II
Socrates, the Athenian, brought philosophy, as Cicero says, from heaven to earth; that is to say, in place of one-sided speculation upon nature he pursued an equally one-sided study of ethics. In his practical, matter-of-fact way he availed himself of what Eleatic ontology had acquired in order to settle the fundamental ideas of morality and to demonstrate the possibility of scientific proof in face of the nihilistic fallacies of sophistry which despaired of both. So much we may accept as certain from received accounts. All the details of his teaching are wrapped in doubt, for we possess no historical account of it, but merely works of an apologetic character, in which liberal and justifiable advantage is taken of the prerogatives of fiction. Neither Plato nor Xenophon (the latter of whom did not take up his pen until after a superabundant crop of Socratic literature had come into being) can be accepted as historic evidence without further ado. Nevertheless both the disciples of Socrates and his opponents, Aristophanes and Spintharus (the father of Aristoxenus), bear witness to the extraordinary personality of the man.
The rights of the individual were not recognised until the fifth century. The atomistic theory of Leucippus and Democritus sees the Eternal and Constant not in the All-One of Xenophanes and Parmenides, but in the individual. The philosophy of the Sophists breaks the bonds of authority, and in the motto “Man (the individual) is the measure of all things,” Protagoras sets up the charter of subjective inclination. This charter Socrates adopts, but he opposes to the liberty of the individual will the counteracting force of obedience to the dictates of the individual conscience. But conscience, as the German and Latin name for it alike imply, means knowledge. A man should therefore act upon his own judgment, but only in so far as his action is founded upon norms scientifically determined. Thus Socrates reads a deeper meaning into the admonition of the Delphic god, “Know thyself,” by recognising the independence of the will.
Inasmuch as traditional usage and the law of the state are thus tacitly set aside (and on this point Aristophanes judged more correctly in his caricature than the apologists Plato and especially Xenophon will admit) Socrates is the preacher of a new private morality which traverses the public morality of classic antiquity. His death sentence is so far intelligible, though it remains an act of crude, reactionary violence. The greatness of soul, so far beyond the ordinary level of mankind, which, according to all accounts, the philosopher displayed at the near prospect of death, wrought upon a far wider circle than that of his disciples and contemporaries. His martyrdom set the seal upon the victory of the Ideal philosophy in Athens.
Socrates himself represents a complete individuality, hence his method of education has been of service to individualities the most dissimilar. What contrasting types do we find in Xenophon, the bigoted and stupid cavalry officer; and Plato, the witty and profound thinker; the cynic Antisthenes full of the pride of beggary, and the frivolous courtier Aristippus! They all portrayed themselves rather than their master in their writings, and yet each one of them has in some way or other his part in him.
Of all these disciples of Socrates, two only have influenced the afterworld, Antisthenes and Plato, Athenians both, the former a plebeian and founder of the philosophy of the proletariat, the latter, sprung from an old and noble family, an aristocrat of the purest water in all his philosophic ideas. Antisthenes carried the practical and matter-of-fact temper of his master to extremes. Virtue with him is a question of character, and therefore scorns empty words and learning. Logic and mathematics are superfluous, virtue is the only good, vice the only evil; everything else is a matter of indifference. This meagreness of theory is made good by strength of will. Force of character, freedom from the prejudices of conventional custom, conventional religion or conventional government—these are what distinguish the true freeman, the man free in soul, from the slave.
The impression produced by this king in rags in the midst of that age of decadence was striking beyond belief. He with his barking voice seemed to be the warning cry of the proletarian admonishing men to return to nature and to simplicity of life. His acute and witty writings were gladly read. His school, which can show one disciple of world-wide celebrity in the person of Diogenes, was gradually merged into the Stoa, which owes to Cynicism the popular tone of its influential system of ethics. Since the birth of Christ, the Cynic has come to life again, as of old in the guise of the mendicant preacher, proclaiming the gospel of renunciation and holding up the mirror to the corruption of the age. This new Cynicism was one of the most important precursors of the Christian apostolate. It awoke once more in the age of the Renaissance, finding its wittiest exponent in Montaigne, in whose steps J. J. Rousseau afterwards trod. In him we have the best typical example of the strength and weakness of this anti-scientific movement.
Plato, the antithesis of Antisthenes, continued in a direct line the thread of Athenian philosophy. He accomplished, in the widest sense of the term, the task which Socrates had only begun—that of establishing science, now discredited by the Sophist, on a new basis.
We are but imperfectly acquainted with the life of Plato and the phases of his development, for the chronology of his dialogues has not been determined up to this time, either absolutely or relatively, and it is a matter of doubt how far their artistic intention admits of a complete exposition of his system. For Plato’s true work was not his literary productions, which he himself regarded as of secondary importance and which obviously reproduce only a fraction of his researches and speculations, but his Academy, in which, from the eighties of the fourth century onwards, he gathered together the ablest scholars from amongst the youth of Greece for study and life in community. If all the transactions of this Academy had been preserved (like the information Aristotle gives us concerning the latter years), it may be that we should be able to trace distinctly the development of this wonderful man. For Plato is both the most gifted and the most complicated personality of Greek antiquity, and the depths and recesses of his nature were not wholly penetrated by his intimate friends, not even by Aristotle; how much less by us of this latter day. What we do possess is, however, amply sufficient to indicate at least his place in this summary.
If from the ranks of the Greek thinkers we have so far considered, we choose out the most eminent leaders and mark the lines of connection between them, we shall see how they all converge to Plato. He is the focus of ancient philosophy, whither all that went before him tends, and whence bright light and warmth stream forth upon posterity down to our own day.
The range of his achievements alone is enough to make this evident. Like the Ionians his grasp embraces cosmology, physics, and anthropology. Like the Pythagoreans he pursues the study of mathematics with ever increasing devotion, presumably as the basis of his speculations. Like Xenophanes he enters the school of the ancient Orphic Mysticism, and in the Timæus exalts it into a theology culminating in Monotheism. Like the Eleatics he ponders the problems of ontology. Like Heraclitus he inquires into the eternal flow of genesis; he ponders on the ideals of culture and the political theories of the Sophists, he wrestles with the ideal method of Socrates, he strives with hostile philosophers of the Socratic school on this hand and on that (Aristippus, Euclides, and Antisthenes), and, lastly, he strives with himself as his speculation develops more and more along theological and mathematical lines. For, as the genuine servant of Truth, Plato regards himself up to old age as in process of growing and learning. Nothing is so hateful to him as Dogmatism. Nevertheless there are so many opinions to which he held with unwavering constancy that we are probably justified in speaking of the system of Plato.
At the centre of it lies what has crystallised in more living shape out of the dry conceptions of the Socratic method—the domain of ideas. Even as Parmenides perceived Being in the eternal All-Existent, accessible to Reason alone, so Plato sees the being of individual things in that which pertains to them in common and as such can be grasped by the Reason. But even as the Eleatic “One” exists even apart from its recognition as an objective being, so these eternal and unchangeable archetypes (ideai) live in and by themselves as objective essences which exist wholly apart from the individual objects which partake of their form. These archetypes, like the Eleatic All-Existent, bear the name of unit (monad), only in Plato’s scheme there are many such monads, and their unchangeableness does not exclude the idea of causation. Thus his “ideas” are the “units” of Parmenides in multiplicity and the “conceptions” of Socrates endued by metaphysics with the breath of life.
To Socrates the idea of Good and of Virtue lay at the heart of his teaching, and thus the preponderance of the idea of Good is confirmed to his pupil, and in its theological elaboration this abstract idea is converted into the Supreme Reason, the first cause of Being, which is identical with the Deity.
As to the Eleatics, the external world was an illusion of the senses, and in any case a thing irrational, so matter and the world of phenomena which occupies the middle place between matter and ideas is hard to grasp, and Plato’s notion of the World-Soul which hovers between the two is as contradictory and obscure as that of the human soul. For with this gifted poet-philosopher there is much that tarries on the threshold of consciousness, and fails to struggle into clear light, a circumstance that harmonises with his own teachings, which find clearness and singleness of purport in the Eternal and Divine alone, obscurity and ambiguity in the intermediate terrestrial sphere of genesis, and utter darkness and inconceivability in the lower sphere of matter and non-existence. These three stages are repeated in his theory of the soul, which from desire rises to courage and ultimately to reason. His ethics and politics, which according to his Hellenic ideas are one and the same, are calculated for three classes of humanity—the iron, the silver, and the golden. The last two, the military and learned classes, are the only ones taken into account in the educational system of his ideal state; for the proletariat there is no need to be concerned, although Antisthenes and his successors regarded this very class as the only one capable of genuine philosophy. But Plato, like the aristocrat he was, has in view an elect type of humanity, exalted by exceptional intelligence above the brute multitude and the solid middle-class element and called by philosophy, i.e., the doctrine of ideas, to the helm of the ideal state.
The teaching of the Sophists had abolished law. Plato likewise knows no law on the lofty level of his ideal state. But the constraint of law seems superfluous where each individual is trained to be the ideal man. Forced by bitter experience to moderate his demands upon human nature and the state towards the end of his life, he sketched in the Laws, a model state on the basis of the old established system of government. But this system, like the metaphysics of his old age, seems, as it were, a desertion of his ideals. All that Plato achieved was the education of a race of pupils in his Academy who far surpassed the common standard of learning and morals, and who, though unable to save the state, yet maintained a high standard of knowledge and an ideal of morality for mankind in the midst of a corrupt society.
The greatest of these Academicians is Aristotle of Stagira, who displayed a versatility and thoroughness of research which appears absolutely incomprehensible in our eyes. Like Plato, he steadfastly held that knowledge is never complete, but that truth is to be found by unremitting persistence in inquiry. This is probably the reason why he gave the world some dialogues adapted to the public taste, and with the help of some of his pupils accumulated and published collections of historico-philological and scientific matter in an unpretentious form; but the systematic lectures in which he propounded to the more advanced followers of his school the results of his speculations and of his wide empirical observation, together with a critical treatment of his predecessors, were never published by him. He worked at these papers his whole life long, and many of the didactic writings which were edited by his pupils after his death, and which are all we possess of the whole body of Aristotle’s works, bear evident traces of gradual growth, correction, and amplification.
In a sketch like the present it is impossible to give so much as a summary of the contents of this admirably arranged encyclopædia, which ranked as the richest storehouse of every kind of empiric and speculative science from the beginning of the Christian era down to modern times. The essential points in which his life-work makes an advance on that of Plato are as follows:
Plato never went so far as to reduce his great discoveries and intuitions in every department of science to a complete and connected whole, being averse, on scientific and ethical grounds alike, from the dogmatic definition inseparable from any systematic treatise. This Aristotle did, dividing the whole body of philosophy under three principal heads (theoretical, practical, and poetical) and distinguishing subdivisions (logic, physics, metaphysics, ethics, and politics, and so forth) within these divisions by strongly marked lines of demarcation and methods rigorously exact. He is a Platonist in all things and feels himself so to be. Even where he displays most independence, as in the development of syllogisms or in biology, it is impossible to overlook his indebtedness to the bold speculations of the master.
If the whole work of Plato’s life and of his scholars between 388 and 348 had been preserved to us, the ultimate connection between Aristotle and the researches of the Academy would probably be even more evident than it is. Nevertheless there is a marked difference between the speculations of these two great philosophers. Plato wholly dissevered the Universal and Essential in things from the Terrestrial and placed it in a heaven beyond the earth.
Aristotle repudiates this transcendentalism all along the line. The Universal cannot exist without the archetype, the essence must be immanent in it. Hence the individual is the only true Substantive, containing Substance and Matter. This opposition of opinion concerning “Universalia” is, as is well known, the starting-point of mediæval Scholasticism (Nominalism, Realism).
The motion of passive substance towards the active form, i.e., the realisation of the Possible, leads up to the idea of development, of genesis (though not, indeed, in the modern sense) on which Plato’s speculations had made shipwreck, and passes over Plato’s rigid Eleatism to join hands with Heraclitus, the philosopher of change, with whom Aristotle sees the ultimate cause of all motion and all things in the Deity, itself as eternal as the world, which “yearns towards It as the bridegroom towards the bride.” Thus soul, too, is the pattern of the body, hence the purpose of its being. The body is but the instrument (organon) of the soul. Thus Aristotle first coins the name and idea of organic being and draws a sharp distinction between these animate creatures (plants, animals, and man) and inanimate nature. In ethics and politics his speculation treads in the footsteps of Plato, save that, in this province of thought also, he mitigates the uncompromising rigourism of the master by his innate bias towards the historically-established and practically-possible, and turns it to more profitable uses. The ethico-political speculations of both are, however, adapted to the aristocratic class at that time dominant in Greece. Alexander, the pupil of Aristotle, conquered the East during his master’s life-time, but the philosopher’s opinion that the newly acquired continent should be governed by other laws than those of Hellas was not practically feasible. His ethics failed him utterly in face of the new political situation thus created.