Chapter II: Part I: On the Platonic Philosophy Generally

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Almost contemporaneously among the learned of Europe, there has arisen a tendency to study the sublime, spiritual philosophy of Plato, in preference to the cold materialism of Aristotle, on which have been erected so many of the systems that have risen and had their day in our literary world. That this has not hitherto been the case, and that Platonism (which, in its spiritualising and purifying tendency, may be deemed to approach Christianity,) has not hitherto been exalted to its true dignity and station in metaphysical history, is chiefly attributable to the absurd mysticism and fanatical extravagances which the New Platonists introduced in their interpretations, and which have too frequently been regarded as true expositions of the great philosopher, by modern writers either too lazy or too ignorant to go and drink the clear waters at the fountain-head. Plato himself wrote wonderfully little that cannot be comprehended by a reflective mind;—and the more his works are studied in themselves, and apart from false interpretation, the more will his acute intelligence, practical good sense, and pure morality, become apparent, and the higher will he rise in the respect and admiration of the Christian philosopher.

Our present object is, to give a concise view of the philosophic doctrines of Plato, as a sort of general key to his Dialogues viewed as a whole;—and we propose to give, by way of introduction, a short account of the life of this man of mighty mind, this “Maximus philosophorum,” of whom Eusebius so beautifully observes, that “he alone, of all the Greeks, reached to the vestibule of truth, and stood upon its threshold.”

The true moral history of Plato is to be discovered wholly in his writings. As for the details of his external life, the records of antiquity furnish information so varying, contradictory, and uncertain, as to render it difficult to distinguish the true from the false—the authentic from the fabulous. The following statement, however, may be relied on, as generally correct.

Plato, the son of Ariston and Perictione or Potona, was born (probably in the island of Ægina, then occupied by Athenians) in the month Thargelion (May), _anno_ 429 A. C., in the third year of the eighty-seventh Olympiad, about the time of Pericles’s death. By his mother’s side he was descended from Codrus and Solon;—and he was connected with the most distinguished families and most renowned political men of his day. His youth falls in the time of the Peloponnesian war; and his whole life is closely connected with that brilliant period when the literature of Attica, historical, dramatic, and rhetorical, was at the zenith of its glory,—at a time, however, (we must add,) when the seeds of Athenian decay were being rapidly brought to maturity by the substitution of a base and brutalizing ochlocracy for the rational government of good and patriotic men,—and by the elevation of a troop of superficial, seductive, truth-perverting, applause-loving sophists to the throne of true, noble, elevating, divine philosophy. He received the best education that Athens could furnish; being taught reading, writing, and literary knowledge (γράμματα), by Dionysius, gymnastics by Ariston an Argive wrestler, music by Metellus of Agrigentum and Draco of Athens, and the elements of the Heracleitean philosophy by Cratylus and Hermogenes. He had but little inclination for political life; for, besides being unfitted for it by a retiring habit and weak voice, he was utterly disgusted by the endless changes that occurred in the governments of Greece, by the corruptions of the Athenian democracy, and by the depravity of Athenian manners. His studies were happily promoted by an early cultivation of poetry, in which many of his essays were far from unsuccessful; and his works betray a very considerable acquaintance with mathematical science. It was by Socrates, however, that his mind was imbued with that true philosophic spirit, which gave a right direction and exalted object to all his after-pursuits. His intercourse with this pure, simple-minded moralist began, when he was twenty years old (B. C. 410), and lasted nearly eleven years; during which time he carried on his studies and inquiries by means of books or oral instruction from others, but in all cases consulting his favourite master, as the interpreter, commentator, and critic of the various philosophical studies in which he was engaged. This, indeed, is the view which Plato has given us of Socrates throughout the Dialogues;—for the latter seldom or never appears in them as a didactic expounder of truth, but rather as the critic of opinions, doctrines, and systems,—the judge, in short, to whom everything is to be submitted for approval, or rejection, or modification, as the case may be.

After the persecution and death of his divine master (so beautifully and pathetically related in the Phædo), Plato went to Megara, where he is said to have attended the Lectures of Euclid; and he then spent several years in travel, far distant from the past and the future scene of his philosophical labours:—nor can there be any question, but that they were years of great importance to him for developing the peculiar character of his philosophy. He visited Megara, Cyrene, the Greek cities in Magna Græcia and Sicily, (where he became acquainted with Archytas, Philolaus, and others of the Pythagorean school;) and he travelled even as far as Egypt, where he stayed thirteen years in gaining an insight into the mysterious doctrines and priest-lore of the sacerdotal caste. At three different periods he visited the court of Dionysius, tyrant of Sicily, and made several attempts to subdue his haughty spirit. It was during the first of these residences (B. C. 389), that he was employed in the instruction of Dion, the king’s brother-in-law; and in his efforts to rescue his pupil from the general depravity of the court, he was not disappointed. Dion, inspired with the love of wisdom, was desirous of introducing his preceptor to Dionysius the tyrant; but Plato’s discourse with him being levelled against the vices and cruelties of his reign, the tyrant conceived a violent prejudice against him and formed a design against his life, which, by the aid of Dion, Plato happily managed to escape. His captivity in Ægina, which was brought about by the agents of Dionysius the elder, happily ended in his manumission, through the kindness of his friend Anicerris; and he then returned to Athens, there to found his celebrated School in the Academy. Here he lectured during twenty-two years, and then undertook a second journey to Syracuse at the instigation of Dion, who hoped, by the philosophical lessons of Plato, to inform and improve the ill-educated mind of his nephew, the new ruler of Syracuse—Dionysius the younger. This prince, it is said, had been brought up by his father wholly destitute of an enlightened education; and Plato now attempted the improvement of his mind by philosophy. This second journey is placed B. C. 367; and he stayed four months in Sicily. It seems to have been a part also of the plan laid down by Dion and himself, to bring about a wholesome reform in the Sicilian constitution, and to give it a more aristocratic character. Whatever may have been their intentions, however, they were all frustrated by the weak and luxurious character of Dionysius, who, however he might relish for a time the sage and virtuous lessons of Plato, soon found it more conformable to his personal interests to follow the counsels of Philiston, his father’s friend and adviser. Dion thereupon became the object of his nephew’s jealousy, and was banished on the ground of his ambitious designs. In this juncture, Plato did not long stay in Syracuse, where his position would have been, at best, only ambiguous. He returned once more to Athens; but in consequence of some fresh disagreements between Dionysius and Dion with respect to the property of the latter, he was induced (B. C. 361) to take a third journey to Syracuse. So far, however, from effecting the expected reconciliation, he came himself to an open rupture with the tyrant, and was in great personal danger, till relieved by his philosophic friends at Tarentum. From this time he appears to have passed his old age in tranquillity, engaged with the instruction of his numerous disciples and the prosecution of his literary labours. He died, while yet actively employed in teaching, _Olymp._ 108, _circ. anno_ 348 B. C.

He was succeeded as Lecturer in the Academy, by his nephew Speusippus; and among his principal followers may be mentioned, Hippothales and Callippus of Athens, Xenocrates of Chalcedon, Aristotle of Stageira, Dion of Syracuse, Demosthenes the orator, and the philosopher Theophrastus.

The works of Plato, it scarcely need be mentioned, consist of a long series of Dialogues, in all of which, except the Laws, the principal interlocutor is Socrates. The form of dialogue he was certainly not the first to introduce into philosophy; and it seems probable, that his adoption of this form of composition flowed rather out of the subject than from any desire of direct imitation. The Eleatic dialectics, with which Platonism is strongly imbued, could only be explained in the form of question and answer; and besides, that Plato should write in the form of dialogue seems to be the natural consequence of his wish to investigate and analyse dialectically, and after the manner of Socrates, the various questions of philosophy then in vogue. And so Schleiermacher remarks:—“In every way, not accidentally only or from practice and tradition, but necessarily and naturally, Plato’s was a Socratic method, and, indeed, as regards the uninterrupted and progressive reciprocation, and the deeper impression made upon the mind of the hearer, to be certainly as much preferred to that of his master, as the scholar excelled him, as well in constructive dialectics as in richness and compass of subjective intuition,” And further,—“if we look only to the immediate purpose, that writing, as regarded by himself and his followers, was only to be a remembrance of thoughts already current among them (ἄγραφα γράμματα)—Plato considers all thought so much like spontaneous activity, that, with him, a remembrance of this kind of what has been already acquired, must necessarily be so of the first and original mode of acquisition. Hence, on that account alone, the dialogistic form, necessary as an imitation of that original and reciprocal communication, would be as indispensable and natural to his writings as to his oral instruction.” But, however essentially different the _form_ of the dialogues adopted by Plato from that pursued by other writers, they were composed, as respects their matter, with constant reference to the labours of his predecessors. In fact, his whole system is rather critical and eclectic than dogmatical; and several of his dialogues assume the form of criticisms on the notions of former philosophers, rather than the formal developments of any doctrines of his own. He was thoroughly conversant not only with the leading principles and peculiar system of Socrates, but had no mean acquaintance, besides, with the notions of Pythagoras, Heracleitus, Parmenides, Empedocles, Zeno, Anaxagoras, and Protagoras,—extracts from whose writings, with animadversions on their opinions, are abundantly scattered throughout his works. Yet, however much Plato may have learnt from the philosophic works of his predecessors, while he borrowed some of his leading ideas from his great master Socrates, we should nevertheless be treating him most unjustly, were we to regard him merely as a compiler and systematiser of what had been before promulgated, and so deny him all claim to the merit of being a great original thinker. His entire system is based, in fact, on some grand and novel ideas, perhaps faintly shadowed forth by others, but never clearly unfolded till the time of Plato. The opposition between the general law and the particular facts, between the objects of reflection and the objects of the senses, between the world of intelligence and the visible world, was never clearly proclaimed till Plato announced it. Socrates, indeed, awakened the germ of science, and laid the foundation of dialectics; but it was Plato who gave system and consistency to the whole. Socrates had not the mental capacity or education to arrange his thoughts on any definite plan;—whereas the kindred genius of Plato was happily fostered by every encouraging influence, and he stepped in to elaborate completely the plan of which his master had merely sketched the first rude outline.

We proceed next to consider the chronological arrangement of the Platonic Dialogues, and the natural division according to which they should be classified.[1] The most obvious arrangement is according to their chronological order;—and viewing them in this light, we may divide them into three classes. In the _first_ are those written by Plato before he set out on his travels,—namely, the Lysis, Phædrus, Laches, Hippias major, Protagoras, Charmides, Ion, Menon, Alcibiades i., Euthydemus, Euthyphron, Crito, and the Apology of Socrates;—in the _second_ are those which he drew up on his return from his travels, and before his second journey to Sicily,—namely, the Gorgias, Theætetus, Sophistes, Politicus, Cratylus, Parmenides, the Symposium, Menexenus, Philebus, and Phædo; and in the _third_ we place those written in more advanced life, when his views had become matured, and his doctrines thoroughly digested into one harmonious system,—namely, that noble trilogy comprising the Timæus, Critias, and Republic,—to which may be added the long dialogue of the Laws, which, though perfectly genuine, is but loosely connected with the general system of Plato’s philosophy, and seems to be quite an extraneous section of this part of his writings. Schleiermacher, however, has presented us with a classification of a different kind, based on their subject-matter, and on an acute and careful examination of the connexion of thought running through the Dialogues. He arranges them under three heads:—1. _Elementary Dialogues_, containing the germs of all that follows,—of Logic as the instrument of philosophy, and of Ideas as its proper object,—viz., the Phædrus, Protagoras, and Parmenides, the Lysis, Laches, Charmides, and Euthyphron, to which he appends also, the Apology, Crito, Io, and Hippias minor;—2. _Progressive Dialogues_, which treat of the distinction between scientific and common knowledge in their united application to Moral and Physical science,—viz., the Gorgias, Theætetus, Menon, Euthydemus, Cratylus, Sophistes, Politicus, the Symposium, Phædo, and Philebus, with an Appendix containing the Erast, first Alcibiades, Menexenus, and Hippias major;—3. _Constructive Dialogues_, containing an objective scientific exposition, in which the practical and speculative are completely united,—viz., the Timæus, the Critias, and the Republic, with an Appendix comprising the Laws, Epistles, &c. It is clear also that the Dialogues will allow of yet another mode of arrangement, according to their contents,—as being either Dialectical, Ethical, or Physical:—this division, indeed, is clearly discernible in his works, though several may not be assignable to any one part in particular:—thus, the Theætetus and its two connected dialogues,—the Gorgias and Protagoras, with the Cratylus and the Sophistes, are clearly dialectical; the Phædrus, Philebus, Republic, and Laws are ethical, and the Timæus is exclusively physical. If, however, we would view the Dialogues as a whole, with all its parts fully harmonising, we should inquire what was the philosopher’s great object visible throughout those writings. Mr. Sewell answers this very satisfactorily;—we shall give his own expressive, glowing words:—“Plato’s great object was man. He lived with man, felt as a man, held intercourse with kings, interested himself deeply in the political revolutions of Sicily, was the pupil of one, whose boast it was to have brought down philosophy from heaven to earth, that it might raise man up from earth to heaven; and, above all, he was a witness and an actor in the midst of that ferment of humanity exhibited in the democracy of Athens. The object constantly before the eyes of Plato was the incorporated spirit, the μέγα θρέμμα of human lawlessness; he saw it, indeed, in an exhausted state, its power passed away, its splendour torn off, and all the sores and ulcers which former demagogues had pampered and concealed, now laid bare and beyond cure.” Indeed, as the same writer well observes;—“the state of the Athenian democracy is the real clue to the philosophy of Plato. It would be proved, if by nothing else, by one little touch in the Republic. _The Republic is the summary of his whole system, and the key-stones of all the other Dialogues are uniformly let into it._ But the object of the Republic is to exhibit the misery of man let loose from law, and to throw out a general plan for making him subject to law, and thus to perfect his nature. This is exhibited on a large scale in the person of a State; and in the masterly historical sketch which, in the eighth and ninth Books, he draws of the changes of society, having painted in the minutest detail the form of a licentious democracy, he fixes it by the slightest allusion (it was perhaps all that he could hazard) on the existing state of Athens; and then passes on to a frightful prophecy of that tyranny which would inevitably follow. All the other dialogues bring us to the Republic, and the Republic brings us to this as its end and aim.”

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Footnote 1:

We have particularised here only those Dialogues which are usually
regarded as genuine. The Hipparchus, Minos, Alcibiades ii, Clitophon,
Theages, Eryxias, Demodocus, Epinomis, and the Letters, are of
disputable origin, and to be assigned, probably, to some of Plato’s
followers.

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We may now proceed to take a general review of the Platonic philosophy, and his theory of Ideas in particular, an intelligent acquaintance with which is wholly indispensable to the student of Plato.

The Platonic philosophy, be it understood, begins and ends, as do the lessons of Socrates, with an acknowledgment of human ignorance,—the only true starting-place of sound scientific investigation. Imitating his master’s example, Plato did not so much endeavour to _teach_, in the strict sense of the word, as to explore men’s minds, and ascertain how far they really comprehended the doctrines and opinions which they professed. Taking for granted that all current opinions are true, _because_ they are current, was the great fault of the Sophists, who taught entirely πρὸς δόξαν, relative to opinion;—whereas, with Socrates and Plato, the preliminary investigation respecting their truth or falsehood was ALL IN ALL,—any prior assumption of their truth being positively inadmissible; because, without investigation, it was impossible to _know_ and be sure of the truth of opinions. The method of Plato, accordingly, is the reverse of the didactic method employed by the Sophists, who assumed principles as true, and on these grounds proceeded to argue and persuade. The Socratic method, on the other hand, consisted in putting questions with the view of eliciting replies bearing-on the point in debate,—in simply inquiring and _pronouncing_ so far only as the answer is approved or rejected,—in a word, educing the truth by simply bringing the answerer to teach himself:—and hence it was, that the popular opponents of this method decried it, as one producing doubt, and therefore of dangerous tendency. With Plato, however, as with Socrates, the awakening of doubt was not merely a vain display of logical skill and clever cavilling, but had for its object the removal of the unstable ground on which opinions may have been rested, and the formation of more settled convictions:—indeed, it was exalted by him into a regular discipline of the mind set in operation for the single purpose of investigating the truth. The method and discipline by which he accomplishes this object is, what he calls DIALECTIC, which, as opposed to the plans of the Sophists, may be termed the true art of Discussion; and, as contrasted with the mere wisdom of opinion, (the δοξοσοφία of the Sophists,) it was philosophy—real science—the knowledge of the truth. The ground of his whole proceeding was the Fallaciousness of Opinion; and hence Plato had to seek some _criterion of Truth_, apart from mere opinion. Denying the sufficiency of _subjective_ truth (_i. e._ the assumption that the mental perceptions are true simply because they take place), he set himself to search after _objective_ truth—truth independent of the mind of man and not affected by the variations of human judgment—as a foundation of his system of knowledge. Involved with the notion of the Fallaciousness of Opinion, another is closely allied,—_the Fallaciousness of the Senses_; and it is the joint application of these two fundamental principles, which unites his method and his philosophy in one master-science,—Dialectic. True knowledge, unlike that derived through the senses, is founded purely on the apprehensions of the intellect, without any intervention whatever of the senses;—and so also Dialectic, as being philosophy, is occupied about that which exists (τὸ ὄντως ὄν), or has Being, in opposition to the presentations made to the senses, which are conversant only with those things that have the semblance of being (τὰ φαινομένα);—while, as a method, it investigates the reason or account of the Being of everything,—of everything as it IS, and not as it APPEARS, not being satisfied with opinions, of which no account can be given, but bringing all to the test of exact argument and definition. Plato thought it his first business, therefore, to give his method a firm basis by establishing at the outset a sound Theory of Being, as a sure Criterion of Truth;—and this is his celebrated Theory of IDEAS.

Plato conceived, that Opinion, in contradistinction from Knowledge, is grounded _on sensation and becoming_ (τὸ γιγνόμενον). To man, indeed, such sensation is absolutely necessary; because the soul resides in the body, which is itself a compound thing, subject to continual decay and reproduction,—the connexion between the two consisting in the reciprocal communication either of action or passion by means of their respective faculties. Hence sensation is clearly regarded as an effect produced by the union of the soul with the body; and Plato did not fail to observe that although sensation, strictly speaking, has cognisance only of corporeal qualities, there are certain internal states of the soul which have no immediate reference to the corporeal. The soul, in short, receives sensations through the sensuous mechanism; but it has moreover, (in addition to the power which it exercises through the instrumentality of the bodily organs,) a distinct faculty of investigating by itself the abstract properties of all sensations; “appearing,” as it is said in the Theætetus (p. 185. b.) “to have the power of inspecting the common properties of all things.” In accordance with this view, Plato distinguishes what is apprehended by the senses (τὸ αἰσθητόν) from that of which we become cognisant by means of reflection (διάνοια) through the understanding or rational contemplation (λογισμός or νόησις);—the former being in a continual state of transition or becoming (τὰ γιγνόμενα), whereas the latter (τὰ ὄντα) are constant and permanent, unproduced, imperishable, and ever identical with themselves, belonging to οὐσία and capable of becoming the objects of science or certain knowledge. Such are the notions of genus and species, the laws and ends of nature, as also the principles of cognition and moral action, and the essences of individual, concrete, thinking souls;—respecting all of which may be predicted an εἶδος, which closely corresponds with what we now designate—_a general term_. (Comp. Republ. vii. p. 532, a., with Phileb. p. 15. a., and Tim. p. 51. c.) It is in this sense, then, that he says of science in general (which seeks in the ideas to seize the essence of things), that its object is to exhibit everything as it is, by itself, absolutely, (τὸ αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ, or τὸ αὑτὸ ἕκαστον, as in Republ. vi. p. 494. a.) and that the ideas themselves invariably maintain their proper nature, character, and identity. All things else, therefore, besides ideas, have only so far a reality, as they participate therein;—all being formed out of ideas and numbers,[2]—sensible things merely resembling ideas and being, as copies do originals,—just as Plato himself observes in the tenth Book of the Republic,—speaking of a couch, οὐ τὸ ὃν, ἀλλά τι τοιοῦτον οἷον τὸ ὂν. Inquiry, however, must necessarily lead men from one idea to others in connexion therewith; and on this account Plato regarded individual ideas as hypothetical notions, for which a true foundation can only be given by an idea not requiring explanation and confirmed also by some higher supposition or idea. He wished, indeed, through the realisation of the lower ideas to rise to a knowledge of the highest, which represents the principle of all things,—in short, the idea of God,—God, the measure of all things (not man, as Protagoras held),—God, the beginning, the middle, and the end of all,—the Supreme Idea, containing in itself all others, and the unity which in itself comprises the true essence of all things.

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Footnote 2:

Θεὸς οὕτω δὴ τότε πεφυκότα ταῦτα πρῶτον διεσχηματίσατο εἴδεσί τε καὶ
ἀριθμοῖς. “God thus truly formed these things as they first arose
according to ideas and numbers.”—Tim. p. 53. b.

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In conclusion, as Ritter succinctly and well observes, “Plato attempted to account for the existence of the sensible world, by the ideas alone, without recourse to any other nature, alien and foreign to them; and in this attempt to make the transition from the ideal to the sensible, there is much that is vague and indeterminate.” The source of this vagueness lies principally in the insufficiency of the distinction which he makes between different ideas, as indicating either a substantial and absolute entity, or a mere relation or property. To this must be added the vague and indeterminate sense of the Platonic idea of the essence which is exhibited by the ideas severally. In this respect Aristotle does not seem to be to blame, when he asks how ideas or lifeless numbers can possibly have a desire, or longing, notwithstanding that we are constrained to admit that, according to Plato, some ideas, at least, that of the soul for instance,—must be supposed to be endued with life. Again, the distinction which is made between ideas in their unity and totality, and ideas in their opposition to each other, is extremely vague; although it is the basis on which the whole theory rests. If moreover, we admit that, according to man’s true and real nature, the world of ideas is his proper home, and that he there contemplates the true essence of things, as is implied in the doctrine of reminiscence, it becomes difficult to account for his removal from so perfect a state of being, into the present imperfect existence. Finally, Plato was forced to have recourse to the notion, that there is an impelling necessity in the secondary causes, the ground of which was the supposition, that there must be a something opposite to good. In this there is undoubtedly contained a very ancient cast of thought, still the very indefinite nature of this necessity shows that, after all his attempts to reconcile the supra-sensible with the sensible, Plato still found in it something inexplicable. Thus much at least is certain, that on the one hand, the tendency of his views was to refer all real entity to the immutable ideas, and consequently to consider the sensible more as an unsubstantial shadow than a reality; while, on the other, he seems never to have forgotten that the only point of view from which philosophical speculation is possible, lies on the sensible, and so again the reality of the sensible appears to be a necessary supposition of his system. In these two tendencies, we may recognise the well-balanced and measured character of his mind. To discover their true connection however, was granted neither to Plato nor his age; nor can we wonder, then, that he should have had recourse to many vague and loose conceptions in order to explain it, none of which, however, eventually satisfied his own mind.

The dialectic of Plato, however great its defects may be estimated, presents, nevertheless, a worthy image of the pure philosophical feeling. This Plato assumed to be grounded in love and in a longing after the eternal ideas, by the contemplation of which the mortal soul sustains itself, and by perpetual renovation becomes participant in immortality. Stimulated by such a desire, the philosophical mind or soul strives to attain, as far as possible, to a perfect remembrance of ideas which are the eternal essence of things, the memory of them being awakened by sensible phenomena, which are resemblances of the ideas and real entity, and thereby serve as means by which the cognition of real being becomes attainable. But while the sensible, by bringing to mind this resemblance to real entity, is subservient to the efforts of the reasonable soul, it also impedes and limits it in its pursuits of the true, since the sensuous representations contain as much of irresemblance as of resemblance. But the greatest impediment to philosophical investigation arises from the constant flux of sensation which allows it no stability. Flowing on in a continual series of production and decay, sensible things are constantly changing their state and never exhibit the full perfection of the subsistent. They comprise at once entity and non-entity, and it is not the true standard and the all-sufficient which they represent, but only the relative, which constantly varies by greater or less from the measure of the true and substantive entity. It was to this that Plato looked when he thought he had discovered in the ideas of the other and the relatively great and little, the grounds of the sensible matter of mutability. But contingent being is only for the absolute, a mean merely by which the resemblance to ideas is manifested in sensible things; and, viewed in this light, ideas must appear as the ends of sensible existence, and as the standard by which the true therein is to be measured. A multiplicity of ends having been admitted, it followed that there must also be a last end,—an ultimatum in the realm of ideas,—therefore a _supreme idea_. This result follows from the consideration of the mutual relation of ideas, for one idea must be explained by another, and thus we proceed through a series of subordinate ideas up to higher and higher, in order to reduce them by a legitimate synthesis into unity, until at last we arrive at the highest idea, and then again, by a converse method, to descend by analysis from the supreme unity to the multiplicity of subordinate ideas. In this higher and lower ordination, each subordinate idea requires merely as a supposition until it is shown by the latter to be legitimate. But from such hypotheses or suppositions the mind must at last arrive at that which implies nothing else, and is in itself sufficient; of this kind is the nature of good, which, exhausting all true entity, is itself in want of nothing, but is desired by all. This idea of good, or God, is consequently the key-stone of all rational investigation. It embraces whatever subsists without difference, in time or space,—all truth and science, all substances and all reason, being neither reason nor essence, but being superior to, unites both within itself. It is the source of motion to all, for all has a desire towards it, and consequently it is the mistress of all generation, in which nought is true beyond its resemblance of the good. However, from some impelling necessity, evil, the opposite of good, is in generation mixed up with it. Man, therefore, as living in this scene of production and decay, cannot attain to a complete knowledge of the unity of good; for to him truth, and the science of truth, appear in opposition to each other, and it is not permitted to mortal nature to contemplate the eternal, in its absolute essence, but merely as shadowed forth in the temporal. God, then, is the good itself, of which this sensible world is only an image. But in the present world it ought to be man’s endeavour to enlarge and cultivate his science, in order that, by attaining to as pure a knowledge as possible of the multiplicity of ideas, he may be able to discern therein, however imperfectly, the unity of truth and science which subsists in the good.