Time, indeed, is like a deep and rapid river; whatever is trifling and light, is precipitately borne on its surface, and what is valuable and weighty, sinks to its bottom. Hence, the superficial observer collects nothing more than the rubbish, which it is forever devolving into the abyss of oblivion; while the profound and contemplative genius explores the depths of the stream, and accounts himself happy if he can gather any of the pearl which its bottom contains. Thus the discoveries of experimental philosophy, float like straws on the surface, while the wisdom of Pythagoras and Plato lies concealed in the depths of the river. I am well aware it will be said, that the reverse of this similitude is true; that the modern philosophy is the pearl, and the ancient the stubble; and that the former will be celebrated by posterity, and increase in reputation when the latter shall scarcely be known. But let us attentively examine the truth of this assertion, and shut our ears to the unsubstantial echoes of popular applause. Is it reasonable to suppose that men of such exalted abilities, as the Pythagoric and Platonic philosophers possessed, even in the estimation of their opponents, accompanied with the greatest advantages of birth and fortune, and the most unwearied attention, have discovered nothing valuable, and have left nothing behind them, but jargon and reveries? Is it to be supposed, that in an age when philosophy was almost adored; when it was esteemed by kings, cultivated by noblemen, and even reverenced by the vulgar; when empire was relinquished for its pursuit, and every danger encountered for its possession: is it to be supposed, that nothing but delusion was the offspring of so glorious a period, and nothing but folly the reward of such generous endurance? Or shall we say, that the discovery of truth was reserved for the age of experiment; and that she is alone to be apprehended in the infinite labyrinth of particulars? That she is to be investigated with the corporeal senses, and not with the powers of intellect; and that the crucible, the alembic, and the air-pump, are the only mediums of detection? If this be the case, truth is material, and may be calcined, distilled, and rarefied, like any other corporeal substance. It is no longer eternal and immutable, but perishable and fluctuating; the phantastic subject of sensible inspection, and not the steady and real object of the permanent energies of science. Shall we call this the age of philosophy, in which talents are prostituted for sustenance, and learning submits to the impudence of wealth? Shall we say that we have strengthened the cause of philosophy, by demolishing her schools; and increased her independence, by enlarging the empire of commerce? Where shall we find the man, who is at present reverenced for the profession of teaching speculative truth, or indeed who teaches it at all? Or should we chance to meet with such an obsolete character, shall we find him supported by the profession? It is a well known fact, that men formerly lived in the highest esteem by its propagation: it is equally as notorious, that a man at present would starve by such an attempt. Dare we assert, that the reason of this difference must be ascribed to the greater liberality, and more philosophical spirit of the present age? Shall we not rather say, that the period, in which these ancient heroes lived, was the golden age of philosophy;—a period so different from the present, as to appear fabulous on the comparison? For mark the distinguishing characteristics of our inferiority. The great object of ancient philosophy, was an accurate speculation of principles and causes: but that of the modern, is a confused investigation of effects. And if pursuits participate of the nature of their subjects, and causes are more noble than effects, the ancient philosophy must undoubtedly be more elevated than the modern. Again, the object of the Pythagorean and Platonic philosophy was to make its possessors wise and virtuous; and to elevate them above the common frailties and imperfections of degraded humanity; and this end was happily accomplished in its votaries, as their lives abundantly evince: but the object of modern philosophy, is a promotion of the conveniencies and refinements of life, by enlarging the boundaries of traffic; and the Mathematical Sciences are studied solely with a view to this enlargement. The design of the ancient philosophy was to remove the causes of wonder, by contemplating effects in their causes: the grand object of the modern, is to increase admiration, by attempting to investigate causes through the infinity of particular effects. So that philosophy, as Mr. Harris justly observes, now ends where it formerly began. For either there is no such thing as science, or if its existence be admitted, it can never be obtained by experimental enquiries; as these must be liable to all the inaccuracy and imperfection of their material subjects.
In short, the philosophy of Pythagoras and Plato will be found, when impartially considered, to contain every thing which can enlighten the mind, improve the morals, and exalt the character of man. It is built on the steady basis of truth, and will survive the wreck of ages. Its foundation is deep, and its summit reaches the heavens. It is a mighty rock, which modern systems may assail, like a raging sea; but, like stormy waves, they will only be broken about its impenetrable sides. To war against wisdom is folly; for opposition in this case is the destruction of its author. The moderns may, indeed, expect, because their merit is raised by the present age, above that of the ancients, to appear as giants in the eyes of posterity; but they will only verify the elegant observation of the poet[4], that
Pygmies are Pygmies still, though perch’d on Alps,
And Pyramids are Pyramids in vales.
A
DISSERTATION
ON THE
PLATONIC DOCTRINE OF IDEAS, &c.