CHAPTER II.. Character and Chief Features of the Post-Aristotelian Philosophy.

CHARACTER AND CHIEF FEATURES OF THE POST-ARISTOTELIAN PHILOSOPHY.

The circumstances which have been briefly sketched in the preceding chapter are of the greatest importance in their bearing on the character of the post-Aristotelian philosophy. Greek philosophy, like Greek art, is the offspring of Greek political independence. In the whirl of public life every one is thrown on himself and his own resources. Thereby, and by the emulation begotten of unlimited competition for all the good things of life, the Greek had learned to make full use of his intellect. Consciousness of his dignity—which a Greek associated far more closely than we do with the privilege of citizenship—and independence of the necessity of struggling for daily food, had taught him independence of mind, and enabled him to devote himself to the pursuit of knowledge without any ulterior aim.

With the decline of political independence the mental powers of the nation were broken past remedy. No longer borne up by a powerful esprit de corps, weaned from the habit of working for the common weal, the majority gave themselves up to the petty interests of private life and personal affairs. Even the better disposed were too much occupied in contending against the low tone and corruption of their times, to be able to devote themselves in moments of relaxation to independent speculation. What could be expected in such an age as that which preceded the rise of the Stoic and Epicurean systems, but that philosophy would become practical itself, if indeed it were studied at all?

An age like that did not require theoretical knowledge, but it did require moral bracing and strengthening. If these were not to be had from popular religion in its then state, was it matter for wonder that philosophy should be looked to to supply the deficiency, seeing that in all cultivated circles philosophy had already taken the place of religion? If we ask in what form, and in what form only, philosophy could supply the deficiency under the then circumstances, the answer is not far to seek. There was little room for creative effort, plenty for sustained endurance; little for activity without, plenty for activity within; little room for public life, plenty of room for private life. So utterly hopeless had the public state of Greece become, that even the few who made it their business to provide a remedy could only gain for themselves the honour of martyrdom. As matters stood, the only course open for the best-intentioned was to withdraw entirely within themselves, to entrench themselves within the safe barriers of their inner life against outward misfortunes, and to make happiness dependent entirely on their own inward state.

Stoic apathy, Epicurean self-contentment, and Sceptic imperturbability, were the doctrines which suited the political helplessness of the age, and they were therefore the doctrines which met with the most general acceptance. There was yet another which suited it—viz., the sinking of national distinctions in the feeling of a common humanity, the severance of morals from politics which characterises the philosophy of the Alexandrian and Roman period. The barriers which kept nations apart had been swept away, together with their national independence: East and West, Greeks and barbarians, were united in large empires, brought into communication and forced into comparison with one another in matters the most important. Philosophy declared that all men are of one blood and are equally privileged citizens of one empire, that morality rests on the relation of man to man, and is independent of nationality and position in the state; but in so doing it only explicitly stated a truth which was partly realised and partly implied in actual life.

The very course which philosophy itself had taken during the previous century and a half had prepared the way for the turn which now set in. Socrates and the Sophists, in different ways no doubt, had each devoted themselves to the practical side of life; and thus the Cynic School was the precursor of Stoicism, the Cyrenaic of Epicureanism. These two Schools are, however, only of minor importance in the general progress of philosophy in the fourth century, and sophistry by the close of the same century was already a thing of the past. Socrates, it is true, would have nothing to do with physical enquiries; yet he felt the desire for knowledge far too keenly to bear comparison with the post-Aristotelian philosophers. Proposing to concern himself only with subjects which were of practical use in life, he yet put forth a theory of knowledge which involved a reform quite as much of speculative as of practical philosophy, and that reform was accomplished on a grand scale by Plato and Aristotle.

However little Greek philosophy as a whole developed during the fourth century along the lines of its subsequent expansion, still the speculations of Plato and Aristotle necessarily helped to prepare for the coming charge. The antagonism between the ideal and phenomenal worlds which Plato set up, and Aristotle vainly attempted to bridge over, leads ultimately to a contrast between the outer and the inner life, between thought and the object of thought. The generic conceptions or forms, which Plato and Aristotle regard as most truly real, are, after all, fabrications of the human mind. The conception of reason, even in its expanded form as the divine Reason, or reason of the world, is an idea formed by abstraction from the inner life. And what is really meant by identifying form in itself with what is, and matter with what is possible, or even (as Plato does) with what is not, or by placing God outside of and in contrast to the world, but the admission that man finds in his own mind a higher and more real existence than any which he finds outside of it, and that what is truly divine and unlimited must be in the mind as an idea, apart from and independent of all impressions from without? Plato and Aristotle in fact declared that reason constitutes the real essence of man—reason coming from above and uniting itself with the body, but in itself superior to the world of sense and life in time—and that man’s highest activity is thought, turned away from all external things, and meditating only on the inner world of ideas. It was only one step further in the same direction for the post-Aristotelian philosophy to contemplate man in complete severance from the outer world, and to refer him to himself for that satisfaction which he can find nowhere else in life.

This step was taken by the Schools of the Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics which appeared in the first half of the third century before Christ, superseded the influence of the older Schools, and asserted their supremacy without great variation in their teaching until the beginning of the first century. In whatever else these three Schools may differ, at least they agree in two fundamental points, (1) in subordinating theory to practice, and (2) in the peculiar character of their practical philosophy.

The subordination of theory to practice is most apparent in the School of Epicurus. It is nearly as clear in the case of the Sceptics, who, denying all possibility of knowledge, left as the only ground of action conviction based on probabilities. Both Schools also agree in considering philosophy as only a means for securing happiness. By the Stoics, on the other hand, the need of philosophic speculation was felt more strongly; but even in their case it may be seen that speculation was not pursued simply for its own sake, but for practical purposes, by which it was also determined. Thus the Stoics, like the Epicureans, in the speculative part of their system confined themselves to current views—thereby showing that the source of their philosophical peculiarities lay elsewhere than in speculation, and that other studies had greater value in their eyes, in which also they considered themselves more proficient. They even expressly stated that the study of nature is only necessary as a help to the study of virtue. It is beyond question, that their chief peculiarities, and those which give them an importance in history, are ethical. The other parts of their system, more particularly those in which their distinctive tenets appear, are likewise regulated by practical considerations. This statement will hereafter be shown in detail. It may suffice to observe now, that the most important point in the logic of the Stoics—the question as to the standard of truth—was decided by a practical postulate; that the fundamental principles of the Stoic metaphysics are only intelligible from the ground of their ethics; that for natural science the Stoics did very little; that in their theory of final causes on which they lay so much stress nature is explained by moral considerations; and that their natural as well as their positive theology bears ample testimony to the practical tone of their system. Standing in advance of the Epicureans by their higher intellectual training and their learned energy, and in opposition to the Sceptics by their dogmatism, the Stoics nevertheless agree with both these Schools in the essentially practical character of their teaching.

This relationship is more strikingly seen in the way in which they deal with the practical problem. The Epicurean imperturbability is akin to that of the Sceptics; both resemble the Stoic apathy. All three Schools are agreed that the only way to happiness consists in peace of mind, and in avoiding all those disturbances which sometimes arise from external influences, at other times from internal emotions; they are only divided as to the means by which peace of mind may be secured. They are also agreed in making moral activity independent of external circumstances, and in separating morals from politics, although only the Stoics set up the doctrine of the original unity of the whole human family, and insist on being citizens of the world. Through all the Schools runs the common trait of referring everything to the subject, and constantly falling back on man and his own inner life, one consequence of which is the prominence given to action in preference to speculation, and another that action is determined by personal certainty, and a mental equilibrium which must be attained by the exercise of will and the cultivation of the intellect.

The same character belongs to philosophy in the centuries succeeding the rise of these three Schools; during which the circumstances which produced that character were not materially altered. In addition to the followers of the old Schools, Eclectics are now met with, who gather from every system what seems true and probable. In this process of selection their guiding principle is regard for the practical wants of man. Hence the ultimate standard of truth is placed in personal consciousness. Everything is referred to the subject as its centre. In ethics and natural theology the Eclectics were mainly indebted to the Stoics. A new School of Sceptics also arose, not differing in its tendencies from the older one. Neopythagoreans and Platonists appeared, not satisfied with human knowledge, but aspiring to higher revelations. Professing to appeal to the metaphysics of Plato and Aristotle, these philosophers betray their connection with the later post-Aristotelian Schools, not only by borrowing largely from the Stoics for the material for their theology and ethics, but also by their general tone; knowledge is for them less even than for the Stoics an end in itself, and they are further from natural science. With them philosophy is subservient to the interests of religion; its aim is to bring men into proper relation with God; and the religious needs of mankind are the highest authority for science.

The same observations apply also to Plotinus and his successors. These philosophers are not lacking in an elaborate science of metaphysics. The care which they devoted to this science leaves no doubt as to their lively interest in scientific completeness and systematic arrangement. For all that their speculative efforts bear the same relation to the practical aim of philosophy as those of the Stoics, who in point of learning and logical elaboration of a system are quite their equals. A real interest in knowledge was no doubt one of the elements which brought Neoplatonism into being; but it was not strong enough to counterbalance another, the practical and religious sentiment. The mind was not sufficiently independent to be able to get on without appealing to intellectual and theological authorities; the scientific procedure was too mixed to lead to a simple study of things as they are. As in the case of the Neopythagoreans, the ultimate ground of the system is a religious want. The divine world is only a portion of human thought projected out of the mind, and incapable of being fully grasped by the understanding. The highest business of philosophy is to reunite man with the divine world external to himself. To attain this end, all the means which science supplies are employed. Philosophy endeavours to explain the steps by which the finite gradually came to be separated from the original infinite being; it seeks to bring about a return by a regular and systematic course; and in this attempt the philosophic spirit of Greece, by no means extinct, proved its powers by a result of its kind unrivalled. In the first instance, no doubt, the problem was so raised as to press philosophy into the service of religion; but, in the long run, it became apparent that, with the premises assumed, a scientific solution of the religious question was impossible. The idea of an original being with which the system started was a reflex of the religious sentiment, and not the result of scientific research, and the doctrine of a mystical union with a transcendental being was a religious postulate, the gratuitous assumption of which betrays an origin in the mind of the thinker. The platform of Neoplatonism is the same, therefore, as that of the other post-Aristotelian systems; and it is hardly necessary in proof of this position to point to the agreement of Neoplatonism in other respects with Stoicism, and especially in ethics. Far as the two systems lie asunder, the one standing at the beginning the other at the end of the post-Aristotelian philosophy, nevertheless both display one and the same attitude of thought; and we pass from one to the other by a continuous series of intermediate links.

In passing from School to School the post-Aristotelian philosophy assumed, as might be expected, various modifications of character in course of time; nevertheless, it retained a certain mental habit and certain common elements. Such was the neglect of intellectual originality, which drove some thinkers to a sceptical denial of all knowledge, and induced others to take their knowledge at second hand from older authorities. Such was the prominence given to practical over speculative questions. Such was the disregard for natural science, and, in comparison with former times, the greater importance attached to theology, apparent not only in the controversy between the Epicureans and Stoics, but also in the apologetic writings of the Stoics and Platonists. Such, too, was the negative morality which aimed at independence of the outer world, at mental composure, and philosophic contentment; the separation of morals from politics; the moral universalism and citizenship of the world; the going within self into the depths of the soul, the will, and the thinking powers; the deepening of the consciousness accompanied at the same time by a narrowing and isolation of it, and the loss of a lively interest in the outer world, and in the simple scientific study thereof.

This mental habit, first of all, found simple dogmatic expression in philosophical systems. Not only moral science, but also logic and natural science, were treated in a way consonant with it, although they were partially built upon older views. In dealing with the moral problem, two Schools come to view, markedly different and decided in their peculiarities. The Stoics regard almost exclusively the universal element in man who seeks contentment within, the Epicureans catch at the individual side of his being. The Stoics regard man exclusively as a thinking being, the Epicureans as a creature of feeling. The Stoics make happiness to consist in subordination to the law of the whole, in the suppression of personal feelings and inclinations, in virtue; the Epicureans in individual independence of everything external, in the unruffled serenity of the inner life, in painlessness. The theoretical bases of their teaching correspond with these fundamental ethical positions.

Although the rivalry between these two Schools was great, both, nevertheless, stand on the same platform. Absolute composure of mind, freedom of the inner life from all disturbance from without, is the goal at which both aim, although they follow different methods. Hence it becomes necessary to insist on the common element as the essential aim and matter of philosophy. If the philosophic axioms of the two systems contradict one another, it may be thence inferred that the aim of both may be attained independently of any definite dogmatic view; in short, knowledge may be despaired of in order to pass from a recognition of ignorance to a general indifference to everything and to an unconditional repose of mind. Thus Scepticism is connected with Stoicism and Epicureanism, as the third chief form of the philosophy of that age. Apart from Pyrrho’s School, it is most effectually represented in the New Academy.

The rise, the growth, and the conflict of these three Schools, by the side of which the older Schools have only a subordinate value, occupies the first portion of the period of post-Aristotelian philosophy, and extends from the end of the fourth to the beginning of the first century before Christ. The distinctive features of this epoch consist partly in the predominance of the above tendencies, and partly in their separate existence, without modification by intermixture. After the middle of the second century a gradual change may be observed. Greece had then become a Roman province, and the intellectual intercourse between Greece and Rome was continually on the increase. Many learned Greeks resided at Rome, frequently as the companions of families of high birth; others living in their own country, were visited by Roman pupils. Was it possible that in the face of the clearly-defined and sharply-expressed Roman character, the power and independence of the Greek intellect, already unquestionably on the decline, would assert its ancient supremacy? Or that Greeks could become the teachers of Romans without accommodating themselves to their demands, and experiencing in turn a reflex influence? Even Greek philosophy could not withdraw itself from this influence. Its creative power was long since in abeyance, and in Scepticism it had openly avowed that it could place no trust in itself. To the practical sense of a Roman no philosophical system commended itself which did not make for practical results by the shortest possible route. To him practical needs were the ultimate standard of truth. Little did he care for strict logic and argumentative accuracy in scientific procedure. Differences of schools, so long as they had no practical bearing, were for him of no importance. No wonder that Greek philosophy, touched by the breath of Rome, lent itself to Eclecticism!

Whilst on the one side of the world the Greeks were falling under the influence of the nation that had subdued them, on the other they were assimilating the views of the Oriental nations whom they had subdued by martial as well as by mental superiority. For two centuries, in philosophy at least, Greece had held her own against Oriental modes of thought. Now that her intellectual incapacity continually increased, those modes of thought gained for themselves a foothold in her philosophy. Alexandria was the place where the connection of Greece with the East was first and most completely brought about. In that centre of commerce for all parts of the globe, East and West entered into a connection more intimate and more lasting than in any other centre. Nor was this connection a mere accident of circumstances; it was also a work of political forecast. From its founder, Ptolemy Soter, the Ptolemæan dynasty inherited as the principle of government the rule always to combine what is native with what is foreign, and to clothe new things in the old and venerable forms of Egyptian custom and religious ceremony. At Alexandria, accordingly, there arose, towards the beginning of the first century before Christ, a School calling itself at first Platonic, afterwards Pythagorean, which later still, in the shape of Neoplatonism, gained the ascendency over the whole domain of philosophy. The very fact, however, that such a change in philosophic views did not appear sooner, is sufficient to show that it was produced by external circumstances. But notwithstanding external circumstances it would never have come about had not the intellect of Greece in the course of its own development been ripe for it.

The same remark holds good of the rise of that practical Eclecticism which we have before traced to the influence of Rome. Even in the period of intellectual exhaustion, Greek philosophy was not simply the resultant of its outward surroundings, but, under the influence of outward surroundings, took shape in a way indicated by its previous progress. If the lingering remains of a few small Schools, which soon expired, are excepted, there existed, after the beginning of the third century before Christ, only four great philosophic Schools—the Peripatetic, the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the School of Platonists. The last-named of these was converted to Scepticism by Arcesilaus. These four Schools were all permanently established at Athens, where a lively interchange of thought took place between them, which renders a thorough comparison of their several teachings comparatively easy. It was only natural that they would not long exist side by side without making overtures towards union and agreement. These overtures were favoured by Scepticism, which, denying the possibility of knowledge, only allowed a choice between probabilities, and decided that choice by the standard of practical needs. Hence, towards the close of the second century before Christ, these philosophic Schools may be observed to emerge more or less from their exclusiveness. An eclectic tendency steals over philosophy, aiming not so much at scientific knowledge as at attaining certain results for practical use. The distinctive doctrines of each School drop into the background; and in the belief that infallibility resides solely in the mind itself, such portions are selected from each system as seem most in harmony with the selecting mind. The germ of this eclectic mode of thought lay in Scepticism. On the other hand, Eclecticism involves doubt. Hence, soon after the Christian era, a new school of doubt developed, which continued until the third century. There was thus, on the one hand, a lively interest in knowledge, which was desired in the practical interest of religion and morals; and, on the other hand, a disbelief in the truths of existing knowledge, and, indeed, of knowledge generally, openly avowed by some as Sceptics, secretly betrayed by others in the unsettledness of their Eclecticism. These two currents coalescing, led to the thought that truth, which cannot be found in knowledge, exists somewhere outside of it, and must be looked for partly in the religious traditions of the early days of Greece and the East, partly in direct divine revelation. Then came in such a notion of God, and of His relations to the world, as accords with this belief in revelation. Man knowing that truth lies outside himself, and doubting his own capacities to attain it, removes deity, as the absolute source of truth, into another world; and because the need of a revelation of truth still exists, the interval between God and the world is peopled with intermediate beings, who are sometimes conceived of as metaphysical entities, and at other times appear as the demons of popular belief. This mental habit, which is connected with Plato and Pythagoras, among the older systems, forms the transition to Neoplatonism. The appearance of Neoplatonism introduces the last stage in the development of Greek philosophy.

Yet even this turn in Greek philosophy was not uninfluenced by the circumstances of the times. Since the end of the second century after Christ, the decline of the Roman Empire progressed apace. Dread of the dangers which threatened it on all sides, the pressure of the times and distress made startling progress. All means of defence hitherto employed had proved unavailing to stem destruction. With ruin everywhere impending, the desire and longing for higher assistance increased. No such assistance was forthcoming from the old gods of Rome or the religious faith of the day; despite which circumstances were daily becoming more hopeless. Then it was that the desire for foreign forms of worship which had been gradually spreading over the Roman world since the last days of the Republic, and which the circumstances of the Empire had stimulated, gained ground. That desire was favoured by the highest power in the state, under the Oriental and half Oriental emperors who for nearly half a century after Septimius Severus occupied the imperial throne. The state and the gods of the state were continually losing their hold on the respect of men. Meanwhile, on the one hand, Oriental worships, mysteries old and new, and foreign heathen religions of the most varying kinds, were ever gaining fresh adherents. On the other, Christianity was rapidly acquiring a power which enabled it openly to enter the lists for supremacy among the recognised religions of the state. The powerful monarchs who about the middle of the third century attempted to refound the Empire, had not for their object to restore a specifically Roman form of government, but to bring the various elements which composed the Empire under one sovereign will by fixed forms of administration. In this attempt Diocletian and Constantine succeeded. The Roman character asserted itself, as a ruling and regulating power, but it did so under the influence of another originally foreign character. The Empire was a congeries of nations artificially held together, and arranged on a carefully-designed plan; its centre of gravity lay not within the nation, but in the simple will of the prince, himself exalted above all rules and laws of state, and deciding everything without appeal and without responsibility.

In like manner Neoplatonism united all the elements of previous philosophical Schools into one comprehensive and well-arranged system, in which each class of existences had its definite place assigned to it. The initial point in this system, the all-embracing unity, was a being lying beyond the world, high above every notion that experience and conception can supply, unmixed with the process of life going on in the world, and from his unattainable height causing all things, but himself subject to no conditions of causality. Neoplatonism is the intellectual reproduction of Byzantine Imperialism. As Byzantine Imperialism combines Oriental despotism with the Roman idea of the state, so Neoplatonism supplements the scientific forms of Greek philosophy with Oriental mysticism.

In Neoplatonism the post-Aristotelian philosophy had manifestly veered round into its opposite. Self-dependence and the self-sufficingness of thought made way for implicit resignation to higher powers, for a craving for revelation, for an ecstatic departure from the sphere of conscious mental activity. Man has abandoned the idea of truth within for truth to be found only in God. God stands there as abstract spirituality removed into another world in contrast to man and the world of appearances. Speculation has but one aim—to explain the procession of the finite from the infinite, and the conditions of its return into the absolute; but neither of these problems can meet with a satisfactory intellectual solution. Even this form of thought betrays undeniably the personal character of the post-Aristotelian philosophy, and is the natural outcome of previous teaching, as will be more fully seen in the sequel. With it the creative powers of the Greek mind were exhausted. After being driven step by step during centuries from the platform of their own national philosophy, the Greeks were eventually entirely dislodged therefrom by the victory of Christianity. Neoplatonism made one more futile attempt to rescue the forms of Greek culture from its mighty rival, but when that attempt failed Greek religion and Greek philosophy went down together.