his country. In the Athenian character, accordingly, may be observed the union of extremes ; devoutness of deep inward feel- ing, accompanied with superficial irreligion and profane dis- soluteness of morals ; a mercurial temperament, ever eager for change, floating like a light cloud over a deep-rooted reverence of antiquity, and the traditions of ancestral wisdom and virtue. Now, on accurately studying the writings of Plato, we find them, both, a reflexion of this state of the public mind at Athens, and a corrective of it. Full of imagination and of severe subtile thought, they are formed to attract and fix the attention of the literary Athenian. Bringing the Sophist on the scene, and giving sketches of the social life of Athens, and making conver- sation the vehicle of his instructions, Plato in a manner trans- ferred to his own teaching, what was every day witnessed at Athens in the professorial exhibitions of the Sophists them- selves. His philosophy, a counterpart, in its way, to the drama of the comic poet, instructed the people, at once, through their ^fe wisdom and their folly. As Aristophanes spoke to them under i ' The remark of Thucydides, vi. 59 ; Tyrant of Lampsacus, — 'AS-rymtos Cbv in reference to Hippias, the son of Aafi\f/aKr]v(^, — shews in a few words the Pisistratus, giving his daughter, Arche- Athenian estimation of themselves, ^ice, in marriage to the son of the 214 ' PLATO., the mask of folly, and gave Aitterance to lessons of severe wisdom under that mask ; so Plato, on the other hand, put on the mask of the sage, and in grave irony ridiculed and exposed the light- hearted folly of his countrymen. Both were w^iser than they seemed to the outward observation ; as was indeed the volatile Athenian, to whom they addressed their counsel. Both pre- supposed that delicacy of perception and quick tact in their fellow-citizens, which would be flattered by such indirect modes of address, and would, at the same time, appreciate the jest of the one, and the irony of the other. Both speak with the free- dom of the democratic spirit. But the counsel of Aristophanes is that of the privileged jester of the sovereign-people amidst festal scenes and the enthusiasm of mirth ; whilst Plato appeals to the Athenian at the moment of quiet, serious reflection on the surrounding folly, and treats him as a contemplative spectator, rather than himself an actor in it. Before the time of Plato, there were no philosophical writings which answered the requisitions of the Athenian mind. There weve poems of the early philosophers. There were didactic writings of the later Pythagoreans, and even dialogues discussing speculative questions. Anaxagoras, too, whose name was well known at Athens, had published a treatise of philosophy.^ But none of these, if they were even accessible to the Athenian, were calculated to attract his attention. The philosophical poems differed nothing from prose but in the metre, and were exceed- ingly dry and uninviting to the general reader. The books of Pythagoreans were very few, at least at this time, and hardly known to any but the devoted student of philosophy.^ Nor would the dialogues of Zeno or Euclid, concerned about mere logical subtilties, or the physical discussions of Anaxagoras. possess any charm for the lively Athenian. Even afterwards, the instructive writings of Aristotle did not obtain that reception * liaertius says that Anaxagoras was Pythagoreans that Dionysius of Hali- the first to publish such a treatise. In carnassus speaks, when he recommends Vit. Anax. viii. the reading of them, not only for their matter, hut for their style. De Vett. ' It must be of the more modern /Scr. Cens. iv. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 215 ■ whicli could save them from a temporary oblivion. But the dialogues of Plato supplied exactly what was yet wanting in ithis department of Athenian literature. They were the proper development of the philosophical element in the genius of the people. The shrewd practical talent of the Athenians had been strikingly exhibited in the successful achievements of their great generals, and-statesmen, and in the lead of Athens itself amongst the states of Greece at the close of the Persian war. Their taste in arts, and poetry, and general literature, had put forth splendid fruits in the works of Athenian artists, Athenian masters of the Drama, and of History. But their genius for abstract specula- tion as yet had nothing which it could claim as strictly its own. Socrates indeed laid the basis for such a work. During the half century preceding the appearance of Plato as the leader of a school of philosophy, Socrates had been engaged as a missionary of Philosophy, awakening the curiosity of men ; turning their thoughts to reflection on themselves, as creatures endued with moral and intellectual faculties ; and inspiring them with longings after some information on questions relating to their own nature, and a taste for discussions addressed to the resolu- tion of such questions. Plato succeeded him, and carried the philosophical spirit, now fully called into action, to its result. His works accordingly display this spirit at its maturity ; exemplifying at the same time that peculiar combination of qualities which formed the Athenian character. Thus are they at once serious and lively, abstract and imaginative ; fuU of deep thought and feeling intermingled with gaiety and humour ; instinctive with the awe of religion and ancient wisdom, whilst they present also an image of Athenian versatility, and frivolity, and love of change. They convey indeed a strong rebuke of the vices of the times. They draw, in no softened colouring, out- lines of the evil and misery resulting from the profligacy of existing governments, and the excesses of individual cupidity ; the two great causes assigned by Plato for the prevailing qyiI of his times. But these lessons were calculated rather to interest the hearer or reader by their faithful representation of manners, I 216 PLATO. than to alienate liim, as we might at first think, by the justness of the censure. Athenians would give their attention to such descriptions, as they did to the invectives of their orators,^ acknowledging the general truth of the representation ; and each, at the same time, taking no offence of what he applied to others, and to every one rather than to himself. Philosophy too, taught, as by Plato, colloquially, was such as peculiarly to suit the taste of the Athenian, whose life was in the Agora, or the Ecclesia, or the Courts of Law, or the Theatre ; and who re- garded the interchange of words as no unimportant ingredient in everything that he had to do.^ Such conversation, too, as that of Plato's Dialogues, elegant conversation, steeped in the well- spring of Grecian poetry and literature, and expressed in language such as Jove, it was said, might use, and adorned with the charms of an exquisite musical rhythm, could not but be highly attrac- tive to Athenian ears. We may see, accordingly, in these cir- cumstances, at once, an occasion for the existence of such writings as those of Plato, and a reason of the peculiar mould in which they were cast, as well as of the success which attended them. Not only, however, was the general character of his philo- sophy, as viewed in connection with the writings which convey it, derived from such influences ; but the internal structure of it was the natural result of the peculiar education of such a mind as his, under the circumstances to which we have referred. His philosophy was essentially dialectical or coUoquial ; an examina- tion and discussion of systems, and doctrines, and opinions. According to his notion, the true philosopher is the dialectician ; the investigator, who has fought his way, step by step, through every argument capable of being adduced in support of, or against, a particular opinion, refuting those that are unsound, until at length he has found rest in some position that cannot be shaken.^ Hence he is the disciple of no particular system of ^ Thucyd. iii. 38; Demosth, passim. ^ Eepub. vii. 14. "Qo-irep h fidxv 5'* ' Ov Tovs \6yov$ rots ^pyois pXdSfjp ttolvtwv iXiyx'^^ die^nbv, fXTj Kara dd^av, Tjyoij/xevoi, dXXA fir} Tr/JoStSax^^^i/ai, fiaX- dWa Kar* ovalau irpd^v/xov/xevos iXiyx^i-f', \ov \6y({} irpbrepov, t) iirl & Be? ^pyc^} iX^eif, iu irdai to6tois dwrwri r^ XSyca dia- K. T. X. (Thucyd. ii. 40; also iii. 42.) TropevijTai. Op. vol. vii., p. 167. I HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 217 philosophy, whilst he brings all systems under his survey, and compels all to pay a tribute to his stock of truth, by discussing them, and rejecting in them what will not abide the test of examination. We have seen that he was engaged in studying the doctrines of Heraclitus, and of the Pythagoreans, and of the other schools, whilst he was also a hearer of Socrates. He had thus begun in early life to analyse different systems by the searching method of Socrates ; and his mature philosophy was only the same proceeding more deeply imbibed in his own mind, more extensively carried on, and more vigorously applied. So far, indeed, does the colloquial spirit predominate over his philo- sophy, so entirely dialectical is it in its whole internal character, that it leaves on the mind of the reader more an impression of a series of discussions, in order to the determination of the ques- tions considered, than the conviction of an)i;hing positively determined. Hence it is that Cicero, speaking of Plato's writings, says, that " in them nothing is afi&rmed ; and much is discoursed on both sides ; everything is inquired into ; nothing certain is said."^ So also Sextus Empiricus raises the question, in what respect the philosophy of Plato differs from that of the Sceptics.^ And again his doctrines have been characterized as brilliant clouds, which we seem at the point of grasping, when they vanish from our hands. This effect is doubtless partly to be ascribed to the disguise of his irony ; to the artist-design which presides over his whole instruction. But it is also the proper effect of that dialectical philosophy which is worked out in the Dialogues. Whilst he is a consummate artist throughout, he is also illustrating the lessons which he had learnt from Socrates, by bringing false opinions to the test of discussion, and leaving truth, for the most part, to be collected from refutation of error, rather than positively enunciating it, or exactly defining it. Por when we come to examine his philosophy more closely, we find, that it begins and ends, like the lessons of Socrates, with a confession of the ignorance of man. Socrates had led * Cic. Acad. Qumst. i. 12. ^ Sex. Emp. Pijr. Hyp. i. 33 ; Diog. Laert. in Vit. Plat. 33. 218 PLATO. him to perceive liow mucli was taken for granted in the popular opinions and systems of philosophy ; how even those who had a reputation for wisdom and talents took up principles which they had never examined, and which they could not satisfactorily account for, or defend, when pressed in argument. Imbibing, accordingly, the spirit of the Socratic method, he did not endea- vour to teacliy in the proper sense of the term, so much as to explore and test the minds of men ; to ascertain how far they really understood the doctrines and opinions which they pro- fessed. The fundamental error of the Sophists was, that they assumed all current opinions to be true. They did not think it necessary to examine this preliminary ; whether the opinions on which they built their fabric of knowledge were true or false. It was enough for them that certain opinions were actually held ; and to these, as given principles, they directed their whole system of teaching. Their teaching, accordingly, was entirely 'TT^hg U^av, relative to opinion ; and it must, consequently, stand, or faU, as existing opinions could be maintained or impugned. Now, with Plato, as with Socrates, the investigation of this pre- liminary point (that is, whether existing opinions are true or no), is everything. The presumption that they are true, is what he will by no means admit. He demands a positive evidence of them. And as the presumption of their truth is a bar to all inquiry concerning them, he commences with the opposite pre- sumption of their falsehood, or at least a confession on the part of the inquirer, that as yet, — until he has investigated, — he does not know the truth of his opinions. For the same reason, he avoids all dogmatism in his con- clusions. Those might aspire to communicate the knowledge of new truth to the mind, who, as the Sophists did, assumed that knowledge was entirely subjective ; or who held that any opinion which could be produced in the mind, was simply tnie, was really known, because it was there. But as Plato denied the truth of Opinion, if it had no other evidence, but that of its mere presence in the mind ; so, neither would he concede that any process of the mind in itself, or any argumentative and per- HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 219 Isiiasive instructions, could produce, hy their own force, a convic- tion of truth in the mind. In other words, he required the student of philosophy, not only to begin, but to end, with a con- fession of the ignorance of man. We have an apt illustration of this in the dialogue entitled the First Alcihiades. There Socrates is introduced, questioning Alcibiades concerning his plans of life, and shewing how entirely he had presumed on his knowledge of matters with which he was unacquainted ; and that until he could be brought to feel I and confess his ignorance, there was no possibility of his being able to direct himself or others aright. In the Meno, the same is illustrated by the comparison of the effect of the searching questions of Socrates, on the mind of the person submitted to them, to that of the torpedo. Meno says he had thousands of times, and to many a person, and with much credit to himself, as he thought, spoken on the subject of virtue ; but on conversing with Socrates, he was quite at a loss now to say even what virtue was. To the same purport is the general application by Socrates in the Apologia, of the oracle which pronounced him the wisest of men. The oracle, he observes, had only used his name by way of example, as if it had said, " He, O men ! is the wisest of you, whoever, like Socrates, is convinced, that he is in truth worthless in respect of wisdom."^ The method of Plato, accordingly, is the reverse of didactic. The Sophists could employ a didactic method ; because they assumed principles as true, from which they might proceed to argue and persuade. But this was precluded to Plato, assuming, as he did, that all opinions demanded a previous examination. It was necessary for him to extort a confession of ignorance, to make men sensible of the difficulties belonging to a subject. It only remained, therefore, for him to proceed by Interrogation. In a colloquial philosophy. Interrogation is what experiment is ^ "Qawep Slv etiroi 8ti Oxjtos v/j-Qv, & rf} dXrj^elt^, wpb^ ao€&y€iv OTirdxio^Ta' vqceijjs yeu^a'^at, k. t, X. (pvyr) d^, ofioiuais ^e^) Kara to dvvardp' HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 265 loped in the teaching and practice of religionists of all creeds. It cannot be denied, also, that where they take hold of a mor- bid and susceptible temperament of mind, they tend to sub- stitute, in such a case, the morality of imagination and senti- ment for that of common sense and household feeling, and to fritter away the convictions of duty into mere proprieties of taste ; so that, even whilst they elevate the character above sordid and vulgar seductions of pleasure, they emasculate and corrupt it, through the very excess of its theoretical refinement. As bad education was regarded by Plato as the other great cause of human corruption, in addition to the evil influence of Body on the soul, he directs a large portion of his philosophical disquisitions to correct the evil arising from this second source. His ethical discussions go to the limiting of the desires, and curing the diseases produced by them in the soul : his political discussions have for their proper object, the laying down right principles of education, and enforcing them by the constitution, laws, and power of the state.^ His two great works, the most elaborate of his writings, the Dialogues of the Republic, and the Laws, are, accordingly, rather theories of Education, than, of B Government and Laws, as their titles would import.^ Both have in view the practical improvement of Human nature by social I institutions expressly framed for that purpose. We must not, however, suppose that Plato contemplated as a result, the actual foundation of a state, according to the prin- ciples of polity and legislation laid down in these two famous dialogues. His object was to give an example of the most perfect life, free from those impediments which all existing governments and laws threw across the path of the virtuous man. As Philosophy is the guide of private life, elevating it to the knowledge of the Good and the True, so he would have Philosophy also seated on the throne of Government, and exhibit the eternal Ideas of Good and Truth, modifying society ^ Leg., vii. p. 354. tI, koI riva bivajxiv ix^'-' ^'■^ y^P Taijrrjs rjauv, jxixP'- """^P '^^ Tpbs rbv \byov, bpiaup-e'^a waLdtiav ri wot' iff- rbv ^ebv di\wv tovt odv etTS ttov vvv 'iim, dr vofioi dpicTTOi., 8irov rb irdXai Xeyd/xevov ^crrai ttot^, k. t. X. Siv yiyvTjTai Kara irdcrav ttjv 7r6Xti' on ^ Aristot. Polit. ii. cc. 1-4. 268 PLATO. mtli the art and the style, as perfectly consistent with the design, and, if faulty, only such faults as a man of genius would com- mit. Thus, to Plato, describing as he does, a polity, not having its existence or possibility of existence on the earth, but only where the Divine archetypes of all that is good and true in the Universe have their Being — that is in the presence of the Deity Himself, " the King," as he styles Him, in the Heavens ; the concerns of this world might well seem of little importance. Human nature sinks into insignificance in his view. Man is regarded, to use his own expression, as " a sort of plaything of the Deity," — ^soD n i\la yi tIs Trpurros di5daKa\6s re Kal rp/efjiuiv yevic- fie Kal al5o}S iK iraidbs ^x^^^^^ '"'^P'-'^l^'^' ^"'' 'AXX ov yap irpb ye rvjs akrjdelas pov dTTO/cwXi/ft X^eti*. ^oiKe fiev ycLp tQv TLfirjT^os dv-f^p. I HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 275 of the young from the false teaching which may be insinuated into their minds by the charm of the poetic imitation. He instances, particularly in Homer, his attributing vicious and weak conduct to the gods and the heroes, — his describing the Deity as the author of evil no less than of good, — his exaggera- tion of the terrors of the unseen world, tending to excite undue fear of death. Whilst he fully owns then the charm of Homer's poems, and would honour him as the sacred minister of the muses, "pouring the ointment on his head and crowning him with the fillet," it is only as the parting tri- bute of admiration and homage due to a poet so admirable and delightful.^ Again, in his Laws we find the like judgment expressed against the poets of Tragedy in particular. He there warns the citizens of his new state, that they must regard these poets in the light of competitors with them in a dramatic contest for the prize ; for that " they also were poets themselves ; inas- much as their whole polity consisted of a representation of the noblest and best life, which was the truest tragedy."^ Should such visitors then come to their city, and ask permission to exhibit their dramas there, they must be required to submit their com- positions to the magistrates, and only in the event of the decision being, that the same things which were proper to be said were better expressed by these than by themselves, should the chorus be granted to them ; thus imposing a condition on the strangers, their supposed competitors, which would virtually be a prohibi- tion and exclusion of them.^ But these censures of Plato do not exhaust the burthen of his objection to the poets. The real question at issue with him is one between the truth and the semblance of the truth. As in his view the Divine Eternal Ideas are the only real exis- tences in the Universe, and every thing else possesses being and truth, secondarily, or only as it participates of these, it must follow, that all the productions of imitative art, such as those of ^ Bep. iii. 285. KiroTr^fxtroLixev re hu iroKiTela ^vviarrjKe fxinrjcrLs toO KaWlarov els &\\r]v tSXip, fiipov Kara rrjs K€(})a\rjs Kal dplarov §Lov, 5 di^ (jj^ixev rjfjLeis ye Karaxiovres, Kal epicp criypavres. 6vtws elvat Tpa'y(p5lav tt]v dXTjOeardTTju. ^ Leg. vii. 817. Ilacra oZv tj/up i] ^ Ihid. 276 PLATO. Poetry, Painting, Music, as representing only the impressions received in the mind from the objects of its contemplation, can- not be regarded as having any substantial truth in them. Thus, according to Plato, there are three gradations in the order of truth. The first is from the Divine Ideas to the works of Nature, the immediate operations of the Divine Artificer constituting the various species of all existing things. Such are, then, the first and nearest approximation to the truth of the Divine Ideas themselves. The next is to the works of the Human Artificer executing some production of art according to the idea mani- fested in a given object, and thus producing another object of the same species ; as when the carpenter makes couches or tables after the general idea of either of those objects. The car- penter does not make the species, but an individual of the species ; and therefore approximates to the truth only in the second degree. Thirdly and lastly are the productions of the imitator ; not, in fact, real productions of any thing, such as are those of the carpenter who makes a couch or table ; but only ap- pearances, idols, or phantasms, as Plato describes them. Conse- quently all such productions are far removed from the truth.^ These have no more of truth in them, as he observes, than the images in a mirror have, as it is turned in every direction and reflects each object in succession.^ This is the ultimate ground of Plato's contempt for the poetic imitations, and rejection of the poet from his imaginary republic, and from the state for which he legislates. He would not have " pleasure and pain reign," as he says, in his city, instead of law and reason. He would not have the sympathies of his people excited by the mimic occasions presented in the scenes and the music of the drama ; and their power of self-command — the polity within them, in their own ^ Rep. X. p. 597. Boi5\et odv, ^(prjv, ij ydp ; "^crrw. Zary/)a0os St;, KXLvoiroibs, iir avTiov to6tu)p ^rjTTicosn.ev rbv fiifnjrrjp Oebs, rpeis o?)Toi iTLCTciTai rpialv etdeci Toirov, tIs iarip ; 'El /3o(/Xet, ^(pr). Ovkovp kXipwp. TpiTTaL Tipes kXcpui aSrat yiypoprat, ; /j.ia ^ Ibid. p. 596. Tcfxtcra 5^ irov, d Hh, 7] h ry (p^xxei odaa, ^v P-^v i^Xiop iroiriaeii Kal rd ip dXXop; Ov84pa, oTpac. Mia 8^ ye, ijp 6 T(p oipapc^, Taxi> 5^ yw> fO-X^ ^^ cavrbp Hktup. Nai, ^4)1)' Mia b^ijp 6 forypci^os- re Kal r&XXa fwa, k. t. X. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 277 souls — impaired, or perhaps destroyed, by such indulgence. " For great is the contest," he says, in summing up his observations on this head, — " great beyond what it appears, — for one to become good or evil ; so that it is not worth one's while, by inducements of honour, or wealth, or power, nor even by poetry, to neglect justice and the rest of virtue." ^ • That government only which most resembles a Theocracy is, in Plato's view, a true polity. All others, popularly termed go- vernments, as democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, monarchy, are merely settlements of cities, and not Polities ; ^ being called after that power which has the ascendancy in each over the other parts of the state. So far as a state is truly such, it ought to be named, he says, after the true God, the Lord over all intelligent beings. Governments, as they exist, are only the results of the struggles of contending factions : whence we find, as he observes, one party in the ascendancy excluding and depressing another, in order to its own maintenance, and no concern taken for the welfare of the whole community. To remedy this general evil of exist- ing governments, he would have the simple and straightforward course of the divine procedure brought before the minds of men, and a conformity with that procedure inculcated on them as the only rule of life and happiness. " God," he teaches, in an ani- mated and noble passage,^ " as the ancient story also is, holding the beginning, and end, and middle of all things existing, describes a straight line, according to Nature, walking about.* In his train ever follows Justice, the avenger of those that are left behind by the Divine law ; to which, he that would be happy, keeping close, follows in the train, humble and orderly; but whoever is puffed up with high boasting, or elated with wealth, or honours, or grace of person, together with youthfulness and folly, — his soul burning with insolence, as presuming, that he requires neither ruler nor any guide, but is competent even> to ^ Bep. X. p. 310. 2 Leg. iv. 178. * Leg. iv. p. 185. '0 fxeu 5^ Oebs, ^ Xprjp 5' eiirep tov toioijtov tt]v irbXiv {bcirep Kal b nrakaibs X670S, apxw t^ x^^ ?5et iTTOPOfid^ea'^ai, rb rod dXrj'^ovs tov TeXevTrjp Kal fi^aa tQu 6vtu}V diravTiav Twv vovv kxbvTijiv l^airb^ovro^ ^^ov 6vofia ^X^v, ev'^eTav irepabei Kara S.s avrovs jSouX'jyaews, 8iKaioufi€P XeXefi/'ecr^at. Ovdh yhp ^|w rijs dp'^pu- rf wpdaaofxep. k. t. X. HIS WHITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 279 never is. Contrast with this Plato's principle, which deduces the origin of law from the eternal idea of good, and it will then be more distinctly seen what the spirit of Plato's legislation really is. It follows, indeed, from his principle, that all instituted law is imperfect.^ And he admits, accordingly, that if a perfectly virtuous ruler could be established on earth, it would be best that the business of government should be carried on by his sole will ; which would in such a case be only the copy of the Divine exemplar of right. But as this is past hope in the present condition of human things, the substitute for the more perfect system is the institution of laws framed after the eternal Idea of Good ; not laws adapted merely to the preservation of a parti- cular form of polity, but embodying in them the immutable principles of right. And even such laws, as being matters of institution, are inferior in dignity to unwritten laws — the princi- ples of right — which, themselves resting on no external sanction, are yet the conserving principles of all positive laws. Having his eye fixed on the eternal pattern of the Good and the True, Plato looked with a feeling of disappointment and disgust at the several forms of polity which the States of Greece exhibited. He is generally thought to have inclined to a pre- ference of aristocracy, and to have regarded with aversion all popular government. But though it is probable, that, from what he saw of the tyranny of an unrestrained democracy, he sighed in secret for a better order of things, we cannot conclude from his political speculations that he regarded any single existing polity as the best. He, in fact, condemns all particular forms ;^ and when he asserts a preference, it is for a polity such as was nowhere seen in his times, combining in it monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy.^ But in his view, as governments then existed, they were all one-sided ; the dominion of one part of a commu- nity over the rest, and not the dominion of Good over the whole. ^ "On v6/xos ovK &v irore hivairo to re cav avTrj riva tQv vvv Xiyeis ToKiTetCov ; dpicTTOv Kal TO diKaLOTaTOP, K. T. X. ov S' i}VTLvaovv, etirov, K. r. X. {Polit. p. 82.) 2 Rep. vi. p. 96. 'AXXa t7]v Trpocr-^Kov- ^ Leg. iii. pp. 137, 138. 280 PLATO. Tliis dominion, as we have observed, was only to be found in the government of God over the world, and to it, therefore, he would have all human government conformed. His sole preference, then, is for a theocracy, if such could be realized on earth. His slighting manner of speaking of the lower orders of society, and of all indeed but those who are gifted with superior talents and other natural endowments, is to be ascribed to his general low estimate of Human nature, considered apart from that cultivation which the highest and most intellectual studies impart to it. Kespect for antiquity and prescriptive authority is strongly inculcated by Plato. In nothing was the changeableness of all generated things more evident than in the ever-varying forms of the states of Greece, and especially of Athens itself. The demo- cracy of Athens had been an universal market, crai/ro^w^v/ov, as Plato terms an extreme democracy, of all sorts of polities.^ And laws had so far lost their force there in the most corrupt times, that everything was transacted by the decrees of the day ; the variable determinations of popular assemblies being substituted practically in the place of standing Laws, the records of former experience and wisdom. Early legislators had devised expedients for counteracting this love of change on the part of their country- men, as Solon, for instance, and Lycurgus had dona And in some instances, we find a temporary and partial expedient adopted, by the popular assembly itself fixing the penalty of death to the proposal of rescinding a measure before a certain period.2 Plato's expedient was supplied by the principle itself of his philosophy. If the Idea of Good was eternal and unchangeable, the constant pursuit of change must lead men astray from their happiness and the truth. They must be called back, therefore, froin that which is present and passing, to ^ the recollection of the past. They must not look on wisdqm as .a thing which is different to-day from what it was yesterday, or in former times, but hold it as what by its very nature is unalter- able. To regard it as susceptible of improvement in the lapse of time, would be to deny its proper Being, to reduce it to the con- " y Bep. viii. 10. ' ' *» Thucyd. ii. 24. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 281 dition of mere Becoming. A distrust in the wisdom of any- existing generation of men, and a sacred reverence for that of former generations, and especially for the earliest traditions of knowledge, would naturally be inculcated in such a philosophy. Thus he highly commends the Lacedemonian and Cretan polities for the provision, that no young man should inquire whether the laws were good or bad, but that "all should with one voice and with one mouth agree in declaring that everything in them is well appointed, as being by the appointment of gods ;" and that no other sentiment should be allowed to be expressed. Further, not even does he permit a young person to be present when such matters are considered by the old.^ In the same spirit, the Egyptian immutability in the arts for thousands of years, is admired as a proof of adniirable legislative and political wisdom.^ Even in regard to the fine arts, and to sports and amusements, he reprobates the tendency to innovation, as dangerous to the serious institutions of a state, on the ground, that changes in these lighter matters " imperceptibly change the manners of the young, and bring what is primitive into disrepute, and what is modern into repute ;" and that there cannot be a greater mischief to states than such a habit of " blaming antiquity."^ All this, which under certain limitations may be true, appears, when thus broadly laid down by Plato, a misapplication of the proper sanction of religious truth to truth in general. In Eeligion, the only question being what is really taught by its Divine Author, there can be no addition made in the course of time to the truths revealed except by another Divine Eevelation ; though there may be advancement in the exposition and teaching of it. What is primitive and ancient, accordingly, in this subject, once fully ascertained to be so, is the truth, and' the whole truth. Only* we must not mistake antiquity of exposition and comment, for primitiveness of the truth itself; for these admit of improved knowledge by human study, when the original truth itself does not. The contest between the advocates of the respective claims of the past and of the present, in the matter of knowledge, is, yLeg., 1. 24, 25. ' Ihid, li. p. 67. ^ lUd, vii. pp! 338, 339. 282 PLATO. doubtless, much older than the time of Plato. But his authority and eloquence have probably been mainly instrumental in starting and sustaining the controversy in modern times, through the early reception of his philosophy into the literature of the Christian church. But we may further see a reason for the stress which Plato lays on the wisdom of prescription and authority, in that state of public opinion to which he is addressing himself. It was not, as might be supposed, a state of things corresponding exactly to a demand for religious or civil changes, in our days, under estabhshed governments and institutions. The question of change is now gravely discussed, and deliberately carried or rejected, not with the view of unsettling everything, but in order that some particular institution or law may be established for the future. Except in violent outbreaks of human passions long pent up within artificial restraints, exasperated by resistance, and at length forcing their way out, and levelling all barriers before them, as in the instance of the great French Eevolution, it cannot be said with truth, of the struggles for particular changes in modern institutions, that they have been actuated by the mere desire of change, and the hatred of everything established. The religion and the civilization of modern times have in some measure presented a check to this. But at the centre of move- ment in Greece, change was the order of the day. Athens would neither rest itself, nor suffer other states to rest. When its very demagogues are forced on some occasions to endeavour to repress this incessant changeableness ; as Cleon was, when he told the Athenians it was better " to have worse laws unmoved, than good laws perpetually changed ;"^ — it is evident that the spirit of change was then developed in its most fearful form. For we find the magician himself who had evoked it, starting in terror at the apparition, and finding it too strong for his direction and control. AoDTio/ hng tmv dsi droTCuv, I'Trz^oitrai bl ruv sioj^oruv, " Slaves of every new extravagance, but despisers of what is accustomed,"^ are the words with which he attempts to exorcise it, and which 1 Thucyd. iii. 37. ' Ibid, c. 38. HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 283 the historian of the times puts into the mouth of one who, as the creature of the system, could most pointedly characterise it. Such was that spirit against which Plato had to contend. It was an enemy not only to the existing government, but to all government, and all law, and all religion and morality. It demanded, therefore, the most forcible counteraction. It was to be met by inculcation of the opposite. According to his own universal principle, contrary was to be expelled by contrary. Everything that was ancient was to be upheld, accordingly, as worthy of veneration and acceptance, simply because it was ancient. The voice itself of antiquity, though speaking without evidence, was to be received with implicit acquiescence and sub- mission. Thus it is that Plato is found strenuously appealing to the instinctive feeling of his Athenian countrymen, which they still retained in spite of the prevailing folly, — the feeling with which they so fondly reverted to their early glories, and delighted to view themselves in the past ; — and labouring to correct their vacillations of present opinion by recalling them to the fixed lessons of their memory. Political philosophy, then, according to Plato, is the history of those changes which the will of man produces in the matter of Government and Laws, and an endeavour to limit those changes by restoring in the social world the primitive order and nile. Education is the means by which those changes are counter- acted. It avails itself of that principle of contrariety by which all changes are carried on; and endeavours to expel the evil by inducing the good. The process by which it carries on this effect is, a discipline of the intellect, prescribed by the state, and promoted by all its institutions and customs, framed, as these are supposed to be, after the idea of the Sovereign Good. That discipline lays down a course of exercise for the body as well as for the intellect, that the body may be brought into the best condition, in order to the exercise of the intellect. The intellect itseK it conducts through the steps of the several sciences, from the bodily and sensible to the unembodied and intellectual, — 284 PLATO. from the phenomenal and changeable to that which has real being, and is unchangeable. And thus in Plato's system it is classed under the two comprehensive heads of Gymnastics and Music ; the latter term being understood, according to its deriva- tion, to denote whatever might be ascribed to the inspiration or dictation of the muses, as history and philosophy, no less than poetry and music; or literature in general. Philosophy itself was the ultimate attainment of education, — the result of the whole intellectual training of the accomplished man. Ostensibly, under this system, there was no peculiar discipline of the heart. Indirectly there was; so far as it inculcated purification and self-denial. But the strengthening and elevating of the intellect was its direct object. Its tendency was thus to exalt the virtues of the intellect above those of the heart ; and, in opposition to the evidence of facts, to assert the power of knowledge over the determinations of the wilL Not that Plato denies the existence of what we call self-command, or that controlling of the passions which is the result of a previous struggle with them. But he did not admit (as Aristotle does, and urges against him) that reason could ever be overpowered by the passions, or that if there were a distinct knowledge of the truth in the mind, it could give way to passion. In the matter of Eeligion, Plato's theory of Ideas led him to see that there were truths above the evidence belonging to Experience, and which must be received solely on the ground of the Divine Authority. For whilst he taught that the mind of man must work its way up to the Ideas by a course of argu- ment and discussion and examination of evidence, yet, having reached the Ideas themselves, it had attained the ultimatum of truth ; no further evidence of these was to be sought ; they earned their own light in themselves. So, when any truth was presented to the mind, which related immediately to the Divine Being, it was not to be supposed capable of being examined in * Aristot. Ethic. Nic. vii. 2. Aris- point, in the result nearly coincides with totle, though controverting the extreme him. Ihid^ c. 3. view of the doctrine of Plato on this HIS WRITINGS AND PHILOSOPHY. 285 itself, and established on any higher ground of internal evidence, but must at once be admitted, if there were sufficient external authority for it. The only proper question respecting such truths is, are they historically true? Is it certain, or at least highly probable, that they have descended to us from the Father of Lights himself? Have we reason to think that they were originally real divine communications, — and are they vouched to us as such by a competent evidence ?^ Now, in regard to the primary principles of the mind, such as we have before spoken of, though they are not evidenced by any higher principles, or by any conclusions from Experience, they carry their own evidence, by their invariable presence in the mind on certain occasions, being naturally suggested by such occasions to every rational understanding. But the truths of Eeligion are of a different nature. They cannot be authenticated by the mind itseK to itself, as being out of its range of thought. They must therefore be authenticated from without. And in regard to these, accordingly, we must appeal to the Eeason and Word of God, as the simple, and proper, and unanswerable vouchers of them. And such is the notion expressly inculcated by Plato ; when he introduces Socrates exhortiag Alcibiades to beware of judging for himself, what he should ask in prayer from the Gods ; and to wait for One that should appear, — One that cared for him, — to take the mist from his eyes, and enable him to know both good and evil.^ This is the account of Plato's disclaimer of all evidence, either of demonstration or probability, on matters strictly Divine, and his frequent appeal to mythic traditions when his discussion touches a mystery of the Divine Being or the Divine conduct. He resolves the whole authority of such matters into the evidence of "ancient story," •raXa/og \6yog, — and "primitive hearing," a^%a/a ^ Timceus, p. 304. 'Eot,;' odv, & 2c6/c/)a- iav &pa iJ,r]d€pbs ^ttov Trapexci/ieS-a eUd- res, TToXXa ^oWQv eiirdvTCJv irepl ^eCov ras, dyawdv XPV' l^^fJ'VTjfi^vov, ws 6 Xiycav, Kal TT]S ToO iravrbs yeveaecos, firj dwarol vfi€?s re ol Kpiral, ' yiypibfie^a iravrr} irdpTWs hp roiis avroi/s fiep' ware irepl to{itwp t6p ehbra pivdov avTOis ofioXoyovfihovs Kal d^TjKptSwfi^- dirodexo/xipovs, fxrjdh ^tl iripa dirodeK- povs \6yovs dTTodovpai, fir) ^av/u-do-QS' dXX' t4op. ^ Alcibiad. ii., p. 100. 286 PLATO. dxori^ — and " learning hoary with time," (loL^nfia %f ovw croX/o'v.i In speaking of the generation of the subordinate divinities, in the Timceus, he makes an observation applicable to the whole subject of divine things as treated by him. Instead of entering into explicit accounts of them, he observes that the subject is "too great for us, and that we must believe those who have spoken before, — ^being the offspring of gods, — in the way in which they said it ; and because they must be conceived to have known their own ancestors ;" adding, that we cannot refuse credit to the " sons of gods, although they speak without probabilities and necessary demonstrations, but must follow the rule of believing them on their word, as declaring what belongs to them." 2 He commends, too, the primitive generation of men for their docility in following rules of life founded on oral tradition, — their " hold- ing as true the things said concerning both gods and men."^ Again, speaking of the state of the dead, and their interest in the concerns of men on earth, he appeals to the same kind of evidence. " We must believe," he says, " the voices of others in such matters, so current as they are, and so extremely ancient ; and it is enough for our belief that legislators, unless they be proved absolutely unwise, have asserted them.""^ So justly does he insist on the reasonableness of being content with the voice of a declaratory authority in matters incapable, by their nature, of a direct evidence from our reason. By the heathen philosopher, in the absence of an authentic revelation, the authority for such truths was naturally sought in ancient traditions, — traditions mounting up beyond all memory of their origin, and therefore referable to times when the world was yet fresh from the hand of God. The voice of remote and undefined antiquity, indeed, by a natural delusion, represents itself to the mind as but little different from the sanction of eternal truth. For it is but a slight and imperceptible transition from the indefinite to the infinite. Many such traditions were found in the heathen mythology, connecting themselves with another order of things, when gods conversed with men on earth. ^ Timceus, p. 291. " Ibid, p. 324. ^ De Leg. iii. p. 111. " Hid, xi. 150. HIS WRITINGS AND PBILOSOPHY. 287 Some of tliem, certainly, were full of absurdity and profaneness ; and all were disfigured with the colouring of fable ; but still there were some, beautiful in the conception, and sublime and impressive in the doctrine. Of this latter character, for the most part, are those exquisite mythical legends, with which Plato has diversified his discussions, throwing the solemnity of religion over truths of high importance which he would specially enforce. Thus, though he has elaborately argued the Immortality of the soul, he is not content to leave the question on those abstract grounds of conviction. He feels that the conviction which may practically influence the conduct, must be drawn from another source, — that of a simple belief in some authority declaring it, — when he closes the discussion, as in the Phcedo, and in other places, with a scenic representation, from the legends of ancient tradition, of the doctrines which he has been enforcing. The whole of the Timmiis, in fact, is a legend rather than a philo- sophical inquiry. It appeals, for the reception of its truths, to the shadows with which it veils them, and the mystic echoes of sounds heard by the listening ear from afar. In that legend, indeed, we have very considerable evidence of the pure source, from which the heathen world drew much of the sacred truth that was wrapped up and disfigured in their fables. We perceive in such a document of Ancient Philosophy, at once the sure and wide-spread knowledge resulting from a scriptural Eevelation, and the obscurity and fallibility of the information of Tradition. To this effect are the description in the Timceus, of the Universe as the "one" work of the "One Supreme Being," — as the " visible likeness of one. Himself the object only of intellectual apprehension," — as the " only-generated," /xovoysv^jg, of the Father of an things; and the strong assertion of the goodness, and beauty, and perfection of the Universe ; and particularly, in reference to this, that striking passage, " When the Father who generated it, perceived, both living and moving, the generated glory of the Everlasting Divinities, he was filled with admira- tion, and, being delighted, he further contemplated the working 288 PLATO. it still more to a resemblance of the pattern." ^ Add to these instances the simple and magnificent words which the Father of the Universe is supposed to address the generated gods, respecting the formation of the bodies of men and other living creatures ; ^ bringing before us the gladness of that day, " when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." The attributing to Him a speech at the first formation of man, is alone sufiiciently remarkable; and the plural address with which it opens, makes the correspondence still closer to the sacred words, ^^ And God said. Let us make man in our image, after our likeness" The order of the gene- ration of things, it may be further observed, agrees with the order of the Creation. First, the heavens and the earth are pro- duced, and then the living creatures ; and among these Man, designated as "the most religious of living things."^ But at the same time there is much confusion and degradation of the high subject. We look in vain for those sublime features of the inspired account, that the Creation arose out of nothing, by the word of God. This is darkly intimated in the shadowy nature which the narrative assigns to Body ; but, though it be but a shadow, Body still subsists in his system, as the co-eternal contrary of the Divine Intelligence. Traces of the descent of holy truth, in the like disguise, appear in the references found in Plato to early deluges and genealogies ;* to the notion of God as the Shepherd of his people ;^ and to accounts of variations in the course of the rising and setting of the sun.^ Such, then, is the character of Plato's philosophy, both in its general method, and in its results, as a theory of the Universe, and an information respecting the leading branches of human knowledge. ^ Timceus, 37 (36). 'fts 5^ kiptj'^^p re ^ Zwuv rb deoaeUcraTOV. {Ibid, p- aiirb Kal ^dv ivevbrj-states to bear on some decisive point, capable of influencing the movement of the whole in a strenuous concerted effort of resistance. At length we see this effort in the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war, in the year 431 B.C., as well as the difficulty of it, in the complicated diplomacy by which p STATE OF ATHENS IN HIS TIME. 299 that great movement was preceded, and in the reluctance of Lacedsemon to bring home to herself the necessity of exer- tion. But, whilst Athens was thus aggrandizing herself against a day of retribution from the insulted states of Greece, she enjoyed the sunshine of her day of empire, in the brilliant assemblage, whicli she then witnessed within her walls, of the great, and the learned, and the eloquent, from all parts of Greece.-^ Wliile her arms and her enterprize were setting foot on every sea and land, her attractiveness as a home of genius and civilization, was evidenced in the number of strangers frequenting her porticoes, and groves, and theatres, and temples, and the houses of her nobles. During thirty years of this period of glory, the philosopher Anaxagoras was employed in propa- gating there the doctrines of the Ionic school, honoured by the patronage of her great men, and the revered master of her choicest spirits in the newly-acquired taste for philosophical inquiry. Nor was philosophy, in the strict sense of the term, as a science of Nature and the Universe, alone pursued, but rather in its application to the social and political requirements of the day. The importance of orator}^ in order to political power and influ- ence, was now more and more recognized; especially as it was evidenced in the conspicuous example of Pericles. Ehetoric, therefore, became the favourite study of every aspirant to the honours of office in the state. Athens, accordingly, formed a great centre of attraction to those who professed to teach the art of Ehetoric in its understood acceptation, as the key to political wisdom and importance. The demand for such instruction was chiefly supplied, as has been before pointed out,^ by the Sophists within her walls, surrounded by crowds of admiring pupils from the highest rank of her citizens. There also were now collected, as in a school of all arts, the great masters of the drama, of sculpture, and painting, and music, and the gymnastic exercises. To these means and opportunities for the cultivation of talent of ^ Isocrat. Panegyr. Kai to ttXtjOos tQp a(t>LKvoviMho3v ws rifia^ toctovtov iariv, K. T. \. p. 59. .2 Plato, Bupra. 300 SOCEATES. every order, whether of mmd or body, must be added also the acquaintance imparted with the works of the poetic genius of the early period of the literature of the Greeks, such as the poems of Homer, and Hesiod, and others, and of Homer in par- ticular, by the Ehapsodists, so called, who recited and inter- preted them in public. This in itself, when books were scarcely accessible to many, must have served as one great instrument of general education. So that Athens, at this time, contained within her own bosom abundant resources for the enlargement of the mind, whether in the eminent rnen who formed her society, in the lectures and conversation of the professors of science, or in noble works, the specimens and examples of what genius could effect. Athens contained, also, doubtless, much to ener- vate and corrupt the moral judgment, whilst she presented every thing to exalt the imagination and refine the taste. Her political institutions, well-balanced as they had been left by Solon, were now violently disturbed. In the course of these years of imperial greatness and prosj^erity, they received a large infusion of that licentious spirit, which the naval successes of the Athenians had engendered in the lower order of the citizens/ and the flattery of successive demagogues had fostered and diffused through the whole of the state. Now, also, faction divided the ties of family and kindred, and formed associations of the people for every lawless purpose of private ambition and cupidity. Their highest and purest court, — one principal anchor of the state, according to the intention of their great legislator,^ — ^the Areopagus, was mutilated in its powers. And whilst numerous courts of law, thronged by their hundreds of judges, chosen by lot from the whole body of citizens, were constantly open,^ and an idle populace were encouraged, by pay from the public treasury, to attend on the business of these courts, the functions of the legislative and deliberative bodies were virtually ^ Aristot. PoKt. ii. 9, ttjs vavapx^as firrov iv (rd\(p r^v ir6\iv ^aeaOai, k. t. X. fap h Tois MijdiKois 6 S^yctos atrLos yevd- ^ Aristoph. Nuh. 208. fievos, i^povTifiaTladr}, k. t. X. a'l'Se fxh "Adijpai. St. tI s eXaxicrra fikv 6\pOLTO, iXdx- ' Plato, supra, p. 186. lara 6' d/coiJcroiTO, i\dxta/, "female associates or compa- nions," under the flimsy veil of a name which popular favour threw over their vice, — strangers visiting Athens from all parts of the Grecian world, — themselves the natural offspring, like the fabled harvest of the serpent's teeth, of those evil seeds, which the unprincipled and immoral teachings of the Sophists had scattered on the soil. Allusion has been made to individuals of that class as attendants on the teaching of Plato. Their II HIS EDUCATION. 313 appearance, however, at Athens is of much earlier date. We have an account from the pen of Xenophon of the visit of Socrates to the house of one of these, by name Theodota ; who is described as so beautiful, that painters resorted to her, to study as in a model of beauty, those graces of form by which she was distinguished, and represent them in their pictures. Socrates, on visiting her at her house, found her standing before a painter for that purpose, sumptuously adorned, with a number of female attendants around her, also richly attired, and every- thing about her in a corresponding style of elegance. He enters into familiar conversation with her ; fully recognizing her position as one subsisting on the revenues accruing from a life of profligacy. He gives her friendly counsel as to the way of making friends ; and, in reply to her invitation to repeat his visit, excuses himself on the plea of want of leisure ; adding, that he has a charm which draws persons around him, — mentioning some of his known disciples, — and, in his eagerness to influence all classes and all sorts of persons, offer- ing to receive her too, if she would come ; and when she readily engages to do so, suddenly taking leave of her, saying, in his jesting way, "that he would admit her, provided there should be no other dearer one visiting him at the time." With the celebrated Aspasia, the heroine of her class, as she may be called, when we look to her public station as the intimate of Pericles, and her commanding influence over him, and her cele- brity for beauty and talent, the name of Socrates is still more familiarly associated. Though Aspasia must have been rather a learner from him, than he from her ; we find him acknow- ledging himself as indebted to her for instruction in Ehetoric in particular. In conversing with Menexenus, an aspirant to the honour of being elected a member of the Athenian Council, he tells him, that it was no wonder that he should be himself able to speak ; as he had had no indifferent teacher in the art, namely, Aspasia, — " she who had made many good orators, and among them one especially, Pericles, the son of Xanthippus." ^ He ^ Plato, Menex. p. 277. 314 SOCEATES. goes on, indeed, to say that Aspasia had even composed that celebrated funeral oration which was pronounced by Pericles over the slain, at the end of the first year of the Peloponnesian war. We must evidently, however, regard this assertion rather as a testimony to the great celebrity enjoyed by Aspasia, — perhaps only the repetition of a popular rumour, invidiously attributing to her even the eloquence of the great man him- self, as if he did nothing apart from her, and could not even speak but by her dictation. In estimating, too, the weight of this assertion, we must make allowance for the habitual irony of Socrates ; in the indulgence of which, he sometimes makes a statement having the appearance of a matter of fact, when it is only thrown out humorously, and must be interpreted with reference to the person addressed and the purpose in view.^ Great indeed must have been the curiosity excited by Aspasia in the character of a teacher at Athens ; when, not only philosophers, and young men, studying to fit themselves for taking part in the affairs of the state, attended on her, but even women, — though it does not appear that these were of the families of Athenian citizens, — might be observed, under the escort of their friends, in the throng of admiring listeners gathered around her.^ Instruction in Music formed an important part of Athenian education. Socrates, it seems, did not neglect the opportunities which the presence of the great masters of the art in Athens ^ The conclusion of the dialogue the oration?" " I am very thankful for shews, that the statement here is not this oration, Socrates," replies Menex- to be taken as literal truth; when So- enus, " to her, or to him, whoever it was, crates, replying to the surprize of Menex- that told it to you, and 1 am very thank- enus that Aspasia, a woman, could com- ful to him before others who has told it pose such orations, says, " then, if you tome." "Well," says Socrates, "but do do not believe me, follow along with me, not tell upon me ; that I may hereafter and you shall yourself hear her;" to report to you many and fine political which Menexenus again observes, " that orations from her." he had often conversed with Aspasia, A comparison of the two orations, that and knew what she was ; " " why then, in Plato and that in Thucydides, will do you not admire hei*," subjoins So- be a sufficient disproof of the assertion, crates, " and be thankful to her now for ^ Plutarch, in Vit. Ferid. II HIS EDUCATION. 315 afforded him of learning its principles. Damon, a celebrated musician, though not more eminent in the science which he pro- fessed, than as a politician and sophist, was resident at Athens during part of the administration of Pericles, an intimate and counsellor of that great statesman, as well as his instructor in Music.^ From him, we are told, Socrates received instruction in the art. He is also described as having learned to play on the harp, even in his advanced age, from Connus, a person well-known^ for his skill on that instrument. By these accounts, however, we may understand, not that he became a proficient in the musical art, but that he had attended on the most skilled professors of it, and studied under them, so far as Music entered into the general pursuit of Philosophy ; and formed a part of the general education of the accomplished Athenian at that time. It should be observed, indeed, that though Socrates strongly discouraged the presumption of knowledge in all with whom he conversed, he did not disapprove of the acquisition of particular kinds of knowledge. He communicated whatever he knew to every one that came in his way ; and where he was himself unacquainted with any subject, he referred his hearers to those who possessed the information. He was not in fact opposed to knowledge in itself. He was glad to embrace it wherever it could be found. But he was an enemy to the substitution of mere intellectual acquisitions, — and those often superficial and unreal, — for education of the mind and character. He felt, and justly felt, that knowledge by itself was vanity. The tendency of the age was to ascribe value exclusively to mental acuteness and dexterity. Ingenuity and cleverness obtained the merit and the prize of wisdom. His labour was to draw his country- men from thinking too highly of their boasted knowledge. He wished them to see how greatly they overrated intellectual accomplishments, — how much they had yet to learn if they would be real proficients in wisdom. Socrates indeed appears to have regarded Philosophy in the ^ Plutarch in Ptricl. ^ Xenophon, Mem. ii. 6. Plato, Menex. p. 235. 316 SOCRATES. liglit of a sacred mission, r^v rov ^eov Xar^slav, to which he was specially called, rather than of a study and exercise of the mind. This notion of philosophy had already been exemplified by Pythagoras and his followers. But they had realized it by forming themselves into distinct communities or colleges ; separating themselves from the world around, by a solemn initiation, and the practice of an ascetic discipline. Socrates, however, had no thought of changing the outward form of society. He did not propose, like Pythagoras, to institute a refuge from the pollutions and misery of the world, or to educate a peculiar brotherhood, who should afterwards act on the social mass. He did not address himself to the few. His school was all Athens, or rather indeed all Greece. Leaving society as it was, he sought to infuse a new spirit into it, by carrying his philosophy into every department of it. He therefore went about among all classes of people, preferring none, despising none, but adapting his instructions to every variety of condition and character. Thus did he in truth, according to the observa- tion commonly applied to him from the time of Cicero, bring down philosophy from heaven to earth ; but not so much by being the first to give a moral tone to philosophy, as by the universality and philanthropy of his teaching. His distinguish- ing merit is, that by his freedom from all pretentiousness, and by his simplicity, he humanized philosophy.^ Philosophy in his hands was no longer an exclusive and privileged profession. It no longer spoke as from an oracular shrine, and in the language of mystery. It now conversed with every man at his own home, — submitted to be familiarly approached and viewed without reserve, — and, instead of waiting to be formally consulted by its votaries only, volunteered to mingle in the business, and interests, and pleasures of every-day life. if His manner of life and of teaching is thus described by Senophon.^ * Ylutarch, DeSocrat.Genio, 1^.582 3, ^ Mem. i. 1; also Plutarch, Utrum ^AvSpbs cLTiKpia Kal d^eXe/^ fidXiara 8r) seni gerend. Resp. ^i.\oao(l>iav i^av'^puiricravTOS. HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 317 " He was consta,ntly in public. For early in the morning he would go to the walks and the gymnasia ; and when the agora was full, he was to be seen there; and constantly during the remainder of the day, he would be wherever he was likely to meet with the most persons ; and for the most part he would talk, and all that would might hear him.'^ The nature of his conversations is thus further reported by the same faithful authority : *' No one ever saw Socrates doing, or heard him saying, any thing impious or profane. For not only did he not discourse about the nature of all things, as most others, inquiring how, what by the Sophists is called the Universe, consists, and by what laws each heavenly thing is produced ; but he would point out the folly of those who studied such matters. And the first inquiry he would make of them was, whether they proceeded to such studies from thinking themselves already sufficiently acquainted with human things ; or whether they thought they were acting becomingly in passing by human things, and giving their attention to the divine. He would wonder, too, it was not evident to them, that it was not possible for men to find out these matters ; since even those who most prided themselves on discoursing of them, did not agree in opinion with each other, but were affected like madmen in relation to one another. For of madmen, whilst some did not fear even what were objects of fear, others were afraid of things that were not to be feared ; whilst seme were not ashamed to say or do any thing even before the multitude, others objected even to going out into the world ; whilst some paid no honour to sacred things, or altars, or any other religious object, others worshipped even stones, and common stocks, and brutes. So of those who speculated on the nature of all things, whilst some thought that Being was one only, others thought it was infinite in number; whilst some thought that all things were in perpetual motion, others thought it impossible for any thing to be moved ; whilst some thought that all things were in a course of generation and destruction, others thought that nothing could possibly be generated or 318 SOCEATES. destroyed. He would further consider respecting them thus: whether, as the learners of human things think they shall be able to make practical use of their knowledge for themselves and any one else at pleasure, so also the searchers into the divine things hold, that having ascertained by what laws each thing is generated, they shall be able to produce at pleasure, winds, and waters, and seasons, and whatever else of the kind they may want ; or whether they have no such expectation, but it suffices them only to know how every thing of this kind is generated. Such, then, was his manner of speaking about those who busied themselves with these matters. — But, for his part, he was ever discoursLQg about human things ; inquiring what was pious, what impious, what honourable, what base, what just, what unjust, what sobriety, what madness, what courage, what cowardice, what a state, what a statesman, what a government of men, what the character of a governor; and about other subjects, which, by being known, he thought, would make men honour- able and Adrtuous, whilst those ignorant of them would justly be called slavish." Xenophon has thus fully touched the character of the teach- ing of Socrates in its leading points, and the nature of his con- stant occupation at Athens. The intermissions of military service appear to have been the only occasions of any variation in this uniform course of life. No other country had any charms for him, as no other afforded such rich opportunities of conversing with men, and studying human nature.^ His activity was essentially different from that either of his pre- decessors or successors in the path of philosophy. They travelled from place to place searching for knowledge, storing their minds with various observations, and making philosophy their formal business. Socrates, as he had no stated school or place of audience, so he had no design of framing any system of philo- ^ Plato, LacheSj 187. OS fioi SoKe'is v^b ToiuTov'rr€pLay6/ii€voPT(^\6y 5^ ye, Co yua^Tjs yap dfxc to, fxeu oZv xwpta koI tcl davixdffie, droTTibraTds tls (fyalvec drexfCis devdpa ovMv fie deXei diddaKecv, oi 5' ep t^J yap, 6 X^yeis, ^evayovfihcp rtvl Kal ovk darei dvOpwrroi. P. 287 ; also Crito, p. iinxiopiq} 'eoLKas' oiiro}^ e/c rod dcrreos oiir' 120. Meno. p. 348. els TTjv virepopiav dirodrjfxeTs, 0^7* l^w 320 SOCRATES. engaged the citizen in hazardous enterprizes and long absences far from his home. The first occasion on which Socrates is related to have served, was in the Chersonese at Potidaea, just before the opening of the Peloponnesian war. The service in which the Athenian soldiers were engaged here was one of great hardship. It was in the winter season, and the climate in those parts was most severe. Amongst those who distinguished them- selves by their resoluteness and gallantry, none was so conspicu- ous as the philosopher. Whilst others were clothing themselves with additional garments, and wrapping their feet in wool, he was observed in his usual dress, and walking barefoot on the ice, with more ease, than others with their shoes. Nor even amidst these circumstances, did he merge the character of the philo- sopher in that of the soldier. He was seen one morning at sun- rise fixed in contemplation. At noon he was in the same position, and still in the evening, and so continued through the night, until the sun-rise of the following day. Such, too, was his bravery in the engagement at Potidsea, that he earned for himself the prize of distinction, but readily sacrificed his claim to the wishes of the generals, in favour of a more illustrious candidate in the person of Alcibiades. Alcibiades himseK would have refused the honour as due rather to Socrates; for to the unwillingness of Socrates to leave him wounded on the field, he had been even indebted for his own life, and the pre- servation of his arms, after the battle. But the philosopher, with a true magnanimity, insisted on the award of the generals.^ The next occasion of military service, in which he was scarcely less distinguished than at Potidsea, was in the eighth year of the Peloponnesian war, at the battle of Delium in Boeotia. ' The battle was an unsuccessful one to the Athenians, and they were forced to retreat in disorder. Alcibiades was also present on this occasion, and overtook, on the way, Socrates, in company with Laches, one of the generals. He was on horseback, and comparatively therefore out of danger, whilst they were on foot.^ He had opportunity, therefore, of admiring the presence ^ Flsito, Sympos. 2Q9. ^ Ihid. ^Laches, 165. HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 321 of mind which Socrates displayed on the occasion, even beyond Laches, and the steadiness and vigilance with which he kept the enemy from pressing upon them, and so secured their retreat.^ These incidents seem to rest on indisputable evidence. The form in which they are introduced, related as they are by a professed eye-witness, and that witness Alcibiades, the person, next to Socrates himself, most interested in them, may justly be regarded as giving a sanction to their history, independently of any fictitious circumstances added in the way of embellish- ment to the Dialogue. The tliird occasion on which Socrates served as a soldier was again in Thrace, at Amphipolis,^ in the same year as that of the unfortunate expedition to Delium. No particulars are mentioned of this adventure. But the fact itself is sufficiently attested. ISTor, though it follows immediately on the affair of Delium, is it improbable on that account. For at this busy period of the war, when the Athenians were making demonstrations of their power, by the presence of their forces in different places at once ; and when Brasidas was pushing his successes against them in Thrace ; no individual of the military age (and Socrates was not more than about forty-five years of age at this time), would enjoy any long interval of relaxation from foreign service. With these exceptions, Socrates appears to have constantly resided at his home at Athens. All this time, throughout his whole life indeed, he lived in great poverty, content with the ^ Plato, Sympos. p. 270. The story 55), doubt is thrown on these accounts is again alluded to by Plato, in the of the military service of Socrates ; dialogue Laches. Laches there says, and instances are given of the hia- that he had experience of the actions torical inaccuracy of Plato. The ob- of Socrates, and reminds him of the jections, however, as there given, are day of their common danger, ij /^er' ^jUoO evidently thrown out in the way of avvhieKLvMvevaas, k. t. X. p. 182. Laer- discussion, and not with perfect scri- tius says {in. vit. Soc. ii. 5-7), that ousness, as if the speaker reallythought Socrates rescued Xenophon, who had them of weight. fallen from his horse in the battle of ^ Plato, Apolog. 28. c. p. 67. Diog. Delium, by carrying him off the field. Laert. in vit. ^Eliau, Var. Hist. iii. In the Beipnosophists of Athenajus (v. 17. 322 SOCRATES. least tbat might suffice for mere sustenance and clothing from day to day. Yet it was no artificial, and melancholy, and fanatical life that he led. He accustomed himself to strict moderation, not with any view to the mortification of the body, or as thinking that abstinence was in itself a virtue, but in order to self-com- mand ; by rendering himself as independent as possible of the circumstances of the body, to disencumber the soul of every burthen and obstruction to its free operation. There was nothing, indeed, of austerity in his life or manner. He might be seen walking barefoot, but it was not for the pain that it might inflict. It was only that he might bear cold and privations of every kind the better, and suffer less inconvenience when exposed to necessary hardships, and require less for his ordinary sub- sistence. So far was he from studying a discipline of bodily severity for its own sake, that he was • observed at times mingling in the social festivities of his fellow-citizens with the full freedom of Athenian conviviality, and shewing that he could bear excesses which mastered others, without losing his self-command.^ Both Plato and Xenophon have presented to us a picture of him, under this especial point of view. Each has sketched a symposium, or drinking party, at Athens, in which Socrates appears as the principal figure, bearing his part in the festal mirth of the occasion, and, at the same time, giving an instruc- tive turn to the conversation. In the symposium of Xenophon, the party are assembled at the house of Callias in the Piraeus, the well-known resort of the Sophists, in honour of the victory of the youth Autolycus in the contest of the pancratium, at the great Panathensea : in that of Plato, the occasion is of a similar character, at the house of the youthful poet, Agatho, in celebra- tion of his Tragic victory of the previous day, at the Lenaea. In the former, the entertainment of the evening is described as enlivened by a professional jester, who appears among the guests without invitation, and by the performances of a paid * ^lian, Var. Hist. iv. 11. HIS LIFE AND- TEACHING. 323 exhibitor accompanied by a girl playing the flute, another a dancer, and a boy playing the harp ; who, at intervals, amuse the company by singing, and by feats of skill and agility, and sleight-of-hand tricks ; and, at the end, delight them by a stage -representation of a love- scene between Bacchus and Ariadne. In the latter, a minstrel-girl is introduced ; but it is only to be immediately dismissed ; Agatho and his guests determin- ing, that, as the previous day had been one of profuse drinking, this should be one of liberty to each to drink only as he pleased, and that on the present occasion they should engage in some intellectual pastime among themselves. A subject of discussion, accordingly, is proposed — the encomium of Love — on which each is to display in turn his power of description. It comes last to the turn of Socrates to speak ; and it is to him that Plato reserves the expression of the judgment of his philosophy on the subject. All that is said by the previous speakers, (though the masterly hand of Plato is evident in their speeches, in working them up for effect, and marking out any peculiarities in the individuals, with strong touches of his own satirical humour, (especially in those of Agatho and Aristophanes), is but the clearing of the ground, and the prelude to the exposition which Socrates proceeds to deliver, of the nature of Love. Avoiding, as was his constant practice, all didactic statement, Socrates professes only to repeat a conversation which he had held on some occasion with " the Mantinean stranger," Diotime, one, evidently, of the notorious class of female visitors of Athens. As the account which he is about to give of the affection of Love, would doubtless sound somewhat mystical and strange in their ears, he prefaces it with the mention of her fame for skill in the art of divination.1 He tells them, how, by a series of questions, she had brought him to a sense of his ignorance on the subject, and taught him, that Love had not for its true object, the ^ Such was her skill in tliis respect, Athenians at her suggestion, she had he says {Sjmpos. p. 227), that in conse- occasioned a delay of the visitation of quence of a sacrifice performed by the the plague for ten years before the war. 324 SOCRATES. gratification of this or that particular desire, hut only " the good," with the possession of that good for ever ; how he had further learned from her, that all that effort of Love which was observed in the world, was a seeking, to the utmost, an immortality of being and of happiness ; that which in itself is mortal, thus pre- serving its identity, and realizing its immortal existence by successive renovations of self ; just as personal identity remains, whilst changes are constantly proceeding in the mind and body of the individual. Whilst (as she explained to him further, he said) this effort manifested itself in various ways in the world, — in some, in sensual indulgence ; in some, in the love and care of their offspring ; in some, in the pursuit of fame ; in some again, in works of intellect, or in labours for the benefit of men, by implanting in other minds the principles of knowledge and virtue,-— it could never obtain its full gratification in the present condition of being ; but must go on, striving still, from lower to higher ground, — step by step, — becoming larger and more general in its aim, — until at length it realizes to itself the bright vision of the intrinsically beautiful and divine. The setting fortli, however, of this mystical and sublime theory of Love, connecting it with his philosophy of the Divine Ideas, was not all that Plato contemplated in bringing Socrates before us in his symposium. He evidently designed further to vindicate the character of Socrates from the imputation of corrupting the young, by introducing both Aristophanes, by whom the charge had obtained a public expression in his play of the Clouds, and Alcibiades, to whom that charge especi- ally pointed, in friendly intercourse with him on this occasion. Aristophanes, as one of the company, had, in his turn, spoken in the praise of Love. And he was about to reply to some observa- tion of Socrates alluding to him, when suddenly a loud knocking is heard at the door of the court ; and Alcibiades makes his appearance in a drunken frolic, followed by a party of noisy revellers, such as appear very commonly to have infested the streets of Athens at night. Being invited to take his part in celebrating the praise of Love, he affects to be jealous of the HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 325 attention of Socrates to Agatho, and peremptorily refuses to praise any one but Socrates himself He sets out, accordingly, with a humorous strain of encomium, imitating the ironical manner of Socrates, holding up to ridicule the peculiarities of the person of Socrates ; even quoting some words from the GloudSy expressive of his manner of solemnly moving his body and glaring with the eyes; then making a sudden transition from this topic, going on to declare his admiration of the great virtues of Socrates, of the influence which he had with all whom he addressed ; how Socrates had saved him in the war from the hands of the enemy; how he had not only shewn himself brave in the hour of danger, but also no less firm and invincible under temptations to licentious and criminal indulgence ; how, in all their intercourse, his conduct towards him had ever been no other than that of a father towards a son.^ One account, but not a very credible one, as it rests on the authority of Aristoxenus, an invidious writer, states that Socrates was supported by the alms of friends, contributed from time to time for his relief. With his very limited wants, and his ready access to the house of Crito and other liberal patrons of philosophy at Athens, he would not have to depend on this precarious charity. The pittance which sufficed for the humblest citizen would suffice for him. He is said to have inherited a patrimony of seventy or eighty minae.^ But this sum, it is ^ The Tragic victory of Agatho, oc- the two authors had previously seen the curring at the festival of the Lensea, in work of the other. B.C. 416, and the first exhibition of the ^ About £400 of our money. Plu- Clouds being in b.c. 423 ; there would tarch (in his life of Aristides) finds fault be sufficient time in the interval be- with Demetrius Plialereus for having en- tween the exhibition, and the occasion of deavoured to remove the imputation of the symposium in Plato, for passages in poverty from Socrates, by stating that the Clouds to have become current in Socrates had land of his own and seventy the mouths of people. minse put out to interest by Crito. Allusion is also made in Xeno- The idea of his extreme indigence ori- phon's symposium, to the frivolous ginated probably with the caricatures of questions which Socrates is made to his profession of poverty by the comic ask in the Clouds. poets ; and, true as it was substantially, Notwithstanding the entire difference w'as afterwards, it seems, maintained by of style in the two dialogues, they his friends and admirers, as the evidence resemble each other in so many points, of the consistency of his life with his that one is apt to suppose, that one of avowed contempt for worldly possessions. 326 SOCRATES. added, he lost (though the time is not stated when the loss occurred) by the failure of the person with whom it had been placed at interest. He possessed also a house in Athens ; and he was able, how^ever scantily, to support a family. So that we cannot suppose he was absolutely destitute of all resources of subsistence. He appears then rather to have voluntarily renounced every kind of worldly possession, so far as his own personal comfort was concerned, than to have been absolutely reduced to want by the pressure of circumstances. Poverty, in fact, was his profession, and not the mere necessity of his case. If he prided himself in any thing, it was in his avowal of his contempt for riches, and disregard of domestic interests and comforts, in contrast with the general habits of an age of selfish activity and profusion. The means of enriching himself, at least of extricating himself from want, were often placed in his power, and he as often rejected them. Alcibiades offered him land on which he might build a house, but he refused it pointedly, observing, "Had I wanted shoes, would you have offered me leather to make shoes for myself? — and ridiculous should I have been in taking it." Charmides would have given him slaves, as a source of revenue by their labour. This offer also he refused.^ In the same spirit, he would often cast a look at the number of things that were sold, and say to himself, " Of how many things I have no need !"^ Thus was his whole plan of life studiously opposed to the acceptance of any provision for his comfort or ease. It was a service of the Deity in which he felt himself engaged, and, in the prosecution of that, solemnly devoted to a course of hardy poverty.^ In the domestic relations of life, he lived an Athenian among Athenians. He differed from other heads of families at Athens in this respect, that in his dedication of himself to his philosophic mission, he took no thought about the management of his private affairs. His home was abroad ; his household the people of Athens. Still he discharged the duties of a husband, and the * Diog. Laert. in vit. ^ Plato, Apolog. p. 5. 'AXX' iv irevig. * Ibid. fivplq:. el/id dia rrju tov deov Xarpdav. HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 327 father of a family ; and tliat under trying circumstances, unless the proverbial severity of temper of his wife Xanthippe be esteemed an idle scandal of the day. No Athenian, indeed, was truly domestic, in the sense of making his home the scene of his highest interest and enjoyment. 'Nov was Socrates domestic in this sense. Still less was he so than other Athenians ; inas- much as his very profession of life was a call from the bosom of his family. But in the midst of these avocations from his imme- diate home, and the vexations to which he was subjected there, he was not estranged from the ties of domestic affection. Xeno- phon has recorded a simple and touching trait of the character of Socrates under this particular point of view — a trait the more interesting, as almost everything else that we know of the philo- sopher is drawn from his life in public. It occurs in the course of a conversation between Socrates and his son Lamprocles, who had complained of the insufferable temper of his mother Xan- thippe. " What," said he to the youth, " do you think it more annoying to you to hear what she says, than it is to the actors, when in the tragedies they say every thing bad of one another ?" " But they, I conceive," replied the son, " bear it easily, because they do not suppose that the speaker, in contradicting them, intends to hurt them, or that in threatening, he intends to do them any ill." " Then are you/' resumed Socrates, " vexed, when you well know that what your mother says to you, she says, not only intending no evil, but even wishing more good to you than to any one else ; or do you regard your mother as unkindly affected towards you?" Lamprocles, disclaiming this latter supposition ; " Do you then," he added, " say of her, who is both kind to you, and takes every possible care of you when you are sick, that you may recover, and want nothing proper for you, and who, moreover, prays to the gods in your behalf for many a good, and pays vows, — that she is vexatious ? For my part, I think, if you cannot bear such a mother, you cannot bear what is good for you "^ From the description given by Plato of the family of Socrates ^ Xenopb. 3Icm. ii. 2. 328 SOCRATES. in the i)risoii-sceiie, it would appear that Socrates had two other children then living besides Lamprocles — the eldest;^ one of them quite a child, at the time of their father's death.^ "We learn from other authorities,^ that the two younger children were named Sophroniscus and Menexenus ; but these are said to have been the children, not of Xanthippe, but of another wife,' Myrto, the grand-daughter of Aristides, surnamed the Just * To account for this, it has been stated, that after their disasters in Sicily, the Athenians made a decree authorizing double marriages, with the view of recruiting their exhausted population. But this statement does not appear to be borne out by the earlier authorities on the subject of Athenian legislation. Nor is it probable that a law should have been enacted, directly sanctioning a form of polygamy. It appears, that during the pressure and confusion of the Peloponnesian war, persons obtained the freedom of the city of Athens whose title was objectionable on the constitutional ground of their not being born of citizen-parents on both sides. Thus had Pericles, after the death of his two legitimate sons, obtained the admission of his son, Pericles, by Aspasia, to the privilege of citizenship;^ though he had himself carried, some time before, a law of strict limitation, under which nearly four thousand were deprived of the franchise.*^ Such extension of the privilege to the offspring of illegal unions, possibly gave a pretext to the supposition, that a decree passed at Athens sanctioning bigamy. Some difficulty, however, arises on the subject of the mar- riage of Socrates, from the conflict of authorities. Whilst it is asserted, on the one hand, that he was married to Myrto and Xanthippe at the same time ; on the other hand, others assign them both as his wives, but in succession, and also differ as to the order of succession. But the silence of Plato and Xeno- ^ Xenophon, Mem. ii., 2, in the anec- * I^iog. Laert. in vit. dote referred to above, speaks of Lam- ® The same who was among the procles as the eldest son, and of Xan- generals at the battle of Arginusse, thippe as his mother. who were cruelly and iniquitously sacri- '^ Plato, Plicedo, pp. 135, 262. ficed to party spirit after their great ' Aristotle, cited by Laertius in vit. victory. Socr. * riutarch in Pericl p HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 329 phon respecting any other wife of Socrates but Xanthippe, and their coincidence in speaking of her only as the mother of his children, may be regarded as sufficiently decisive of the point against every subsequent authority. Indeed, the reference to Aristotle, given by Laertius, which is the chief ground for sup- posing that Socrates was married also to Myrto, is very question- able ; it is even doubtful whether the treatise to which Laertius appeals for the fact, is the genuine work of Aristotle. From the manner, too, in which the name of Myrto appears to have been introduced in the account, nothing more may have been intended, than that Socrates found her in a state of widowhood and dis- tress from poverty, and took care of her at his own home.^ Aristides belonged to the same tribe, and the same demus or borough, as Socrates ; and a reverence for the virtues of the grandfather, may have combined with these almost domestic ties, to call forth such an act of friendliness to the disconsolate Myrto.^ And if this be the case, as is probable, it would only add an interesting instance of that liberal benevolence which characterized the whole conduct of Socrates.^ It is a confirmation of this conclusion, that all anecdotes of the private life of Socrates which appear at all credible, bring Xanthippe on the scene. On his inviting some wealthy persons to supper, it is Xanthippe who is distressed by their deficient means of hospitality, and to whom he replies, " Take courage ; if they are worthy people, they will be satisfied ; if they are worthless we shall care nothing about them."* It is Xanthippe whom he reproves for her particularity about her dress on the occasion of some public spectacle, as more desirous of " being seen than to see."^ It is of her again that Alcibiades expressed his wonder how he could bear with her, when he simply but pointedly referred him to her just claims on his affection as the ^ The poverty of the family of Aris- the story of the double marriage in his tides appears from ^lian, Var. Hist., observations on Socrates. The story is X. 15. also questioned by Athenseus, Deipno- "^ riato, Laches. soph., xiii. 2. ^ Plutarch in Aristides. He adds, * Diog. Laert. invit. that Pansetius had sufficiently refuted ^ iElian, Var. Hist., vii. 10. 330 SOCRATES. motlier of his children. ^ On another occasion his disciple, Antisthenes, is said to have asked him, with reference to Xan- thippe, why he did not study to improve the disposition of his wife, whose violence of temper (lie observed) was unexampled in the history of domestic life. Instead of confirming the censo- rious remark, he turned it, according to his usual method, to a practical illustration of his philosophy. " If Xanthippe was hard to be controlled," was the tenor of his answer, " it was only a proper discipline to him for the management of men ; as those who would be masters in horsemanship, began with ma- naging the most spirited horse, after which every other would be tractable."^ These stories, and the like, handed down or in- vented by the humour of the times, may be merely exaggerations of the fact of the inconvenience and dissatisfaction occasionally felt at the philosopher's home, by his habitual neglect of his domestic concerns, and the duty of exertion consequently im- posed on Xanthippe beyond Athenian women in general. She appears indeed to have tenderly loved her husband, if Plato has faithfully traced the picture of her visit to his prison, and her extreme anguish at that trying hour. And he also knew her value, if his affection may be judged of, as surely it may, by the kind and gentle considerateness of his manner in committing her to the care of his friends at parting, and liis absolute reserve of his feelings on that occasion.^ The picture, indeed, is drawn by the hand of a consummate master ; and Plato, it is true, was not present on the occasion. But we must believe, that in painting a scene that must have been impressed on the mind of the dis- ciples of the philosopher, above every other incident of his hfe, and of which persons then living must have retained a lively recollection, he took his outlines at least of these interesting par- ticulars from the real state of the case. But the allusion to these circumstances brings us prema- turely to the solemn tragedy which closed his intrepid and ener- getic career. We have yet to contemplate him pursuing for many a year his unwearied labour of awakening his countrymen * Diog. Lacrt. in Vit. ^ Xenoph. Sympos., ii. ^ Plato, Phado, p. 135. HIS LIFE AND TEACHING. 331 from their dreams of knowledge and happiness to the realities of their condition in the world. Great indeed must have been the address, which could recommend the severe and wholesome truths inculcated by him, to the hearing of the vain and volatile Athenians. To none is the practical application of a principle, so condemnatory of human folly and impertinence, as the maxim, " Know Thyself,'^ truly welcome. And yet this was the burthen of the teaching of Socrates for a series of years, among a people, whom it was far easier to please by praising to excess, than not to displease by censuring ever so slightly. They would listen, indeed, patiently, to general invectives on their public conduct, conveyed in the impassioned eloquence of their orators ; as per- sons will readily sympathize with general descriptions of the depravity of Human nature, or of whole classes of men. But all are apt to recoil from the pain of direct self-application of the truth ; and Athenians, especially, regarded with invidiousness every attempt to impart to them moral instruction. Every Athenian, they thought, was capable of communicating this kind of knowledge, at least every educated Athenian, every indivi- dual of the higher order of citizens.-^ They wanted no one to teach them Virtue. Hence the allusion made on so many occa- sions by Socrates to the question, whether virtue could be taught or not. When the Sophists made this a part of their profession, it was as an external accomplishment or art, and not as a disci- pline of life, that it entered into their system of education.^ Socrates uprooted this vain notion. He laboured to impress on the Athenians, that so far from these popular teachers being able to impart instruction in Virtue, there were none who really knew what Virtue was. They had yet to learn themselves, — to become acquainted with their own minds, their own character intellectually and morally, in order to that pur- ^ Xenoph. Mem. iv. 2. 24. Kari- yap Slv dWo ri ifdeip, etye fiTjd^ i/xavrbv fiades odv irpbs ry pa(^ irov yeypafifiivop iyiyvcoaKov, k.t.\. TO TvQdi aavTov; "Eyoyye. Udrepov odv ^ Isocrates speaks of them as cvfXTa- oidiv croi toO ypcififxaros ifi^X-rjcrev, i) irpoeis kuI dydX/J-aTa, o5 cr^jSas dpprjTtav iepQv, Xva eii(XTi