CHAPTER XXXII.. Analogies of Physical and Religious Philosophy.

ANALOGIES OF PHYSICAL AND RELIGIOUS PHILOSOPHY.

1. Any assertion of analogy between physical and religious philosophy will very properly be looked upon with great jealousy as likely to be forced and delusive; and it is only in its most general aspects that a sound philosophy on the two subjects can offer any points of resemblance. But in some of its general conditions the discovery of truth in the one field of knowledge and in the other may offer certain analogies, as well as differences, which it may be instructive to notice; and to some such aspects of our philosophy I shall venture to refer.

For the physical sciences--the sciences of observation and speculation--the progress of our exact and scientific knowledge, as I have repeatedly said, consists in reducing the objects and events of the universe to a conformity with Ideas which we have in our own minds:--the Ideas, for instance, of Space, Force, Substance, and the like. In this sense, the intellectual progress of men consists in the Idealization of Facts.

2. In moral subjects, on the other hand, where man has not merely to observe and speculate, but also to act;--where he does not passively leave the facts and events of the world such as they are, but tries actively to alter them and to improve the existing state of things, his progress consists in doing this. He makes a moral advance when he succeeds in doing what he thus attempts:--when he really improves the state of things with which he has to do by removing evil and producing good:--when he makes the state of things, namely, the relations between him and other persons, his acts and their acts, conform more and more to Ideas which he has in his own mind:--namely, to the Ideas of Justice, Benevolence, and the like. His moral progress thus consists in the realization of Ideas.

And thus we are led to the Aphorism, as we may call it, that Man's Intellectual Progress consists in the Idealization of Facts, and his Moral Progress consists in the Realization of Ideas.

3. But further, though that progress of science which consists in the idealization of facts may be carried through several stages, and indeed, in the history of science, has been carried through many stages, yet it is, and always must be, a progress exceedingly imperfect and incomplete, when compared with the completeness to which its nature points. Only a few sciences have made much progress; none are complete; most have advanced only a step or two. In none have we reduced all the Facts to Ideas. In all or almost all the unreduced Facts are far more numerous and extensive than those which have been reduced. The general mass of the facts of the universe are mere facts, unsubdued to the rule of science. The Facts are not Idealized. The intellectual progress is miserably scanty and imperfect, and would be so, even if it were carried much further than it is carried. How can we hope that it will ever approach to completeness?

4. And in like manner, the moral progress of man is still more miserably scanty and incomplete. In how small a degree has he in this sense realized his Ideas! In how small a degree has he carried into real effect, and embodied in the relations of society, in his own acts and in those of others with whom he is concerned, the Ideas of Justice and Benevolence and the like! How far from a complete realization of such moral Ideas are the acts of the best men, and the relations of the best forms of society! How far from perfection in these respects is man! and how certain it is that he will always be very far from perfection! Far below even such perfection as he can conceive, he will always be in his acts and feelings. The moral progress of man, of each man, and of each society, is, as I have said, miserably scanty and incomplete; and when regarded as the realization of his moral Ideas, its scantiness and incompleteness become still more manifest than before.

Hence we are led to another Aphorism:--that man's progress in the realization of Moral Ideas, and his progress in the Scientific idealization of Facts, are, and always will be, exceedingly scanty and incomplete.

5. But there is another aspect of Ideas, both physical and moral, in which this scantiness and incompleteness vanish. In the Divine Mind, all the physical Ideas are entertained with complete fulness and luminousness; and it is because they are so entertained in the Divine Mind, and it is because the universe is constituted and framed upon them, that we find them verified in every part of the universe, whenever we make our observation of facts and deduce their laws.

In like manner the Moral Ideas exist in the Divine Mind in complete fulness and luminousness; and we are naturally led to believe and expect that they must be exemplified in the moral universe, as completely and universally as the physical laws are exemplified in the physical universe. Is this so? or under what conditions can we conceive this to be?

6. In answering this question, we must consider how far the moral, still more even than the physical Ideas of the Divine Mind, are elevated above our human Ideas; but yet not so far as to have no resemblance to our corresponding human Ideas; for if this were so, we could not reason about them at all.

In speaking of man's moral Ideas, Benevolence, Justice, and the like, we speak of them as belonging to man's Soul, rather than to his Mind, which we have commonly spoken of as the seat of his physical Ideas. A distinction is thus often made between the intellectual and the moral faculties of man; but on this distinction we here lay no stress. We may speak of man's Mind and Soul, meaning that part of his being in which are all his Ideas, intellectual and moral.

And now let us consider the question which has just been asked:--how we can conceive the Divine Benevolence and Justice to be completely and universally realized in the moral world, as the Ideas of Space, Time, &c. are in the physical world?

7. Our Ideas of Benevolence, Justice, and of other Virtues, may be elevated above their original narrowness, and purified from their original coarseness, by moral culture; as our Ideas of Force and Matter, of Substance and Elements, and the like, may be made clear and convincing by philosophical and scientific culture. This appears, in some degree, in the history of moral terms, as the progress of clearness and efficacy in the Idea of the material sciences appears in the history of the terms belonging to such sciences. Thus among the Romans, while they confined their kindly affections within their own class, a stranger was universally an enemy; peregrinus was synonymous with hostis. But at a later period, they regarded all men as having a claim on their kindness; and he who felt and acted on this claim was called humane. This meaning of the word humanity shows the progress (in their Ideas at least) of the virtue which the word humanity designates.

8. And as man can thus rise to a point of view where he sees that man is to be loved as man, so the humane and loving man inevitably assumes that God loves all men; and thus assumes that there is, or may be, a love of man in man's heart, which represents and resembles in kind, however remote in degree, the love of God to man.

But as in man's love of man there are very widely different stages, rising from the narrow love of a savage to his family or his tribe, to the widest and warmest feelings of the most enlightened and loving universal philanthropist;--so must we suppose that there are stages immeasurably wider by which God's love of man is more comprehensive and more tender than any love of man for man. The religious philosopher will fully assent to the expressions of this conviction delivered by pious men in all ages. "The eternal God is thy refuge, and beneath thee are the everlasting arms." "When my father and my mother forsake me the Lord taketh me up," is the expression of Divine Love, consistent with philosophy as well as with revelation. But as the Divine Love is more comprehensive and enduring than any human love, so is it in an immeasurably greater degree, more enlightened. It is not a love that seeks merely the pleasure and gratification of its object; that even an enlightened human love does not do. It seeks the good of its objects; and such a good as is the greatest good, to an Intelligence which can embrace all cases, causes, and contingencies. To our limited understanding, evil seems often to be inflicted, and the good of a part seems inconsistent with the good of another part. Our attempts to conceive a Supreme and complete Good provided for all the creatures which exist in the universe, baffle and perplex us, even more than our attempts to conceive infinite space, infinite time, and an infinite chain of causation. But as the most careful attention which we can give to the Ideas of Space, Time, and Causation convinces us that these Ideas are perfectly clear and complete in the Divine Mind, and that our perplexity and confusion on these subjects arise only from the vast distance between the Divine Mind and our human mind, so is it reasonable to suppose the same to be the source of the confusion which we experience when we attempt to determine what most conduces to the good of our fellow-creatures; and when, urged by love to them, we endeavour to promote this good. We can do little of what Infinite Love would do, yet are we not thereby dispensed from seeking in some degree to imitate the working of Divine Love. We can see but little of what Infinite Intelligence sees, and this should be one source of confidence and comfort, when we stumble upon perplexities produced by the seeming mixture of good and evil in the world.

9. But when we ask the questions which have already been stated: Whether this Infinite Divine Love is realized in the world, and if so, How: I conceive that we are irresistibly impelled to reply to the former question, that it is: and we then turn to the latter. We are led to assume that there is in God an Infinite Love of man, a creature in a certain degree of a Divine nature. We must, as a consequence of this, assume that the Love of God to man, necessarily is, in the end, and on the whole, completely and fully realized in the history of the world. But what is the complete history of the world! Is it that which consists in the lives of men such as we see them between their birth and their death? If the minds or souls of men are alive after the death of the body, that future life, as well as this present life, belongs to the history of the world;--to that providential history, of which the totality, as we have said, must be governed by Infinite Divine Love. And in addition to all other reasons for believing that the minds and souls of men do thus survive their present life, is this:--that we thus can conceive, what otherwise it is difficult or impossible to conceive, the operation of Infinite Love in the whole of the history of mankind. If there be a Future State in which men's souls are still under the authority and direction of the Divine Governor of the world, all that is here wanting to complete the scheme of a perfect government of Intelligent Love may thus be applied: all seeming and partial evil may be absorbed and extinguished in an ultimate and universal good.

10. The Idea of Justice as belonging to God suggests to us some of the same kind of reflexions as those which we have made respecting the Divine Love. We believe God to be just: otherwise, as has been said, He would not be God. And as we thus, from the nature of our minds and souls, believe God to be just, we must, in this belief, understand Justice according to the Idea which we have of Justice; that is, in some measure, according to the Idea of Justice, as exemplified in human actions and feelings. It would be absurd to combine the two propositions, that we necessarily believe that God is just, and that by just, we mean something entirely different from the common meaning of the word.

But though the Divine Idea of Justice must necessarily, in some measure, coincide with our Idea of Justice, we must believe in this, as in other cases, that the Divine Idea is immeasurably more profound, comprehensive, and clear, than the human Idea. Even the human Idea of Justice is susceptible of many and large progressive steps, in the way of clearness, consistency, and comprehensiveness. In the moral history of man this Idea advances from the hard rigour of inflexible written Law to the equitable estimation of the real circumstances of each case; it advances also from the narrow Law of a single community to a larger Law, which includes and solves the conflicts of all such Laws. Further, the administration of human Law is always imperfect, often erroneous, in consequence of man's imperfect knowledge of the facts of each case, and still more, from his ignorance of the designs and feelings of the actors. If the Judge could see into the heart of the person accused, and could himself rise higher and higher in judicial wisdom, he might exemplify the Idea of Justice in a far higher degree than has ever yet been done.

11. But all such advance in the improvement of human Justice must still be supposed to stop immeasurably short of the Divine Justice, which must include a perfect knowledge of all men's actions, and all men's hearts and thoughts; and a universal application of the wisest and most comprehensive Laws. And the difference of the Divine and of the human Idea of Justice may, like the differences of other Divine and human Ideas, include the solution of all the perplexities in which we find ourselves involved when we would trace the Idea to all its consequences. The Divine Idea is immeasurably elevated above the human Idea; in the Divine Idea all inconsistency, defect, and incompleteness vanish, and Justice includes in its administration every man, without any admixture of injustice. This is what we must conceive of the Divine administration, since God is perfectly just.

12. But here, as before, we have another conclusion suggested to us. We are, by the considerations just now spoken of, led to believe that, in the Divine administration of the world is an administration of perfect Justice;--that is, such is the Divine Administration in the end and on the whole, taking into account the whole of the providential history of the world. But the course of the world, taking into account only what happens to man in this present life, is not, we may venture to say, a complete and entire administration of justice. It often happens that injustice is successful and triumphant, even in the end, so far as the end is seen here. It happens that wrong is done, and is not remedied or punished. It happens that blameless and virtuous men are subjected to pain, grief, violence, and oppression, and are not protected, extricated, or avenged. In the affairs of this world, the prevalence of injustice and wrong-doing is so apparent, as to be a common subject of complaint: and though the complaint may be exaggerated, and though a calm and comprehensive view may often discern compensating and remedial influences which are not visible at first sight, still we cannot regard the lot of happiness or misery which falls to each man in this world and this life as apportioned according to a scheme of perfect and universal justice, such as in our thoughts we cannot but require the Divine administration to be.

13. Here then we are again led to the same conviction by regarding the Divine administration of the world as the realization of the Divine Justice, to which we were before led by regarding it as the realization of the Divine Love. Since the Idea is not fully or completely realized in man's life in this present world, this present world cannot be the whole of the Divine Administration. To complete the realization of the Idea of Justice, as an element of the Divine Administration, there must be a life of man after his life in this present world. If man's mind and soul, the part of him which is susceptible of happiness and misery, survive this present life, and be still subject to the Divine Administration, the Idea of Divine Justice may still be completely realized, notwithstanding all that here looks like injustice or defective justice; and it belongs to the Idea of Justice to remedy and compensate, not to prevent wrong. And thus by this supposition of a Future State of man's existence, we are enabled to conceive that, in the whole of the Divine Government of the universe, all seeming injustice and wrong may be finally corrected and rectified, in an ultimate and universal establishment of a reign of perfect Righteousness.

14. Admitting the view thus presented, we may again discern a remarkable analogy between what we have called our physical Ideas (those of Space, Time, Cause, Substance, and the like), and our moral Ideas, (those of Benevolence, Justice, &c.). In both classes we must suppose that our human Ideas represent, though very incompletely and at an immeasurable distance, the Divine Ideas. Even our physical Ideas, when pursued to their consequences, are involved in a perplexity and confusion from which the Divine Ideas are free. Our Ideas of Benevolence and Justice are still more full of imperfections and inconsistency, when we would frame them into a complete scheme, and yet from such imperfections and inconsistency we must suppose that the Divine Benevolence and Justice are exempt. Our physical Ideas we find in every case exactly exemplified and realized in the universe, and we account for this by considering that they are the Divine Ideas, on which the universe is constituted. Our moral Ideas, the Ideas of Benevolence and Justice in particular, must also be realized in the universe, as a scheme of Divine Government. But they are not realized in the world as constituted of man living this present life. The Divine Scheme of the world, therefore, extends beyond this present life of man. If we could include in our survey the future life as well as the present life of man, and the future course of the Divine Government, we should have a scheme of the Moral Government of the universe, in which the Ideas of Perfect Benevolence and Perfect Justice are as completely and universally exemplified and realized, as the Ideas of Space, Time, Cause, Substance, and the like, are in the physical universe.

15. There is one other remark bearing upon this analogy, which seems to deserve our attention. As I have said in the last chapter, the scheme of the world, as governed by our physical Ideas, seems to point to a Beginning of the world, or at least of the present course of the world: and if we suppose a Beginning, our thoughts naturally turn to an End. But if our physical Ideas point to a Beginning and suggest an End, do our Ideas of Divine Benevolence and Justice in any way lend themselves to this suggestion?--Perhaps we might venture to say that in some degree they do, even to the eye of a mere philosophical reason. Perhaps our reason alone might suggest that there is a progression in the human race, in various moral attributes--in art, in civilization, and even in humanity and in justice, which implies a beginning. And that at any rate there is nothing inconsistent with our Idea of the Divine Government in the supposition that the history of this world has a Beginning, a Middle and an End.

16. If therefore there should be conveyed to us by some channel especially appropriated to the communication and development of moral and religious Ideas, the knowledge that the world, as a scheme of Divine Government, has a Beginning, a Middle, and an End, of a Kind, or at least, invested with circumstances quite different from any which our physical Ideas can disclose to us, there would be, in such a belief, nothing at all inconsistent with the analogies which our philosophy--the philosophy of our Ideas illustrated by the whole progress of science--has impressed upon us. On the grounds of this philosophy, we need find no difficulty in believing that as the visible universe exhibits the operation of the Divine Ideas of Space, Time, Cause, Substance, and the like, and discloses to us traces of a Beginning of the present mode of operation, so the moral universe exhibits to us the operation of the Divine Benevolence and Justice; and that these Divine attributes wrought in a special and peculiar manner in the Beginning; interposed in a peculiar and special manner in the Middle; and will again act in a peculiar and special manner in the End of the world. And thus the conditions of the physical universe, and the Government of the Moral world, are both, though in different ways, a part of the work which God is carrying on from the Beginning of things to the End--opus quod Deus operator a principio usque ad finem.

17. We are led by such analogies as I have been adducing to believe that the whole course of events in which the minds and souls of men survive the present life, and are hereafter subjected to the Divine government in such a way as to complete all that is here deficient in the world's history, is a scheme of perfect Benevolence and Justice. Now, can we discern in man's mind or soul itself any indication of a destiny like this? Are there in us any powers and faculties which seem as if they were destined to immortality? If there be, we have in such faculties a strong confirmation of that belief in the future life of man which has already been suggested to us as necessary to render the Divine government conceivable.

18. According to our philosophy there are powers and faculties which do thus seem fitted to endure, and not fitted to terminate and be extinguished. The Ideas which we have in our minds--the physical Ideas, as we have called them, according to which the universe is constituted,--agree, as far as they go, with the Ideas of the Divine Mind, seen in the constitution of the universe. But these Divine Ideas are eternal and imperishable: we therefore naturally conclude that the human mind which includes such elements, is also eternal and imperishable. Since the mind can take hold of eternal truths, it must be itself eternal. Since it is, to a certain extent, the image of God in its faculties, it cannot ever cease to be the image of God. When it has arrived at a stage in which it sees several aspects of the universe in the same form in which they present themselves to the Divine Mind, we cannot suppose that the Author of the human mind will allow it and all its intellectual light to be extinguished.

19. And our conviction that this extinction of the human mind cannot take place becomes stronger still, when we consider that the mind, however imperfect and scanty its discernment of truth may be, is still capable of a vast, and even of an unlimited progress in the pursuit and apprehension of truth. The mind is capable of accepting and appropriating, through the action of its own Ideas, every step in science which has ever been made--every step which shall hereafter be made. Can we suppose that this vast and boundless capacity exists for a few years only, is unfolded only into a few of its simplest consequences, and is then consigned to annihilation? Can we suppose that the wonderful powers which carry man on, generation by generation, from the contemplation of one great and striking truth to another, are buried with each generation? May we not rather suppose that that mind, which is capable of indefinite progression, is allowed to exist in an infinite duration, during which such progression may take place?

20. I propose this argument as a ground of hope and satisfactory reflexion to those who love to dwell on the natural arguments for the Immortality of the Soul. I do not attempt to follow it into detail. I know too well how little such a cause can gain by obstinate and complicated argumentation, to attempt to urge the argument in that manner: and probably different persons, among those who accept the argument as valid, would give different answers to many questions of detail, which naturally arise out of the acceptance of this argument. I will not here attempt to solve, or even to propound these questions. My main purpose in offering these views and this argument at all, is to give some satisfaction to those who would think it a sad and blank result of this long survey of the nature and progress of science in which we have been so long engaged (through this series of works), that it should in no way lead to a recognition of the Author of that world about which our Science is, and to the high and consolatory hopes which lift man beyond this world. No survey of the universe can be at all satisfactory to thoughtful men, which has not a theological bearing; nor can any view of man's powers and means of knowing be congenial to such men, which does not recognize an infinite destination for the mind which has an infinite capacity; an eternal being of the Faculty which can take a steady hold of eternal being.

21. And as we may derive such a conviction from our physical Ideas, so too may we no less from our moral Ideas. Our minds apprehend Space and Time and Force and the like, as Ideas which are not dependent on the body; and hence we believe that our minds shall not perish with our bodies. And in the same manner our souls conceive pure Benevolence and perfect Justice, which go beyond the conditions of this mortal life; and hence we believe that our souls have to do with a life beyond this mortal life.

It is more difficult to speak of man's indefinite moral progression even than of his indefinite intellectual progression. Yet in every path of moral speculation we have such a progression suggested to us. We may begin, for instance, with the ordinary feelings and affections of our daily nature:--Love, Hate, Scorn. But when we would elevate the Soul in our imagination, we ascend above these ordinary affections, and take the repulsive and hostile ones as fitted only to balance their own influences. And thus the poet, speaking of a morally poetical nature, describes it:

The Poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above. He felt the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

But the loftier moralist can rise higher than this, and can, and will, reject altogether Hate and Scorn from his view of man's better nature. His description would rather be--

The good man in a loving clime was born, With loving stars above. He felt sorrow for hate, pity for scorn, And love of love.

He would, in his conception of such a character, ascribe to it all the virtues which result from the control and extinction of these repulsive and hostile affections:--the virtues of magnanimity, forgivingness, unselfishness, self-devotion, tenderness, sweetness. And these we can conceive in a higher and higher degree, in proportion as our own hearts become tender, forgiving, pure and unselfish. And though in every human stage of such a moral proficiency, we must suppose that there is still some struggle with the remaining vestiges of our unkind, unjust, angry and selfish affections, we can see no limit to the extent to which this struggle may be successful; no limit to the degree in which these traces of the evil of our nature may be worn out by an enduring practice and habit of our better nature. And when we contemplate a human character which has, through a long course of years, and through many trials and conflicts, made a large progress in this career of melioration, and is still capable, if time be given, of further progress towards moral perfection, is it not reasonable to suppose that He who formed man capable of such progress, and who, as we must needs believe, looks with approval on such progress where made, will not allow the progress to stop when it has gone on to the end of man's short earthly life? Is it not rather reasonable to suppose that the pure and elevated and all-embracing affection, extinguishing all vices and including all virtues, to which the good man thus tends, shall continue to prevail in him as a permanent and ever-during condition, in a life after this?

But can man raise himself to such a stage of moral progress, by his own efforts? Such a progress is an approximation towards the perfection of moral Ideas, and therefore an approximation towards the image of God, in whom that perfection resides: is it not then reasonable to suppose that man needs a Divine Influence to enable him to reach this kind of moral completeness? And is it not also reasonable to suppose that, as he needs such aid, in order that the Idea of his moral progress may be realized, so he will receive such aid from the Divine Power which realizes the Idea of Divine Love in the world; and to do so, must realize it in those human souls which are most fitted for such a purpose?

But these questions remind me how difficult, and indeed, how impossible it is to follow such trains of reflexion by the light of philosophy alone. To answer such questions, we need, not Religious Philosophy only, but Religion: and as I do not here venture beyond the domain of philosophy, I must, however abruptly, conclude.

THE END.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX A.

OF THE PLATONIC THEORY OF IDEAS.

(Cam. Phil. Soc. Nov. 10, 1856.)

Though Plato has, in recent times, had many readers and admirers among our English scholars, there has been an air of unreality and inconsistency about the commendation which most of these professed adherents have given to his doctrines. This appears to be no captious criticism, for instance, when those who speak of him as immeasurably superior in argument to his opponents, do not venture to produce his arguments in a definite form as able to bear the tug of modern controversy;--when they use his own Greek phrases as essential to the exposition of his doctrines, and speak as if these phrases could not be adequately rendered in English;--and when they assent to those among the systems of philosophy of modern times which are the most clearly opposed to the system of Plato. It seems not unreasonable to require, on the contrary, that if Plato is to supply a philosophy for us, it must be a philosophy which can be expressed in our own language;--that his system, if we hold it to be well founded, shall compel us to deny the opposite systems, modern as well as ancient;--and that, so far as we hold Plato's doctrines to be satisfactorily established, we should be able to produce the arguments for them, and to refute the arguments against them. These seem reasonable requirements of the adherents of any philosophy, and therefore, of Plato's.

I regard it as a fortunate circumstance, that we have recently had presented to us an exposition of Plato's philosophy which does conform to those reasonable conditions; and we may discuss this exposition with the less reserve, since its accomplished author, though belonging to this generation, is no longer alive. I refer to the Lectures on the History of Ancient Philosophy, by the late Professor Butler of Dublin. In these Lectures, we find an account of the Platonic Philosophy which shows that the writer had considered it as, what it is, an attempt to solve large problems, which in all ages force themselves upon the notice of thoughtful men. In Lectures VIII. and X., of the Second Series, especially, we have a statement of the Platonic Theory of Ideas, which may be made a convenient starting point for such remarks as I wish at present to make. I will transcribe this account; omitting, as I do so, the expressions which Professor Butler uses, in order to present the theory, not as a dogmatical assertion, but as a view, at least not extravagant. For this purpose, he says, of the successive portions of the theory, that one is "not too absurd to be maintained;" that another is "not very extravagant either;" that a third is "surely allowable;" that a fourth presents "no incredible account" of the subject; that a fifth is "no preposterous notion in substance, and no unwarrantable form of phrase." Divested of these modest formulæ, his account is as follows: [Vol. II. p. 117.]

"Man's soul is made to contain not merely a consistent scheme of its own notions, but a direct apprehension of real and eternal laws beyond it. These real and eternal laws are things intelligible, and not things sensible.

"These laws impressed upon creation by its Creator, and apprehended by man, are something distinct equally from the Creator and from man, and the whole mass of them may fairly be termed the World of Things Intelligible.

"Further, there are qualities in the supreme and ultimate Cause of all, which are manifested in His creation, and not merely manifested, but, in a manner--after being brought out of his super-essential nature into the stage of being [which is] below him, but next to him--are then by the causative act of creation deposited in things, differencing them one from the other, so that the things partake of them (μετέχουσι), communicate with them (κοινωνοῦσι).

"The intelligence of man, excited to reflection by the impressions of these objects thus (though themselves transitory) participant of a divine quality, may rise to higher conceptions of the perfections thus faintly exhibited; and inasmuch as these perfections are unquestionably real existences, and known to be such in the very act of contemplation,--this may be regarded as a direct intellectual apperception of them,--a Union of the Reason with the Ideas in that sphere of being which is common to both.

"Finally, the Reason, in proportion as it learns to contemplate the Perfect and Eternal, desires the enjoyment of such contemplations in a more consummate degree, and cannot be fully satisfied, except in the actual fruition of the Perfect itself.

"These suppositions, taken together, constitute the Theory of Ideas."

In remarking upon the theory thus presented, I shall abstain from any discussion of the theological part of it, as a subject which would probably be considered as unsuited to the meetings of this Society, even in its most purely philosophical form. But I conceive that it will not be inconvenient, if it be not wearisome, to discuss the Theory of Ideas as an attempt to explain the existence of real knowledge; which Prof. Butler very rightly considers as the necessary aim of this and cognate systems of philosophy.

I conceive, then, that one of the primary objects of Plato's Theory of Ideas is, to explain the existence of real knowledge, that is, of demonstrated knowledge, such as the propositions of geometry offer to us. In this view, the Theory of Ideas is one attempt to solve a problem, much discussed in our times, What is the ground of geometrical truth? I do not mean that this is the whole object of the Theory, or the highest of its claims. As I have said, I omit its theological bearings; and I am aware that there are passages in the Platonic Dialogues, in which the Ideas which enter into the apprehension and demonstration of geometrical truths are spoken of as subordinate to Ideas which have a theological aspect. But I have no doubt that one of the main motives to the construction of the Theory of Ideas was, the desire of solving the Problem, "How is it possible that man should apprehend necessary and eternal truths?" That the truths are necessary, makes them eternal, for they do not depend on time; and that they are eternal, gives them at once a theological bearing.

That Plato, in attempting to explain the nature and possibility of real knowledge, had in his mind geometrical truths, as examples of such knowledge is, I think, evident from the general purport of his discourses on such subjects. The advance of Greek geometry into a conspicuous position, at the time when the Heraclitean sect were proving that nothing could be proved and nothing could be known, naturally suggested mathematical truth as the refutation of the skepticism of mere sensation. On the one side it was said, we can know nothing except by our sensations; and that which we observe with our senses is constantly changing; or at any rate, may change at any moment. On the other hand it was said, we do know geometrical truths, and as truly as we know them, that they cannot change. Plato was quite alive to the lesson, and to the importance of this kind of truths. In the Meno and in the Phædo he refers to them, as illustrating the nature of the human mind: in the Republic and the Timæus he again speaks of truths which far transcend anything which the senses can teach, or even adequately exemplify. The senses, he argues in the Theætetus, cannot give us the knowledge which we have; the source of it must therefore be in the mind itself; in the Ideas which it possesses. The impressions of sense are constantly varying, and incapable of giving any certainty: but the Ideas on which real truth depends are constant and invariable, and the certainty which arises from these is firm and indestructible. Ideas are the permanent, perfect objects, with which the mind deals when it contemplates necessary and eternal truths. They belong to a region superior to the material world, the world of sense. They are the objects which make up the furniture of the Intelligible World; with which the Reason deals, as the Senses deal each with its appropriate Sensation.

But, it will naturally be asked, what is the Relation of Ideas to the Objects of Sense? Some connexion, or relation, it is plain, there must be. The objects of sense can suggest, and can illustrate real truths. Though these truths of geometry cannot be proved, cannot even be exactly exemplified, by drawing diagrams, yet diagrams are of use in helping ordinary minds to see the proof; and to all minds, may represent and illustrate it. And though our conclusions with regard to objects of sense may be insecure and imperfect, they have some show of truth, and therefore some resemblance to truth. What does this arise from? How is it explained, if there is no truth except concerning Ideas?

To this the Platonist replied, that the phenomena which present themselves to the senses partake, in a certain manner, of Ideas, and thus include so much of the nature of Ideas, that they include also an element of Truth. The geometrical diagram of Triangles and Squares which is drawn in the sand of the floor of the Gymnasium, partakes of the nature of the true Ideal Triangles and Squares, so that it presents an imitation and suggestion of the truths which are true of them. The real triangles and squares are in the mind: they are, as we have said, objects, not in the Visible, but in the Intelligible World. But the Visible Triangles and Squares make us call to mind the Intelligible; and thus the objects of sense suggest, and, in a way, exemplify the eternal truths.

This I conceive to be the simplest and directest ground of two primary parts of the Theory of Ideas;--The Eternal Ideas constituting an Intelligible World; and the Participation in these Ideas ascribed to the objects of the world of sense. And it is plain that so far, the Theory meets what, I conceive, was its primary purpose; it answers the questions, How can we have certain knowledge, though we cannot get it from Sense? and, How can we have knowledge, at least apparent, though imperfect, about the world of sense?

But is this the ground on which Plato himself rests the truth of his Theory of Ideas? As I have said, I have no doubt that these were the questions which suggested the Theory; and it is perpetually applied in such a manner as to show that it was held by Plato in this sense. But his applications of the Theory refer very often to another part of it;--to the Ideas, not of Triangles and Squares, of space and its affections; but to the Ideas of Relations--as the Relations of Like and Unlike, Greater and Less; or to things quite different from the things of which geometry treats, for instance, to Tables and Chairs, and other matters, with regard to which no demonstration is possible, and no general truth (still less necessary an eternal truth) capable of being asserted.

I conceive that the Theory of Ideas, thus asserted and thus supported, stands upon very much weaker ground than it does, when it is asserted concerning the objects of thought about which necessary and demonstrable truths are attainable. And in order to devise arguments against this part of the Theory, and to trace the contradictions to which it leads, we have no occasion to task our own ingenuity. We find it done to our hands, not only in Aristotle, the open opponent of the Theory of Ideas, but in works which stand among the Platonic Dialogues themselves. And I wish especially to point out some of the arguments against the Ideal Theory, which are given in one of the most noted of the Platonic Dialogues, the Parmenides.

The Parmenides contains a narrative of a Dialogue held between Parmenides and Zeno, the Eleatic Philosophers, on the one side, and Socrates, along with several other persons, on the other. It may be regarded as divided into two main portions; the first, in which the Theory of Ideas is attacked by Parmenides, and defended by Socrates; the second, in which Parmenides discusses, at length, the Eleatic doctrine that All things are One. It is the former part, the discussion of the Theory of Ideas, to which I especially wish to direct attention at present: and in the first place, to that extension of the Theory of Ideas, to things of which no general truth is possible; such as I have mentioned, tables and chairs. Plato often speaks of a Table, by way of example, as a thing of which there must be an Idea, not taken from any special Table or assemblage of Tables; but an Ideal Table, such that all Tables are Tables by participating in the nature of this Idea. Now the question is, whether there is any force, or indeed any sense, in this assumption; and this question is discussed in the Parmenides. Socrates is there represented as very confident in the existence of Ideas of the highest and largest kind, the Just, the Fair, the Good, and the like. Parmenides asks him how far he follows his theory. Is there, he asks, an Idea of Man, which is distinct from us men? an Idea of Fire? of Water? "In truth," replies Socrates, "I have often hesitated, Parmenides, about these, whether we are to allow such Ideas." When Plato had proceeded to teach that there is an Idea of a Table, of course he could not reject such Ideas as Man, and Fire, and Water. Parmenides, proceeding in the same line, pushes him further still. "Do you doubt," says he, "whether there are Ideas of things apparently worthless and vile? Is there an Idea of a Hair? of Mud? of Filth?" Socrates has not the courage to accept such an extension of the theory. He says, "By no means. These are not Ideas. These are nothing more than just what we see them. I have often been perplexed what to think on this subject. But after standing to this a while, I have fled the thought, for fear of falling into an unfathomable abyss of absurdities." On this, Parmenides rebukes him for his want of consistency. "Ah Socrates," he says, "you are yet young; and philosophy has not yet taken possession of you as I think she will one day do--when you will have learned to find nothing despicable in any of these things. But now your youth inclines you to regard the opinions of men." It is indeed plain, that if we are to assume an Idea of a Chair or a Table, we can find no boundary line which will exclude Ideas of everything for which we have a name, however worthless or offensive. And this is an argument against the assumption of such Ideas, which will convince most persons of the groundlessness of the assumption:--the more so, as for the assumption of such Ideas, it does not appear that Plato offers any argument whatever; nor does this assumption solve any problem, or remove any difficulty. Parmenides, then, had reason to say that consistency required Socrates, if he assumed any such Ideas, to assume all. And I conceive his reply to be to this effect; and to be thus a reductio ad absurdum of the Theory of Ideas in this sense. According to the opinions of those who see in the Parmenides an exposition of Platonic doctrines, I believe that Parmenides is conceived in this passage, to suggest to Socrates what is necessary for the completion of the Theory of Ideas. But upon either supposition, I wish especially to draw the attention of my readers to the position of superiority in the Dialogue in which Parmenides is here placed with regard to Socrates.

Parmenides then proceeds to propound to Socrates difficulties with regard to the Ideal Theory, in another of its aspects;--namely, when it assumes Ideas of Relations of things; and here also, I wish especially to have it considered how far the answers of Socrates to these objections are really satisfactory and conclusive.

"Tell me," says he (§ 10, Bekker), "You conceive that there are certain Ideas, and that things partaking of these Ideas, are called by the corresponding names;--an Idea of Likeness, things partaking of which are called Like;--of Greatness, whence they are Great: of Beauty, whence they are Beautiful?" Socrates assents, naturally: this being the simple and universal statement of the Theory, in this case. But then comes one of the real difficulties of the Theory. Since the special things participate of the General Idea, has each got the whole of the Idea, which is, of course, One; or has each a part of the Idea? "For," says Parmenides, "can there be any other way of participation than these two?" Socrates replies by a similitude: "The Idea, though One, may be wholly in each object, as the Day, one and the same, is wholly in each place." The physical illustration, Parmenides damages by making it more physical still. "You are ingenious, Socrates," he says, (§ 11) "in making the same thing be in many places at the same time. If you had a number of persons wrapped up in a sail or web, would you say that each of them had the whole of it? Is not the case similar?" Socrates cannot deny that it is. "But in this case, each person has only a part of the whole; and thus your Ideas are partible." To this, Socrates is represented as assenting in the briefest possible phrase; and thus, here again, as I conceive, Parmenides retains his superiority over Socrates in the Dialogue.

There are many other arguments urged against the Ideal Theory by Parmenides. The next is a consequence of this partibility of Ideas, thus supposed to be proved, and is ingenious enough. It is this:

"If the Idea of Greatness be distributed among things that are Great, so that each has a part of it, each separate thing will be Great in virtue of a part of Greatness which is less than Greatness itself. Is not this absurd?" Socrates submissively allows that it is.

And the same argument is applied in the case of the Idea of Equality.

"If each of several things have a part of the Idea of Equality, it will be Equal to something, in virtue of something which is less than Equality."

And in the same way with regard to the Idea of Smallness.

"If each thing be small by having a part of the Idea of Smallness, Smallness itself will be greater than the small thing, since that is a part of itself."

These ingenious results of the partibility of Ideas remind us of the ingenuity shown in the Greek geometry, especially the Fifth Book of Euclid. They are represented as not resisted by Socrates (§ 12): "In what way, Socrates, can things participate in Ideas, if they cannot do so either integrally or partibly?" "By my troth," says Socrates, "it does not seem easy to tell." Parmenides, who completely takes the conduct of the Dialogue, then turns to another part of the subject and propounds other arguments. "What do you say to this?" he asks.

"There is an Ideal Greatness, and there are many things, separate from it, and Great by virtue of it. But now if you look at Greatness and the Great things together, since they are all Great, they must be Great in virtue of some higher Idea of Greatness which includes both. And thus you have a Second Idea of Greatness; and in like manner you will have a third, and so on indefinitely."

This also, as an argument against the separate existence of Ideas, Socrates is represented as unable to answer. He replies interrogatively:

"Why, Parmenides, is not each of these Ideas a Thought, which, by its nature, cannot exist in anything except in the Mind? In that case your consequences would not follow."

This is an answer which changes the course of the reasoning: but still, not much to the advantage of the Ideal Theory. Parmenides is still ready with very perplexing arguments. (§ 13.)

"The Ideas, then," he says, "are Thoughts. They must be Thoughts of something. They are Thoughts of something, then, which exists in all the special things; some one thing which the Thought perceives in all the special things; and this one Thought thus involved in all, is the Idea. But then, if the special things, as you say, participate in the Idea, they participate in the Thought; and thus, all objects are made up of Thoughts, and all things think; or else, there are thoughts in things which do not think."

This argument drives Socrates from the position that Ideas are Thoughts, and he moves to another, that they are Paradigms, Exemplars of the qualities of things, to which the things themselves are like, and their being thus like, is their participating in the Idea. But here too, he has no better success. Parmenides argues thus:

"If the Object be like the Idea, the Idea must be like the Object. And since the Object and the Idea are like, they must, according to your doctrine, participate in the Idea of Likeness. And thus you have one Idea participating in another Idea, and so on in infinitum." Socrates is obliged to allow that this demolishes the notion of objects partaking in their Ideas by likeness: and that he must seek some other way. "You see then, O Socrates," says Parmenides, "what difficulties follow, if any one asserts the independent existence of Ideas!" Socrates allows that this is true. "And yet," says Parmenides, "you do not half perceive the difficulties which follow from this doctrine of Ideas." Socrates expresses a wish to know to what Parmenides refers; and the aged sage replies by explaining that if Ideas exist independently of us, we can never know anything about them: and that even the Gods could not know anything about man. This argument, though somewhat obscure, is evidently stated with perfect earnestness, and Socrates is represented as giving his assent to it. "And yet," says Parmenides (end of § 18), "if any one gives up entirely the doctrine of Ideas, how is any reasoning possible?"

All the way through this discussion, Parmenides appears as vastly superior to Socrates; as seeing completely the tendency of every line of reasoning, while Socrates is driven blindly from one position to another; and as kindly and graciously advising a young man respecting the proper aims of his philosophical career; as well as clearly pointing out the consequences of his assumptions. Nothing can be more complete than the higher position assigned to Parmenides in the Dialogue.

This has not been overlooked by the Editors and Commentators of Plato. To take for example one of the latest; in Steinhart's Introduction to Hieronymus Müller's translation of Parmenides (Leipzig, 1852), p. 261, he says: "It strikes us, at first, as strange, that Plato here seems to come forward as the assailant of his own doctrine of Ideas. For the difficulties which he makes Parmenides propound against that doctrine are by no means sophistical or superficial, but substantial and to the point. Moreover there is among all these objections, which are partly derived from the Megarics, scarce one which does not appear again in the penetrating and comprehensive argumentations of Aristotle against the Platonic Doctrine of Ideas."

Of course, both this writer and other commentators on Plato offer something as a solution of this difficulty. But though these explanations are subtle and ingenious, they appear to leave no satisfactory or permanent impression on the mind. I must avow that, to me, they appear insufficient and empty; and I cannot help believing that the solution is of a more simple and direct kind. It may seem bold to maintain an opinion different from that of so many eminent scholars; but I think that the solution which I offer, will derive confirmation from a consideration of the whole Dialogue; and therefore I shall venture to propound it in a distinct and positive form. It is this:

I conceive that the Parmenides is not a Platonic Dialogue at all; but Antiplatonic, or more properly, Eleatic: written, not by Plato, in order to explain and prove his Theory of Ideas, but by some one, probably an admirer of Parmenides and Zeno, in order to show how strong were his master's arguments against the Platonists and how weak their objections to the Eleatic doctrine.

I conceive that this view throws an especial light on every part of the Dialogue, as a brief survey of it will show. Parmenides and Zeno come to Athens to the Panathenaic festival: Parmenides already an old man, with a silver head, dignified and benevolent in his appearance, looking five and sixty years old: Zeno about forty, tall and handsome. They are the guests of Pythodorus, outside the Wall, in the Ceramicus; and there they are visited by Socrates then young, and others who wish to hear the written discourses of Zeno. These discourses are explanations of the philosophy of Parmenides, which he had delivered in verse.

Socrates is represented as showing, from the first, a disposition to criticize Zeno's dissertation very closely; and without any prelude or preparation, he applies the Doctrine of Ideas to refute the Eleatic Doctrine that All Things are One. (§ 3.) When he had heard to the end, he begged to have the first Proposition of the First Book read again. And then, "How is it, O Zeno, that you say, That if the Things which exist are Many, and not One, they must be at the same time like and unlike? Is this your argument? Or do I misunderstand you?" "No," says Zeno, "you understand quite rightly." Socrates then turns to Parmenides, and says, somewhat rudely, as it seems, "Zeno is a great friend of yours, Parmenides: he shows his friendship not only in other ways, but also in what he writes. For he says the same things which you say, though he pretends that he does not. You say, in your poems, that All Things are One, and give striking proofs: he says that existences are not many, and he gives many and good proofs. You seem to soar above us, but you do not really differ." Zeno takes this sally good-humouredly, and tells him that he pursues the scent with the keenness of a Laconian hound. "But," says he (§ 6), "there really is less of ostentation in my writing than you think. My Essay was merely written as a defence of Parmenides long ago, when I was young; and is not a piece of display composed now that I am older. And it was stolen from me by some one; so that I had no choice about publishing it."

Here we have, as I conceive, Socrates already represented as placed in a disadvantageous position, by his abruptness, rude allusions, and readiness to put bad interpretations on what is done. For this, Zeno's gentle pleasantry is a rebuke. Socrates, however, forthwith rushes into the argument; arguing, as I have said, for his own Theory.

"Tell me," he says, "do you not think there is an Idea of Likeness, and an Idea of Unlikeness? And that everything partakes of these Ideas? The things which partake of Unlikeness are unlike. If all things partake of both Ideas, they are both like and unlike; and where is the wonder? (§ 7.) If you could show that Likeness itself was Unlikeness, it would be a prodigy; but if things which partake of these opposites, have both the opposite qualities, it appears to me, Zeno, to involve no absurdity.

"So if Oneness itself were to be shown to be Maniness" (I hope I may use this word, rather than multiplicity) "I should be surprised; but if any one say that I am at the same time one and many, where is the wonder? For I partake of maniness: my right side is different from my left side, my upper from my under parts. But I also partake of Oneness, for I am here One of us seven. So that both are true. And so if any one say that stocks and stones, and the like, are both one and many,--not saying that Oneness is Maniness, nor Maniness Oneness, he says nothing wonderful: he says what all will allow. (§ 8.) If then, as I said before, any one should take separately the Ideas or Essence of Things, as Likeness and Unlikeness, Maniness and Oneness, Rest and Motion, and the like, and then should show that these can mix and separate again, I should be wonderfully surprised, O Zeno: for I reckon that I have tolerably well made myself master of these subjects. I should be much more surprised if any one could show me this contradiction involved in the Ideas themselves; in the object of the Reason, as well as in Visible objects."

It may be remarked that Socrates delivers all this argumentation with the repetitions which it involves, and the vehemence of its manner, without waiting for a reply to any of his interrogations; instead of making every step the result of a concession of his opponent, as is the case in the Dialogues where he is represented as triumphant. Every reader of Plato will recollect also that in those Dialogues, the triumph of temper on the part of Socrates is represented as still more remarkable than the triumph of argument. No vehemence or rudeness on the part of his adversaries prevents his calmly following his reasoning; and he parries coarseness by compliment. Now in this Dialogue, it is remarkable that this kind of triumph is given to the adversaries of Socrates. "When Socrates had thus delivered himself," says Pythodorus, the narrator of the conversation, "we thought that Parmenides and Zeno would both be angry. But it was not so. They bestowed entire attention upon him, and often looked at each other, and smiled, as in admiration of Socrates. And when he had ended, Parmenides said: 'O Socrates, what an admirable person you are, for the earnestness with which you reason! Tell me then, Do you then believe the doctrine to which you have been referring;--that there are certain Ideas, existing independent of Things; and that there are, separate from the Ideas, Things which partake of them? And do you think that there is an Idea of Likeness besides the likeness which we have; and a Oneness and a Maniness, and the like? And an Idea of the Right, and the Good, and the Fair, and of other such qualities?'" Socrates says that he does hold this; Parmenides then asks him, how far he carries this doctrine of Ideas, and propounds to him the difficulties which I have already stated; and when Socrates is unable to answer him, lets him off in the kind but patronizing way which I have already described.

To me, comparing this with the intellectual and moral attitude of Socrates in the most dramatic of the other Platonic Dialogues, it is inconceivable, that this representation of Socrates should be Plato's. It is just what Zeno would have written, if he had wished to bestow upon his master Parmenides the calm dignity and irresistible argument which Plato assigns to Socrates. And this character is kept up to the end of the Dialogue. When Socrates (§ 19) has acknowledged that he is at loss which way to turn for his philosophy, Parmenides undertakes, though with kind words, to explain to him by what fundamental error in the course of his speculative habits he has been misled. He says; "You try to make a complete Theory of Ideas, before you have gone through a proper intellectual discipline. The impulse which urges you to such speculations is admirable--is divine. But you must exercise yourself in reasoning which many think trifling, while you are yet young; if you do not, the truth will elude your grasp." Socrates asks submissively what is the course of such discipline: Parmenides replies, "The course pointed out by Zeno, as you have heard." And then, gives him some instructions in what manner he is to test any proposed Theory. Socrates is frightened at the laboriousness and obscurity of the process. He says, "You tell me, Parmenides, of an overwhelming course of study; and I do not well comprehend it. Give me an example of such an examination of a Theory." "It is too great a labour," says he, "for one so old as I am." "Well then, you, Zeno," says Socrates, "will you not give us such an example?" Zeno answers, smiling, that they had better get it from Parmenides himself; and joins in the petition of Socrates to him, that he will instruct them. All the company unite in the request. Parmenides compares himself to an aged racehorse, brought to the course after long disuse, and trembling at the risk; but finally consents. And as an example of a Theory to be examined, takes his own Doctrine, that All Things are One, carrying on the Dialogue thenceforth, not with Socrates, but with Aristoteles (not the Stagirite, but afterwards one of the Thirty), whom he chooses as a younger and more manageable respondent.

The discussion of this Doctrine is of a very subtle kind, and it would be difficult to make it intelligible to a modern reader. Nor is it necessary for my purpose to attempt to do so. It is plain that the discussion is intended seriously, as an example of true philosophy; and each step of the process is represented as irresistible. The Respondent has nothing to say but Yes; or No; How so? Certainly; It does appear; It does not appear. The discussion is carried to a much greater length than all the rest of the Dialogue; and the result of the reasoning is summed up by Parmenides thus: "If One exist, it is Nothing. Whether One exist or do not exist, both It and Other Things both with regard to Themselves and to Each other, All and Everyway are and are not, appear and appear not." And this also is fully assented to; and so the Dialogue ends.

I shall not pretend to explain the Doctrines there examined that One exists, or One does not exist, nor to trace their consequences. But these were Formulæ, as familiar in the Eleatic school, as Ideas in the Platonic; and were undoubtedly regarded by the Megaric contemporaries of Plato as quite worthy of being discussed, after the Theory of Ideas had been overthrown. This, accordingly, appears to be the purport of the Dialogue; and it is pursued, as we see, without any bitterness toward Socrates or his disciples; but with a persuasion that they were poor philosophers, conceited talkers, and weak disputants.

The external circumstances of the Dialogue tend, I conceive, to confirm this opinion, that it is not Plato's. The Dialogue begins, as the Republic begins, with the mention of a Cephalus, and two brothers, Glaucon and Adimantus. But this Cephalus is not the old man of the Piræus, of whom we have so charming a picture in the opening of the Republic. He is from Clazomenæ, and tells us that his fellow-citizens are great lovers of philosophy; a trait of their character which does not appear elsewhere. Even the brothers Glaucon and Adimantus are not the two brothers of Plato who conduct the Dialogue in the later books of the Republic: so at least Ast argues, who holds the genuineness of the Dialogue. This Glaucon and Adimantus are most wantonly introduced; for the sole office they have, is to say that they have a half-brother Antiphon, by a second marriage of their mother. No such half-brother of Plato, and no such marriage of his mother, are noticed in other remains of antiquity. Antiphon is represented as having been the friend of Pythodorus, who was the host of Parmenides and Zeno, as we have seen. And Antiphon, having often heard from Pythodorus the account of the conversation of his guests with Socrates, retained it in his memory, or in his tablets, so as to be able to give the full report of it which we have in the Dialogue Parmenides. To me, all this looks like a clumsy imitation of the Introductions to the Platonic Dialogues.

I say nothing of the chronological difficulties which arise from bringing Parmenides and Socrates together, though they are considerable; for they have been explained more or less satisfactorily; and certainly in the Theætetus, Socrates is represented as saying that he when very young had seen Parmenides who was very old. Athenæus, however, reckons this among Plato's fictions. Schleiermacher gives up the identification and relation of the persons mentioned in the Introduction as an unmanageable story.

I may add that I believe Cicero, who refers to so many of Plato's Dialogues, nowhere refers to the Parmenides. Athenæus does refer to it; and in doing so blames Plato for his coarse imputations on Zeno and Parmenides. According to our view, these are hostile attempts to ascribe rudeness to Socrates or to Plato. Stallbaum acknowledges that Aristotle nowhere refers to this Dialogue.

FOOTNOTES:

APPENDIX B.

ON PLATO'S SURVEY OF THE SCIENCES.

(Cam. Phil. Soc. APRIL 23, 1855.)

A survey by Plato of the state of the Sciences, as existing in his time, may be regarded as hardly less interesting than Francis Bacon's Review of the condition of the Sciences of his time, contained in the Advancement of Learning. Such a survey we have, in the seventh book of Plato's Republic; and it will be instructive to examine what the Sciences then were, and what Plato aspired to have them become; aiding ourselves by the light afforded by the subsequent history of Science.

In the first place, it is interesting to note, in the two writers, Plato and Bacon, the same deep conviction that the large and profound philosophy which they recommended, had not, in their judgment, been pursued in an adequate and worthy manner, by those who had pursued it at all. The reader of Bacon will recollect the passage in the Novum Organon (Lib. I. Aphorism 80) where he speaks with indignation of the way in which philosophy had been degraded and perverted, by being applied as a mere instrument of utility or of early education: "So that the great mother of the Sciences is thrust down with indignity to the offices of a handmaid;--is made to minister to the labours of medicine or mathematics; or again, to give the first preparatory tinge to the immature minds of youth."

In the like spirit, Plato says (Rep. VI. § 11, Bekker's ed.):

"Observe how boldly and fearlessly I set about my explanation of my assertion that philosophers ought to rule the world. For I begin by saying, that the State must begin to treat the study of philosophy in a way opposite to that now practised. Now, those who meddle at all with this study are put upon it when they are children, between the lessons which they receive in the farm-yard and in the shop; and as soon as they have been introduced to the hardest part of the subject, are taken off from it, even those who get the most of philosophy. By the hardest part, I mean, the discussion of principles--Dialectic. And in their succeeding years, if they are willing to listen to a few lectures of those who make philosophy their business, they think they have done great things, as if it were something foreign to the business of life. And as they advance towards old age, with a very few exceptions, philosophy in them is extinguished: extinguished far more completely than the Heraclitean sun, for theirs is not lighted up again, as that is every morning:" alluding to the opinion which was propounded, by way of carrying the doctrine of the unfixity of sensible objects to an extreme; that the Sun is extinguished every night and lighted again in the morning. In opposition to this practice, Plato holds that philosophy should be the especial employment of men's minds when their bodily strength fails.

What Plato means by Dialectic, which he, in the next Book, calls the highest part of philosophy, and which is, I think, what he here means by the hardest part of philosophy, I may hereafter consider: but at present I wish to pass in review the Sciences which he speaks of, as leading the way to that highest study. These Sciences are Arithmetic, Plane Geometry, Solid Geometry, Astronomy and Harmonics.

The view in which Plato here regards the Sciences is, as the instruments of that culture of the philosophical spirit which is to make the philosopher the fit and natural ruler of the perfect State--the Platonic Polity. It is held that to answer this purpose, the mind must be instructed in something more stable than the knowledge supplied by the senses;--a knowledge of objects which are constantly changing, and which therefore can be no real permanent Knowledge, but only Opinion. The real and permanent Knowledge which we thus require is to be found in certain sciences, which deal with truths necessary and universal, as we should now describe them: and which therefore are, in Plato's language, a knowledge of that which really is.

This is the object of the Sciences of which Plato speaks. And hence, when he introduces Arithmetic, as the first of the Sciences which are to be employed in this mental discipline, he adds (VII. § 8) that it must be not mere common Arithmetic, but a science which leads to speculative truths, seen by Intuition; not an Arithmetic which is studied for the sake of buying and selling, as among tradesmen and shopkeepers, but for the sake of pure and real Science.

I shall not dwell upon the details with which he illustrates this view, but proceed to the other Sciences which he mentions.

Geometry is then spoken of, as obviously the next Science in order; and it is asserted that it really does answer the required condition of drawing the mind from visible, mutable phenomena to a permanent reality. Geometers indeed speak of their visible diagrams, as if their problems were certain practical processes; to erect a perpendicular; to construct a square: and the like. But this language, though necessary, is really absurd. The figures are mere aids to their reasonings. Their knowledge is really a knowledge not of visible objects, but of permanent realities: and thus, Geometry is one of the helps by which the mind may be drawn to Truth; by which the philosophical spirit may be formed, which looks upwards instead of downwards.

Astronomy is suggested as the Science next in order, but Socrates, the leader of the dialogue, remarks that there is an intermediate Science first to be considered. Geometry treats of plane figures; Astronomy treats of solids in motion, that is, of spheres in motion; for the astronomy of Plato's time was mainly the doctrine of the sphere. But before treating of solids in motion, we must have a science which treats of solids simply. After taking space of two dimensions, we must take space of three dimensions, length, breadth and depth, as in cubes and the like. But such a Science, it is remarked, has not yet been discovered. Plato "notes as deficient" this branch of knowledge; to use the expression employed by Bacon on the like occasions in his Review. Plato goes on to say, that the cultivators of such a science have not received due encouragement; and that though scorned and starved by the public, and not recommended by any obvious utility, it has still made great progress, in virtue of its own attractiveness.

In fact, researches in Solid Geometry had been pursued with great zeal by Plato and his friends, and with remarkable success. The five Regular Solids, the Tetrahedron or Pyramid, Cube, Octahedron, Dodecahedron and Icosahedron, had been discovered; and the curious theorem, that of Regular Solids there can be just so many, these and no others, was known. The doctrine of these Solids was already applied in a way, fanciful and arbitrary, no doubt, but ingenious and lively, to the theory of the Universe. In the Timæus, the elements have these forms assigned to them respectively. Earth has the Cube: Fire has the Pyramid: Water has the Octahedron: Air has the Icosahedron: and the Dodecahedron is the plan of the Universe itself. This application of the doctrine of the Regular Solids shows that the knowledge of those figures was already established; and that Plato had a right to speak of Solid Geometry as a real and interesting Science. And that this subject was so recondite and profound,--that these five Regular Solids had so little application in the geometry which has a bearing on man's ordinary thoughts and actions,--made it all the more natural for Plato to suppose that these solids had a bearing on the constitution of the Universe; and we shall find that such a belief in later times found a ready acceptance in the minds of mathematicians who followed in the Platonic line of speculation.

Plato next proceeds to consider Astronomy; and here we have an amusing touch of philosophical drama. Glaucon, the hearer and pupil in the Dialogue, is desirous of showing that he has profited by what his instructor had said about the real uses of Science. He says Astronomy is a very good branch of education. It is such a very useful science for seamen and husbandmen and the like. Socrates says, with a smile, as we may suppose: "You are very amusing with your zeal for utility. I suppose you are afraid of being condemned by the good people of Athens for diffusing Useless Knowledge." A little afterwards Glaucon tries to do better, but still with no great success. He says, "You blamed me for praising Astronomy awkwardly: but now I will follow your lead. Astronomy is one of the sciences which you require, because it makes men's minds look upwards, and study things above. Any one can see that." "Well," says Socrates, "perhaps any one can see it except me--I cannot see it." Glaucon is surprised, but Socrates goes on: "Your notice of 'the study of things above' is certainly a very magnificent one. You seem to think that if a man bends his head back and looks at the ceiling he 'looks upwards' with his mind as well as his eyes. You may be right and I may be wrong: but I have no notion of any science which makes the mind look upwards, except a science which is about the permanent and the invisible. It makes no difference, as to that matter, whether a man gapes and looks up or shuts his mouth and looks down. If a man merely look up and stare at sensible objects, his mind does not look upwards, even if he were to pursue his studies swimming on his back in the sea."

The Astronomy, then, which merely looks at phenomena does not satisfy Plato. He wants something more. What is it? as Glaucon very naturally asks.

Plato then describes Astronomy as a real science (§ 11). "The variegated adornments which appear in the sky, the visible luminaries, we must judge to be the most beautiful and the most perfect things of their kind: but since they are mere visible figures, we must suppose them to be far inferior to the true objects; namely, those spheres which, with their real proportions of quickness and slowness, their real number, their real figures, revolve and carry luminaries in their revolutions. These objects are to be apprehended by reason and mental conception, not by vision." And he then goes on to say that the varied figures which the skies present to the eye are to be used as diagrams to assist the study of that higher truth; just as if any one were to study geometry by means of beautiful diagrams constructed by Dædalus or any other consummate artist.

Here then, Plato points to a kind of astronomical science which goes beyond the mere arrangement of phenomena: an astronomy which, it would seem, did not exist at the time when he wrote. It is natural to inquire, whether we can determine more precisely what kind of astronomical science he meant, and whether such science has been brought into existence since his time.

He gives us some further features of the philosophical astronomy which he requires. "As you do not expect to find in the most exquisite geometrical diagrams the true evidence of quantities being equal, or double, or in any other relation: so the true astronomer will not think that the proportion of the day to the month, or the month to the year, and the like, are real and immutable things. He will seek a deeper truth than these. We must treat Astronomy, like Geometry, as a series of problems suggested by visible things. We must apply the intelligent portion of our mind to the subject."

Here we really come in view of a class of problems which astronomical speculators at certain periods have proposed to themselves. What is the real ground of the proportion of the day to the month, and of the month to the year, I do not know that any writer of great name has tried to determine: but to ask the reason of these proportions, namely, that of the revolution of the earth on its axis, of the moon in its orbit, and of the earth in its orbit, are questions just of the same kind as to ask the reason of the proportion of the revolutions of the planets in their orbits, and of the proportion of the orbits themselves. Now who has attempted to assign such reasons?

Of course we shall answer, Kepler: not so much in the Laws of the Planetary motions which bear his name, as in the Law which at an earlier period he thought he had discovered, determining the proportion of the distances of the several Planets from the Sun. And, curiously enough, this solution of a problem which we may conceive Plato to have had in his mind, Kepler gave by means of the Five Regular Solids which Plato had brought into notice, and had employed in his theory of the Universe given in the Timæus.

Kepler's speculations on the subject just mentioned were given to the world in the Mysterium Cosmographicum published in 1596. In his Preface, he says "In the beginning of the year 1595 I brooded with the whole energy of my mind on the subject of the Copernican system. There were three things in particular of which I pertinaciously sought the causes; why they are not other than they are: the number, the size, and the motion of the orbits." We see how strongly he had his mind impressed with the same thought which Plato had so confidently uttered: that there must be some reason for those proportions in the scheme of the Universe which appear casual and vague. He was confident at this period that he had solved two of the three questions which haunted him;--that he could account for the number and the size of the planetary orbits. His account was given in this way.--"The orbit of the Earth is a circle; round the sphere to which this circle belongs describe a dodecahedron; the sphere including this will give the orbit of Mars. Round Mars inscribe a tetrahedron; the circle including this will be the orbit of Jupiter. Describe a cube round Jupiter's orbit; the circle including this will be the orbit of Saturn. Now inscribe in the Earth's orbit an icosahedron: the circle inscribed in it will be the orbit of Venus. Inscribe an octahedron in the orbit of Venus; the circle inscribed in it will be Mercury's orbit. This is the reason of the number of the planets;" and also of the magnitudes of their orbits.

These proportions were only approximations; and the Rule thus asserted has been shown to be unfounded, by the discovery of new Planets. This Law of Kepler has been repudiated by succeeding Astronomers. So far, then, the Astronomy which Plato requires as a part of true philosophy has not been brought into being. But are we thence to conclude that the demand for such a kind of Astronomy was a mere Platonic imagination?--was a mistake which more recent and sounder views have corrected? We can hardly venture to say that. For the questions which Kepler thus asked, and which he answered by the assertion of this erroneous Law, are questions of exactly the same kind as those which he asked and answered by means of the true Laws which still fasten his name upon one of the epochs of astronomical history. If he was wrong in assigning reasons for the number and size of the planetary orbits, he was right in assigning a reason for the proportion of the motions. This he did in the Harmonice Mundi, published in 1619: where he established that the squares of the periodic times of the different Planets are as the cubes of their mean distances from the central Sun. Of this discovery he speaks with a natural exultation, which succeeding astronomers have thought well founded. He says: "What I prophesied two and twenty years ago as soon as I had discovered the five solids among the heavenly bodies; what I firmly believed before I had seen the Harmonics of Ptolemy; what I promised my friends in the title of this book (On the perfect Harmony of the celestial motions), which I named before I was sure of my discovery; what sixteen years ago I regarded as a thing to be sought; that for which I joined Tycho Brahe, for which I settled in Prague, for which I devoted the best part of my life to astronomical contemplations; at length I have brought to light, and have recognized its truth beyond my most sanguine expectations." (Harm. Mundi, Lib. V.)

Thus the Platonic notion, of an Astronomy which deals with doctrines of a more exact and determinate kind than the obvious relations of phænomena, may be found to tend either to error or to truth. Such aspirations point equally to the five regular solids which Kepler imagined as determining the planetary orbits, and to the Laws of Kepler in which Newton detected the effect of universal gravitation. The realities which Plato looked for, as something incomparably more real than the visible luminaries, are found, when we find geometrical figures, epicycles and eccentrics, laws of motion and laws of force, which explain the appearances. His Realities are Theories which account for the Phenomena, Ideas which connect the Facts.

But, is Plato right in holding that such Realities as these are more real than the Phenomena, and constitute an Astronomy of a higher kind than that of mere Appearances? To this we shall, of course, reply that Theories and Facts have each their reality, but that these are realities of different kinds. Kepler's Laws are as real as day and night; the force of gravity tending to the Sun is as real as the Sun; but not more so. True Theories and Facts are equally real, for true Theories are Facts, and Facts are familiar Theories. Astronomy is, as Plato says, a series of Problems suggested by visible Things; and the Thoughts in our own minds which bring the solutions of these Problems, have a reality in the Things which suggest them.

But if we try, as Plato does, to separate and oppose to each other the Astronomy of Appearances and the Astronomy of Theories, we attempt that which is impossible. There are no Phenomena which do not exhibit some Law; no Law can be conceived without Phenomena. The heavens offer a series of Problems; but however many of these Problems we solve, there remain still innumerable of them unsolved; and these unsolved Problems have solutions, and are not different in kind from those of which the extant solution is most complete.

Nor can we justly distinguish, with Plato, Astronomy into transient appearances and permanent truths. The theories of Astronomy are permanent, and are manifested in a series of changes: but the change is perpetual just because the theory is permanent. The perpetual change is the permanent theory. The perpetual changes in the positions and movements of the planets, for instance, manifest the permanent machinery: the machinery of cycles and epicycles, as Plato would have said, and as Copernicus would have agreed; while Kepler, with a profound admiration for both, would have asserted that the motions might be represented by ellipses, more exactly, if not more truly. The cycles and epicycles, or the ellipses, are as real as space and time, in which the motions take place. But we cannot justly say that space and time and motion are more real than the bodies which move in space and time, or than the appearances which these bodies present.

Thus Plato, with his tendency to exalt Ideas above Facts,--to find a Reality which is more real than Phenomena,--to take hold of a permanent Truth which is more true than truths of observation,--attempts what is impossible. He tries to separate the poles of the Fundamental Antithesis, which, however antithetical, are inseparable.

At the same time, we must recollect that this tendency to find a Reality which is something beyond appearance, a permanence which is involved in the changes, is the genuine spring of scientific discovery. Such a tendency has been the cause of all the astronomical science which we possess. It appeared in Plato himself, in Hipparchus, in Ptolemy, in Copernicus, and most eminently in Kepler; and in him perhaps in a manner more accordant with Plato's aspirations when he found the five Regular Solids in the Universe, than when he found there the Conic Sections which determine the form of the planetary orbits. The pursuit of this tendency has been the source of the mighty and successful labours of succeeding astronomers: and the anticipations of Plato on this head were more true than he himself could have conceived.

When the above view of the nature of true astronomy has been proposed, Glaucon says:

"That would be a task much more laborious than the astronomy now cultivated." Socrates replies: "I believe so: and such tasks must be undertaken, if our researches are to be good for anything."

After Astronomy, there comes under review another Science, which is treated in the same manner. It is presented as one of the Sciences which deal with real abstract truth; and which are therefore suited to that development of the philosophic insight into the highest truth, which is here Plato's main object. This Science is Harmonics, the doctrine of the mathematical relations of musical sounds. Perhaps it may be more difficult to explain to a general audience, Plato's views on this than on the previous subjects: for though Harmonics is still acknowledged as a Science including the mathematical truths to which Plato here refers, these truths are less generally known than those of geometry or astronomy. Pythagoras is reported to have been the discoverer of the cardinal proposition in this Mathematics of Music:--namely, that the musical notes which the ear recognizes as having that definite and harmonious relation which we call an octave, a fifth, a fourth, a third, have also, in some way or other, the numerical relation of 2 to 1, 3 to 2, 4 to 3, 5 to 4. I say "some way or other," because the statements of ancient writers on this subject are physically inexact, but are right in the essential point, that those simple numerical ratios are characteristic of the most marked harmonic relations. The numerical ratios really represent the rate of vibration of the air when those harmonics are produced. This perhaps Plato did not know: but he knew or assumed that those numerical ratios were cardinal truths in harmony: and he conceived that the exactness of the ratios rested on grounds deeper and more intellectual than any testimony which the ear could give. This is the main point in his mode of applying the subject, which will be best understood by translating (with some abridgement) what he says. Socrates proceeds:

(§ 11 near the end.) "Motion appears in many aspects. It would take a very wise man to enumerate them all: but there are two obvious kinds. One which appears in astronomy, (the revolutions of the heavenly bodies,) and another which is the echo of that. As the eyes are made for Astronomy, so are the ears made for the motion which produces Harmony: and thus we have two sister sciences, as the Pythagoreans teach, and we assent.

(§ 12.) "To avoid unnecessary labour, let us first learn what they can tell us, and see whether anything is to be added to it; retaining our own view on such subjects: namely this:--that those whose education we are to superintend--real philosophers--are never to learn any imperfect truths:--anything which does not tend to that point (exact and permanent truth) to which all our knowledge ought to tend, as we said concerning astronomy. Now those who cultivate music take a very different course from this. You may see them taking immense pains in measuring musical notes and intervals by the ear, as the astronomers measure the heavenly motions by the eye.

"Yes, says Glaucon, they apply their ears close to the instrument, as if they could catch the note by getting near to it, and talk of some kind of recurrences. Some say they can distinguish an interval, and that this is the smallest possible interval, by which others are to be measured; while others say that the two notes are identical: both parties alike judging by the ear, not by the intellect.

"You mean, says Socrates, those fine musicians who torture their notes, and screw their pegs, and pinch their strings, and speak of the resulting sounds in grand terms of art. We will leave them, and address our inquiries to our other teachers, the Pythagoreans."

The expressions about the small interval in Glaucon's speech appear to me to refer to a curious question, which we know was discussed among the Greek mathematicians. If we take a keyed instrument, and ascend from a key note by two octaves and a third, (say from A{1} to C_{3}) we arrive at the same nominal note, as if we ascend four times by a fifth (A_{1} to E_{1}, E_{1} to B_{2}, B_{2} to F_{2}, F_{2} to C_{3}). Hence one party might call this the same note. But if the Octaves, Fifths, and Third be perfectly true intervals, the notes arrived at in the two ways will not be really the same. (In the one case, the note is ½ × ½ × ⅘; in the other ⅔ × ⅔ × ⅔ × ⅔; which are ⅕ and 16/81, or in the ratio of 81 to 80). This small interval by which the two notes really differ, the Greeks called a Comma_, and it was the smallest musical interval which they recognized. Plato disdains to see anything important in this controversy; though the controversy itself is really a curious proof of his doctrine, that there is a mathematical truth in Harmony, higher than instrumental exactness can reach. He goes on to say:

"The musical teachers are defective in the same way as the astronomical. They do indeed seek numbers in the harmonic notes, which the ear perceives: but they do not ascend from them to the Problem, What are harmonic numbers and what are not, and what is the reason of each?" "That", says Glaucon, "would be a sublime inquiry."

Have we in Harmonics, as in Astronomy, anything in the succeeding History of the Science which illustrates the tendency of Plato's thoughts, and the value of such a tendency?

It is plain that the tendency was of the same nature as that which induced Kepler to call his work on Astronomy Harmonice Mundi; and which led to many of the speculations of that work, in which harmonical are mixed with geometrical doctrines. And if we are disposed to judge severely of such speculations, as too fanciful for sound philosophy, we may recollect that Newton himself seems to have been willing to find an analogy between harmonic numbers and the different coloured spaces in the spectrum.

But I will say frankly, that I do not believe there really exists any harmonical relation in either of these cases. Nor can the problem proposed by Plato be considered as having been solved since his time, any further than the recurrence of vibrations, when their ratios are so simple, may be easily conceived as affecting the ear in a peculiar manner. The imperfection of musical scales, which the comma indicates, has not been removed; but we may say that, in the case of this problem, as in the other ultimate Platonic problems, the duplication of the cube and the quadrature of the circle, the impossibility of a solution has been already established. The problem of a perfect musical scale is impossible, because no power of 2 can be equal to a power of 3; and if we further take the multiplier 5, of course it also cannot bring about an exact equality. This impossibility of a perfect scale being recognized, the practical problem is what is the system of temperament which will make the scale best suited for musical purposes; and this problem has been very fully discussed by modern writers.

FOOTNOTES:

APPENDIX BB.

ON PLATO'S NOTION OF DIALECTIC.

(Cam. Phil. Soc. MAY 7, 1855.)

The survey of the sciences, arithmetic, plane geometry, solid geometry, astronomy and harmonics--which is contained in the seventh Book of the Republic (§ 6-12), and which has been discussed in the preceding paper, represents them as instruments in an education, of which the end is something much higher--as steps in a progression which is to go further. "Do you not know," says Socrates (§ 12), "that all this is merely a prelude to the strain which we have to learn?" And what that strain is, he forthwith proceeds to indicate. "That these sciences do not suffice, you must be aware: for--those who are masters of such sciences--do they seem to you to be good in dialectic? δεινοὶ διαλεκτικοὶ εἷναι;"

"In truth, says Glaucon, they are not, with very few exceptions, so far as I have fallen in with them."

"And yet, said I, if persons cannot give and receive a reason, they cannot attain that knowledge which, as we have said, men ought to have."

Here it is evident that "to give and to receive a reason," is a phrase employed as coinciding, in a general way at least, with being "good in dialectic;" and accordingly, this is soon after asserted in another form, the verb being now used instead of the adjective. "It is dialectic discussion τὸ διαλέγεσθαι, which executes the strain which we have been preparing." It is further said that it is a progress to clear intellectual light, which corresponds to the progress of bodily vision in proceeding from the darkened cave described in the beginning of the Book to the light of day. This progress, it is added, of course you call Dialectic διαλεκτικήν.

Plato further says, that other sciences cannot properly be called sciences. They begin from certain assumptions, and give us only the consequences which follow from reasoning on such assumptions. But these assumptions they cannot prove. To do so is not in the province of each science. It belongs to a higher science: to the science of Real Existences. You call the man Dialectical, who requires a reason of the essence of each thing.

And as Dialectic gives an account of other real existences, so does it of that most important reality, the true guide of Life and of Philosophy, the Real Good. He who cannot follow this through all the windings of the battle of Life, knows nothing to any purpose. And thus Dialectic is the pinnacle, the top stone of the edifice of the sciences.

Dialectic is here defined or described by Plato according to the subject with which it treats, and the object with which it is to be pursued: but in other parts of the Platonic Dialogues, Dialectic appears rather to imply a certain method of investigation;--to describe the form rather than the matter of discussion; and it will perhaps be worth while to compare these different accounts of Dialectic.

(Phædrus.) One of the cardinal passages on this Point is in the Phædrus, and may be briefly quoted. Phædrus, in the Dialogue which bears his name, appears at first as an admirer of Lysias, a celebrated writer of orations, the contemporary of Plato. In order to expose this writer's style of composition as frigid and shallow, a specimen of it is given, and Socrates not only criticises this, but delivers, as rival compositions, two discourses on the same subject. Of these discourses, given as the inspiration of the moment, the first is animated and vigorous; the second goes still further, and clothes its meaning in a gorgeous dress of poetical and mythical images. Phædrus acknowledges that his favourite is outshone; and Socrates then proceeds to point out that the real superiority of his own discourse consists in its having a dialectical structure, beneath its outward aspect of imagery and enthusiasm. He says: (§ 109, Bekker. It is to be remembered that the subject of all the discourses was Love, under certain supposed conditions.)

"The rest of the performance may be taken as play: but there were, in what was thus thrown out by a random impulse, two features, of which, if any one could reduce the effect to an art, it would be a very agreeable and useful task.

"What are they? Phædrus asks.

"In the first place, Socrates replies, the taking a connected view of the scattered elements of a subject, so as to bring them into one Idea; and thus to give a definition of the subject, so as to make it clear what we are speaking of; as was then done in regard to Love. A definition was given of it, what it is: whether the definition was good or bad, at any rate there was a definition. And hence, in what followed, we were able to say what was clear and consistent with itself.

"And what, Phædrus asks, was the other feature?

"The dividing the subject into kinds or elements, according to the nature of the thing itself:--not breaking its natural members, like a bad carver who cannot hit the joint. So the two discourses which we have delivered, took the irrational part of the mind, as their common subject; and as the body has two different sides, the right and the left, with the same names for its parts; so the two discourses took the irrational portion of man; and the one took the left-hand portion, and divided this again, and again subdivided it, till, among the subdivisions, it found a left-handed kind of Love, of which nothing but ill was to be said. While the discourse that followed out the right-hand side of phrenzy, (the irrational portion of man's nature,) was led to something which bore the name of Love like the other, but which is divine, and was praised as the source of the greatest blessing."

"Now I," Socrates goes on to say, "am a great admirer of these processes of division and comprehension, by which I endeavour to speak and to think correctly. And if I can find any one who is able to see clearly what is by nature reducible to one and manifested in many elements, I follow his footsteps as a divine guide. Those who can do this, I call--whether rightly or not, God knows--but I have hitherto been in the habit of calling them dialectical men."

It is of no consequence to our present purpose whether either of the discourses of Socrates in the Phædrus, or the two together, as is here assumed, do contain a just division and subdivision of that part of the human soul which is distinguishable from Reason, and do thus exhibit, in its true relations, the affection of Love. It is evident that division and subdivision of this kind is here presented as, in Plato's opinion, a most valuable method; and those who could successfully practise this method are those whom he admires as dialectical men. This is here his Dialectic.

(Sophistes.) We are naturally led to ask whether this method of dividing a subject as the best way of examining it, be in any other part of the Platonic Dialogues more fully explained than it is in the Phædrus; or whether any rules are given for this kind of Dialectic.

To this we may reply, that in the Dialogue entitled The Sophist, a method of dividing a subject, in order to examine it, is explained and exemplified with extraordinary copiousness and ingenuity. The object proposed in that Dialogue is, to define what a Sophist is; and with that view, the principal speaker, (who is represented as an Eleatic stranger,) begins by first exemplifying what is his method of framing a definition, and by applying it to define an Angler. The course followed, though it now reads like a burlesque of philosophical methods, appears to have been at that time a bona fide attempt to be philosophical and methodical. It proceeds thus:

"We have to inquire concerning Angling. Is it an Art? It is. Now what kind of art? All art is an art of making or an art of getting: (Poietic or Ktetic.) It is Ktetic. Now the art of getting, is the art of getting by exchange or by capture: (Metabletic or Chirotic.) Getting by capture is by contest or by chase: (Agonistic or Thereutic.) Getting by chase is a chase of lifeless or of living things: (the first has no name, the second is Zootheric.) The chase of living things is the chase of land animals or of water animals: (Pezotheric or Enygrotheric.) Chase of water animals is of birds or of fish: (Ornithothereutic and Halieutic.) Chase of fish is by inclosing or by striking them: (Hercotheric or Plectic.) We strike them by day with pointed instruments, or by night, using torches: (hence the division Ankistreutic and Pyreutic.) Of Ankistreutic, one kind consists in spearing the fish downwards from above, the other in twitching them upwards from below: (these two arts are Triodontic and Aspalieutic.) And thus we have, what we sought, the notion and the description of angling: namely that it is a Ktetic, Chirotic, Thereutic, Zootheric, Enygrotheric, Halieutic, Plectic, Ankistreutic, Aspalieutic Art."

Several other examples are given of this ingenious mode of definition, but they are all introduced with reference to the definition of the Sophist. And it will further illustrate this method to show how, according to it, the Sophist is related to the Angler.

The Sophistical Art is an art of getting, by capture, living things, namely men. It is thus a Ktetic, Chirotic, Thereutic art, and so far agrees with that of the Angler. But here the two arts diverge, since that of the Sophist is Pezotheric, that of the Angler Enygrotheric. To determine the Sophist still more exactly, observe that the chase of land animals is either of tame animals (including man) or of wild animals: (Hemerotheric and Agriotheric.) The chase of tame animals is either by violence, (as kidnapping, tyranny, and war in general,) or by persuasion, (as by the arts of speech;) that is, it is Biaiotheric or Pithanurgic. The art of persuasion is a private or a public proceeding: (Idiothereutic or Demosiothereutic.) The art of private persuasion is accompanied with the giving of presents, (as lovers do,) or with the receiving of pay: (thus it is Dorophoric or Mistharneutic.) To receive pay as the result of persuasion, is the course, either of those who merely earn their bread by supplying pleasure, namely flatterers, whose art is Hedyntic; or of those who profess for pay to teach virtue. And who are they? Plainly the Sophists. And thus Sophistic is that kind of Ktetic, Chirotic, Thereutic, Zootheric, Pezotheric, Hemerotheric, Pithanurgic, Idiothereutic, Mistharneutic art, which professes to teach virtue, and takes money on that account.

The same process is pursued along several other lines of inquiry: and at the end of each of them the Sophist is detected, involved in a number of somewhat obnoxious characteristics. This process of division it will be observed, is at every step bifurcate, or as it is called, dichotomous. Applied as it is in these examples, it is rather the vehicle of satire than of philosophy. Yet, I have no doubt that this bifurcate method was admired by some of the philosophers of Plato's time, as a clever and effective philosophical invention. We may the more readily believe this, inasmuch as one of the most acute persons of our own time, who has come nearer than any other to the ancient heads of sects in the submission with which his followers have accepted his doctrines, has taken up this Dichotomous Method, and praised it as the only philosophical mode of dividing a subject. I refer to Mr. Jeremy Bentham's Chrestomathia (published originally in 1816), in which this exhaustive bifurcate method, as he calls it, was applied to classify sciences and arts, with a view to a scheme of education. How exactly the method, as recommended by him, agrees with the method illustrated in the Sophist, an examination of any of his examples will show. Thus to take Mineralogy as an example: according to Bentham, Ontology is Cœnoscopic or Idioscopic: the Idioscopic is Somatoscopic or Pneumatoscopic; the Somatoscopic is Pososcopic or Poioscopic: Poioscopic is Physiurgoscopic or Anthropurgoscopic: Physiurgoscopic is Uranoscopic or Epigeoscopic: Epigeoscopic is Abioscopic or Embioscopic. And thus Mineralogy is the Science Idioscopic, Somatoscopic, Poioscopic, Physiurgoscopic, Epigeoscopic, Abioscopic: inasmuch as it is the science which regards bodies, with reference to their qualities,--bodies, namely, the works of nature, terrestrial, lifeless.

I conceive that this bifurcate method is not really philosophical or valuable: but that is not our business here. What we have to consider is whether this is what Plato meant by the term Dialectic.

The general description of Dialectic in the Sophistes agrees very closely with that quoted from the Phædrus, that it is the separation of a subject according to its natural divisions.

Thus, see in the Sophist the passage § 83: "To divide a subject according to the kinds of things, so as neither to make the same kind different nor different kinds identical, is the office of the Dialectical Science." And this is illustrated by observing that it is the office of the science of Grammar to determine what letters may be combined and what may not; it is the office of the science of Music to determine what sounds differing as acute and grave, may be combined, and what may not: and in like manner it is the office of the science of Dialectic to determine what kinds may be combined in one subject and what may not. And the proof is still further explained.

In many of the Platonic Dialogues, the Dialectic which Socrates is thus represented as approving, appears to include the form of Dialogue, as well as the subdivision of the subject into its various branches. Socrates is presented as attaching so much importance to this form, that in the Protagoras (§ 65) he rises to depart, because his opponent will not conform to this practice. And generally in Plato, Dialectic is opposed to Rhetoric, as a string of short questions and answers to a continuous dissertation.

Xenophon also seems to imply (Mem. IV. 5, 11) that Socrates included in his notion of Dialectic the form of Dialogue as well as the division of the subject.

But that the method of close Dialogue was not called Dialectic by the author of the Sophist, we have good evidence in the work itself. Among other notions which are analysed by the bifurcate division here exhibited, is that of getting by contest (Agonistic, previously given as a division of Ktetic). Now getting by contest may be by peaceful trial of superiority, or by fight: (Hamilletic or Machelic). The fight may be of body against body, or of words against words: these may be called Biastic and Amphisbetic. The fight of words about right and wrong, may be by long discourses opposed to each other, as in judicial cases; or by short questions and answers: the former may be called Dicanic, the latter Antilogic. Of these colloquies, about right and wrong, some are natural and spontaneous, others artificial and studied: the former need no special name; the latter are commonly called Eristic. Of Eristic colloquies, some are a source of expense to those who hold them, some of gain: that is, they are Chrematophthoric or Chrematistic: the former, the occupation of those who talk for pleasure's and for company's sake, is Adoleschic, wasteful garrulity; the latter, that of those who talk for the sake of gain, is Sophistic. And thus Sophistic is an art Eristic, which is part of Antilogic, which is part of Amphisbetic, which is part of Agonistic, which is part of Chirotic, which is a part of Ktetic. (§ 23.)

We may notice here an indication that satire rather than exact reason directs these analyses; in that Sophistic, which was before a part of the thereutic branch of chirotic and ktetic, is here a part of the other branch, agonistic.

But the remark which I especially wish to make here is, that the art of discussing points of right and wrong by short questions and answers, being here brought into view, is not called Dialectic, which we might have expected; but Antilogic. It would seem therefore that the Author of the Sophist did not understand by Dialectic such a process as Socrates describes in Xenophon; (Mem. IV. 5, 11, 12;) where he says it was called Dialectic, because it was followed by persons dividing things into their kinds in conversation: (κοινῇ βουλεύεσθαι διαλέγοντας:)or such as the Socrates of Plato insisted upon in the Protagoras and the Gorgias. Of the two elements which the Dialectical Process of Socrates implied, Division of the subject and Dialogue, the author of the Sophistes does not claim the name of Dialectic for either, and seems to reject it for the second.

But without insisting upon the name, are we to suppose that the Dichotomous Method of the Sophistes Dialogue, (I may add of the Politicus, for the method is the same in this Dialogue also,) is the method of division of a subject according to its natural members, of which Plato speaks in the Phædrus?

If the Sophistes be the work of Plato, the answer is difficult either way. If this method be Plato's Dialectic, how came he to omit to say so there? how came he even to seem to deny it? But on the other hand, if this dichotomous division be a different process from the division called Dialectic in the Phædrus, had Plato two methods of division of a subject? and yet has he never spoken of them as two, or marked their distinction?

This difficulty would be removed if we were to adopt the opinion, to which others, on other grounds, have been led, that the Sophistes, though of Plato's time, is not Plato's work. The grounds of this opinion are,--that the doctrines of the Sophistes are not Platonic: (the doctrine of Ideas is strongly impugned and weakly defended:) Socrates is not the principal speaker, but an Eleatic stranger: and there is, in the Dialogue, none of the dramatic character which we generally have in Plato. The Dialogue seems to be the work of some Eleatic opponent of Plato, rather than his.

(Rep. B. VII.) But we can have no doubt that the Phædrus contains Plato's real view of the nature of Dialectic, as to its form; let us see how this agrees with the view of Dialectic, as to its matter and object, given in the seventh Book of the Republic.

According to Plato, Real Existences are the objects of the exact sciences (as number and figure, of Arithmetic and Geometry). The things which are the objects of sense transitory phenomena, which have no reality, because no permanence. Dialectic deals with Realities in a more general manner. This doctrine is everywhere inculcated by Plato, and particularly in this part of the Republic. He does not tell us how we are to obtain a view of the higher realities, which are the objects of Dialectic: only he here assumes that it will result from the education which he enjoins. He says (§ 13) that the Dialectic Process (ἡ διαλεκτικὴ μέθοδος) alone leads to true science: it makes no assumptions, but goes to First Principles, that its doctrines may be firmly grounded: and thus it purges the eye of the soul, which was immersed in barbaric mud, and turns it upward; using for this purpose the aid of the sciences which have been mentioned. But when Glaucon inquires about the details of this Dialectic, Socrates says he will not then answer the inquiry. We may venture to say, that it does not appear that he had any answer ready.

Let us consider for a moment what is said about a philosophy rendering a reason for the First Principles of each Science, which the Science itself cannot do. That there is room for such a branch of philosophy in some sciences, we easily see. Geometry, for instance, proceeds from Axioms, Definitions and Postulates; but by the very nature of these terms, does not prove these First Principles. These--the Axioms, Definitions and Postulates,--are, I conceive, what Plato here calls the Hypotheses upon which Geometry proceeds, and for which it is not the business of Geometry to render a reason. According to him, it is the business of "Dialectic" to give a just account of these "Hypotheses." What then is Dialectic?

(Aristotle.) It is, I think, well worthy of remark, that Aristotle, giving an account in many respects different from that of Plato, of the nature of Dialectic, is still led in the same manner to consider Dialectic as the branch of philosophy which renders a reason for First Principles. In the Topics, we have a distinction drawn between reasoning demonstrative, and reasoning dialectical: and the distinction is this:--(Top. I. 1) that demonstration is by syllogisms from true first principles, or from true deductions from such principles; and that the Dialectical Syllogism is that which syllogizes from probable propositions (ἠξ ἠνδόξων). And he adds that probable propositions are those which are accepted by all, or by the greatest part, or by the wise. In the next chapter, he speaks of the uses of Dialectic, which, he says, are three, mental discipline, debates, and philosophical science. And he adds (Top. I. 2, 6) that it is also useful with reference to the First Principles in each Science: for from the appropriate Principles of each science we cannot deduce anything concerning First Principles, since these principles are the beginning of reasoning. But from the probable principles in each province of science we must reason concerning First Principles: and this is either the peculiar office of Dialectic, or the office most appropriate to it; for it is a process of investigation, and must lead to the Principles of all methods.

That a demonstrative science, as such, does not explain the origin of its own First Principles, is undoubtedly true. Geometry does not undertake to give a reason for the Axioms, Definitions, and Postulates. This has been attempted, both in ancient and in modern times, by the Metaphysicians. But the Metaphysics employed on such subjects has not commonly been called Dialectic. The term has certainly been usually employed rather as describing a Method, than as determining the subject of investigation. Of the Faculty which apprehends First Principles, both according to Plato and to Aristotle, I will hereafter say a few words.

The object of the dichotomous process pursued in the Sophistes, and its result in each case, is a Definition. Definition also was one of the main features of the inquiries pursued by Socrates, Induction being the other; and indeed in many cases Induction was a series of steps which ended in Definition. And Aristotle also taught a peculiar method, the object and result of which was the construction of Definitions:--namely his Categories. This method is one of division, but very different from the divisions of the Sophistes. His method begins by dividing the whole subject of possible inquiry into ten heads or Categories--Substance, Quantity, Quality, Relation, Place, Time, Position, Habit, Action, Passion. These again are subdivided: thus Quality is Habit or Disposition, Power, Affection, Form. And we have an example of the application of this method to the construction of a Definition in the Ethics; where he determines Virtue to be a Habit with certain additional limitations.

Thus the Induction of Socrates, the Dichotomy of the Eleatics, the Categories of Aristotle, may all be considered as methods by which we proceed to the construction of Definitions. If, by any method, Plato could proceed to the construction of a Definition, or rather of an Idea, of the Absolute Realities on which First Principles depend, such a method would correspond with the notion of Dialectic in the Republic. And if it was a method of division like the Eleatic or Aristotelic, it would correspond with the notion of Dialectic in the Phædrus.

That Plato's notion, however, cannot have been exactly either of these is, I think, plain. The colloquial method of stimulating and testing the progress of the student in Dialectic is implied, in the sequel of this discussion of the effect of scientific study. And the method of Dialogue, as the instrument of instruction, being thus supposed, the continuation of the account in the Republic, implies that Plato expected persons to be made dialectical by the study of the exact sciences in a comprehensive spirit. After insisting on Geometry and other sciences, he says (Rep. VII. § 16): "The synoptical man is dialectical; and he who is not the one, is not the other."

But, we may ask, does a knowledge of sciences lead naturally to a knowledge of Ideas, as absolute realities from which First Principles flow? And supposing this to be true, as the Platonic Philosophy supposes, is the Idea of the Good, as the source of moral truths, to be thus attained to? That it is, is the teaching of Plato, here and elsewhere; but have the speculations of subsequent philosophers in the same direction given any confirmation of this lofty assumption?

In reply to this inquiry, I should venture to say, that this assumption appears to be a remnant of the Socratic doctrine from which Plato began his speculations, that Virtue is a kind of knowledge; and that all attempts to verify the assumption have failed. What Plato added to the Socratic notion was, that the inquiry after The Good, the Supreme Good, was to be aided by the analogy or suggestions of those sciences which deal with necessary and eternal truths; the supreme good being of the nature of those necessary and eternal truths. This notion is a striking one, as a suggestion, but it has always failed, I think, in the attempts to work it out. Those who in modern times, as Cudworth and Samuel Clarke, have supposed an analogy between the necessary truths of Geometry and the truths of Morality, though they have used the like expressions concerning the one and the other class of truths, have failed to convey clear doctrines and steady convictions to their readers; and have now, I believe, few or no followers.

The result of our investigation appears to be, that though Plato added much to the matter by means of which the mind was to be improved and disciplined in its research after Principles and Definitions, he did not establish any form of Method according to which the inquiry must be conducted, and by which it might be aided. The most definite notion of Dialectic still remained the same with the original informal view which Socrates had taken of it, as Xenophon tells us, (Mem. IV. 5, 11) when he says: "He said that Dialectic (τὸ διαλέγεσθαι) was so called because it is an inquiry pursued by persons who take counsel together, separating the subjects considered according to their kinds (διαλέγοντας). He held accordingly that men should try to be well prepared for such a process, and should pursue it with diligence: by this means, he thought, they would become good men, fitted for responsible offices of command, and truly dialectical" (διαλέκτικωτάτους). And this is, I conceive, the answer to Mr. Grote's interrogatory exclamation (Vol. VIII. p. 577): "Surely the Etymology here given by Xenophon or Socrates of the word (διαλέγεσθαι) cannot be considered as satisfactory." The two notions, of investigatory Dialogue, and Distribution of notions according to their kinds, which are thus asserted to be connected in etymology, were, among the followers of Socrates, connected in fact; the dialectic dialogue was supposed to involve of course the dialectic division of the subject.

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