OVER against that world of flux,
Where nothing is, but all things seem,
it is the vocation of Plato to set up a standard of unchangeable reality, which in its highest theoretic development becomes the world of “eternal and immutable ideas,” indefectible outlines of thought, yet also the veritable things of experience: the perfect Justice, for instance, which if even the gods mistake it for perfect Injustice is not moved out of its place; the Beauty which is the same, yesterday, to-day and for ever. In such ideas or ideals, “eternal” as participating in the essential character of the facts they represent to us, we come in contact, as he supposes, with the insoluble, immovable granite beneath and amid the wasting torrent of mere phenomena. And in thus ruling the deliberate aim of his philosophy to be a survey of things sub specie eternitatis, the reception of a kind of absolute and independent knowledge (independent, that is, of time and position, the accidents and peculiar point of view of the receiver) Plato is consciously under the influence of another great master of the Pre- Socratic thought, Parmenides, the centre of the School of Elea.
About half a century before the birth of Plato, Socrates being then in all the impressibility of early manhood, Parmenides, according to the witness of Plato himself — Parmenides at the age of sixty-five — had visited Athens at the great festival of the Panathenaea, in company with Zeno the Eleatic, a characteristic specimen of Greek cleverness, of the acute understanding, personally very attractive. Though forty years old, the reputation this Zeno now enjoyed seems to have been very much the achievement of his youth, and came of a mastery of the sort of paradox youth always delights in. It may be said that no one has ever really answered him; the difficulties with which he played so nicely being really connected with those “antinomies,” or contradictions, or inconsistencies, of our thoughts, which more than two thousand years afterwards Kant noted as actually inherent in the mind itself — a certain constitutional weakness or limitation there, in dealing by way of cold-blooded reflexion with the direct presentations of its experience. The “Eleatic Palamedes,” Plato calls him, “whose dialectic art causes one and the same thing to appear both like and unlike, one and many, at rest and in motion.” Ah! you hear already the sort of words that seem sometimes so barren and unprofitable even in Plato.
It is from extant fragments of a work of his, not a poem, but, appropriately, To Syngramma,+ The Prose, of Zeno, that such knowledge as we have of his doctrine, independently of the Parmenides of Plato, is derived. The active principle of that doctrine then lies in the acuteness with which he unfolds the contradictions which make against the very conceivability of the fundamental phenomena of sense, in so far as those phenomena are supposed to be really existent independently of ourselves. The truth of experience, of a sensible experience, he seems to protest: — Why! sensible experience as such is logically inconceivable. He proved it, or thought, or professed to think, he proved it, in the phenomenon which covers all the most vivid, the seemingly irresistible facts, of such experience. Motion was indeed, as the Heracliteans said, everywhere: was the most incisive of all facts in the realm of supposed sensible fact. Think of the prow of the trireme cleaving the water. For a moment Zeno himself might have seemed but a follower of Heraclitus. He goes beyond him. All is motion: he admits. — Yes: only, motion is (I can show it!) a nonsensical term. Follow it, or rather stay by it, and it transforms itself, agreeably enough for the curious observer, into rest. Motion must be motion in space, of course; from point to point in it, — and again, more closely, from point to point within such interval; and so on, infinitely; ’tis rest there: perpetual motion is perpetual rest: — the hurricane, the falling tower, the deadly arrow from the bow at whose coming you shake there so wretchedly, Zeno’s own rapid word-fence — all alike at rest, to the restful eye of the pure reason! The tortoise, the creature that moves most slowly, cannot be overtaken by Achilles, the swiftest of us all; or at least you can give no rational explanation how it comes to be overtaken. Zeno had an armoury of such enigmas. Can a bushel of corn falling make a noise if a single grain makes none? Again, that motion should cease, we find inconceivable: but can you conceive how it should so much as begin? at what point precisely, in the moving body? Ubiquitous, tyrannous, irresistible, as it may seem, motion, with the whole so dazzling world it covers, is — nothing!
Himself so striking an instance of mobile humour in his exposure of the unreality of all movement, Zeno might be taken so far only for a master, or a slave, of paradox; such paradox indeed as is from the very first inherent in every philosophy which (like that of Plato himself, accepting even Zeno as one of its institutors) opposes the seen to the unseen as falsehood to truth. It was the beginning of scholasticism; and the philosophic mind will perhaps never be quite in health, quite sane or natural, again. The objective, unconscious, pleasantly sensuous mind of the Greek, becoming a man, as he thinks, and putting away childish thoughts, is come with Zeno one step towards Aristotle, towards Aquinas, or shall we say into the rude scholasticism of the pedantic Middle Age? And we must have our regrets. There is always something lost in growing up.
The wholesome scepticism of Hume or Mill for instance, the scepticism of the modern world, beset now with insane speculative figments, has been an appeal from the preconceptions of the understanding to the authority of the senses. With the Greeks, whose metaphysic business was then still all to do, the sceptical action of the mind lay rather in the direction of an appeal from the affirmations of sense to the authority of newly-awakened reason. Just then all those real and verbal difficulties which haunt perversely the human mind always, all those unprofitable queries which hang about the notions of matter and time and space, their divisibility and the like, seemed to be stirring together, under the utterance of this brilliant, phenomenally clever, perhaps insolent, young man, his master’s favourite. To the work of that grave master, nevertheless — of Parmenides — a very different person certainly from his rattling disciple, Zeno’s seemingly so fantastic doctrine was sincerely in service. By its destructive criticism, its dissipation of the very conceivability of the central and most incisive of sensible phenomena, it was a real support to Parmenides in his assertion of the nullity of all that is but phenomenal, leaving open and unoccupied space (emptiness, we might say) to that which really is. That which is, so purely, or absolutely, that it is nothing at all to our mixed powers of apprehension: — Parmenides and the Eleatic School were much occupied with the determination of the thoughts, or of the mere phrases and words, that belong to that.
Motion discredited, motion gone, all was gone that belonged to an outward and concrete experience, thus securing exclusive validity to the sort of knowledge, if knowledge it is to be called, which corresponds to the “Pure Being,” that after all is only definable as “Pure Nothing,” that colourless, formless, impalpable existence (ousia achrômatos, aschęmatistos, anaphęs)+ to use the words of Plato, for whom Parmenides became a sort of inspired voice. Note at times, in reading him, in the closing pages of the fifth book of The Republic for instance, the strange accumulation of terms derivative from the abstract verb “To be.” As some more modern metaphysicians have done, even Plato seems to pack such terms together almost by rote. Certainly something of paradox may always be felt even in his exposition of “Being,” or perhaps a kind of paralysis of speech — aphasia.+
Parmenides himself had borrowed the thought from another, though he made it his own. Plato, in The Republic, as a critic of Homer, by way of fitting Homer the better for the use of the schoolboys of the ideal city, is ready to sacrifice much of that graceful polytheism in which the Greeks anticipated the dulia of saints and angels in the catholic church. He does this to the advantage of a very abstract, and as it may seem disinterested, certainly an uninteresting, notion of deity, which is in truth: — well! one of the dry sticks of mere “natural theology,” as it is called. In this he was but following the first, the original, founder of the Eleatic School, Xenophanes, who in a somewhat scornful spirit had urged on men’s attention that, in their prayers and sacrifices to the gods, in all their various thoughts and statements, graceful or hideous, about them, they had only all along with much fallacy been making gods after their own likeness, as horse or dog too, if perchance it cast a glance towards heaven, would after the same manner project thither the likeness of horse or dog: that to think of deity you must think of it as neither here nor there, then nor now; you must away with all limitations of time and space and matter, nay, with the very conditions, the limitation, of thought itself; apparently not observing that to think of it in this way was in reality not to think of it at all: — That in short Being so pure as this is pure Nothing.
In opposition then to the anthropomorphic religious poetry of Homer, Xenophanes elaborates the notion, or rather the abstract or purely verbal definition, of that which really is (to on)+ as inconclusive of all time, and space, and mode; yet so that all which can be identified concretely with mode and space and time is but antithetic to it, as finite to infinite, seeming to being, contingent to necessary, the temporal, in a word, to the eternal. Once for all, in harshest dualism, the only true yet so barren existence is opposed to the world of phenomena — of colour and form and sound and imagination and love, of empirical knowledge. Objects, real objects, as we know, grow in reality towards us in proportion as we define their various qualities. And yet, from another point of view, definition, qualification, is a negative process: it is as if each added quality took from the object we are defining one or more potential qualities. The more definite things become as objects of sensible or other empirical apprehension, the more, it might be said from the logician’s point of view, have we denied about them. It might seem that their increasing reality as objects of sense was in direct proportion to the increase of their distance from that perfect Being which is everywhere and at all times in every possible mode of being. A thing visibly white is found as one approaches it to be also smooth to the touch; and this added quality, says the formal logician, does but deprive it of all other possible modes of texture; Omnis determinatio est negatio.+ Vain puerilities! you may exclaim: — with justice. Yet such are the considerations which await the mind that suffers itself to dwell awhile on the abstract formula to which the “rational theology” of Xenophanes leads him. It involved the assertion of an absolute difference between the original and all that is or can be derived from it; that the former annuls, or is exclusive of, the latter, which has in truth no real or legitimate standing-ground as matter of knowledge; that, in opposite yet equally unanswerable senses, at both ends of experience there is — nothing! Of the most concrete object, as of the most abstract, it might be said, that it more properly is not than is.
From Xenophanes, as a critic of the polytheism of the Greek religious poets, that most abstract and arid of formulae, Pure Being, closed in indifferently on every side upon itself, and suspended in the midst of nothing, like a hard transparent crystal ball, as he says; “The Absolute”; “The One”; passed to his fellow-citizen Parmenides, seeking, doubtless in the true spirit of philosophy, for the centre of the universe, of his own experience of it, for some common measure of the experience of all men. To enforce a reasonable unity and order, to impress some larger likeness of reason, as one knows it in one’s self, upon the chaotic infinitude of the impressions that reach us from every side, is what all philosophy as such proposes. Kosmos;+ order; reasonable, delightful, order; is a word that became very dear, as we know, to the Greek soul, to what was perhaps most essentially Greek in it, to the Dorian element there. Apollo, the Dorian god, was but its visible consecration. It was what, under his blessing, art superinduced upon the rough stone, the yielding clay, the jarring metallic strings, the common speech of every day. Philosophy, in its turn, with enlarging purpose, would project a similar light of intelligence upon the at first sight somewhat unmeaning world we find actually around us: — project it; or rather discover it, as being really pre-existent there, if one were happy enough to get one’s self into the right point of view. To certain fortunate minds the efficacious moment of insight would come, when, with delightful adaptation of means to ends, of the parts to the whole, the entire scene about one, bewildering, unsympathetic, unreasonable, on a superficial view, would put on, for them at least, kosmiotęs,+ that so welcome expression of fitness, which it is the business of the fine arts to convey into material things, of the art of discipline to enforce upon the lives of men. The primitive Ionian philosophers had found, or thought they found, such a principle (archę)+ in the force of some omnipresent physical element, air, water, fire; or in some common law, motion, attraction, repulsion; as Plato would find it in an eternally appointed hierarchy of genus and species; as the science of our day embraces it (perhaps after all only in fancy) in the expansion of a large body of observed facts into some all-comprehensive hypothesis, such as “evolution.”
For Parmenides, at his early day, himself, as some remnants of his work in that direction bear witness, an acute and curious observer of the concrete and sensible phenomena of nature, that principle of reasonable unity seemed attainable only by a virtual negation, by the obliteration, of all such phenomena. When we have learned as exactly as we can all the curious processes at work in our own bodies or souls, in the stars, in or under the earth, their very definiteness, their limitation, will but make them the more antagonistic to that which alone really is, because it is always and everywhere itself, identical exclusively with itself. Phenomena! — by the force of such arguments as Zeno’s, the instructed would make a clean sweep of them, for the establishment, in the resultant void, of the “One,” with which it is impossible (para panta legomena)+ in spite of common language, and of what seems common sense, for the “Many” — the hills and cities of Greece, you and me, Parmenides himself, really to co-exist at all. “Parmenides,” says one, “had stumbled upon the modern thesis that thought and being are the same.”
Something like this — this impossibly abstract doctrine — is what Plato’s “father in philosophy” had had to proclaim, in the midst of the busy, brilliant, already complicated life of the recently founded colonial town of Elea. It was like the revelation to Israel in the midst of picturesque idolatries, “The Lord thy God is one Lord”;+ only that here it made no claim to touch the affections, or even to warm the imagination. Israel’s Greek cousin was to undergo a harder, a more distant and repressive discipline in those matters, to which a peculiarly austere moral beauty, at once self-reliant and submissive, the aesthetic expression of which has a peculiar, an irresistible charm, would in due time correspond.
It was in difficult hexameter verse, in a poem which from himself or from others had received the title — Peri physeôs+ (De Naturâ Rerum) that Parmenides set forth his ideas. From the writings of Clement of Alexandria, and other later writers large in quotation, diligent modern scholarship has collected fragments of it, which afford sufficient independent evidence of his manner of thought, and supplement conveniently Plato’s, of course highly subjective, presentment in his Parmenides of what had so deeply influenced him.— “Now come!” (this fragment of Parmenides is in Proclus, who happened to quote it in commenting on the Timaeus of Plato) “Come! do you listen, and take home what I shall tell you: what are the two paths of search after right understanding. The one,
hę men hopôs estin te kai hôs ouk esti mę einai?+
“that what is, is; and that what is not, is not”; or, in the Latin of scholasticism, here inaugurated by Parmenides, esse ens: non esse non ens —
peithous esti keleuthos; alętheię gar opędei?+
“this is the path to persuasion, for truth goes along with it. The other — that what is, is not; and by consequence that what is not, is: — I tell you that is the way which goes counter to persuasion:
tęn dę toi phrazô panapeithea emmen atarpon? oute gar an gnoięs to ge mę eon ou gar ephikton?+
That which is not, never could you know: there is no way of getting at that; nor could you explain it to another; for Thought and Being are identical.” — Famous utterance, yet of so dubious omen! — To gar auto voein estin te kai einai + — idem est enim cogitare et esse. “It is one to me,” he proceeds, “at what point I begin; for thither I shall come back over again: tothi gar palin hixomai authis.”+
Yes, truly! again and again, in an empty circle, we may say; and certainly, with those dry and difficult words in our ears, may think for a moment that philosophic reflexion has already done that delightfully superficial Greek world an ill turn, troubling so early its ingenuous soul; that the European mind, as was said, will never be quite sane again. It has been put on a quest (vain quest it may prove to be) after a kind of knowledge perhaps not properly attainable. Hereafter, in every age, some will be found to start afresh quixotically, through what wastes of words! in search of that true Substance, the One, the Absolute, which to the majority of acute people is after all but zero, and a mere algebraic symbol for nothingness. In themselves, by the way, such search may bring out fine intellectual qualities; and thus, in turn, be of service to those who can profit by the spectacle of an enthusiasm not meant for them; must nevertheless be admitted to have had all along something of disease about it; as indeed to Plato himself the philosophic instinct as such is a form of “mania.”
An infectious mania, it might seem, — that strange passion for nonentity, to which the Greek was so oddly liable, to which the human mind generally might be thought to have been constitutionally predisposed; for the doctrine of “The One” had come to the surface before in old Indian dreams of self-annihilation, which had been revived, in the second century after Christ, in the ecstasies (ecstasies of the pure spirit, leaving the body behind it) recommended by the Neo-Platonists; and again, in the Middle Age, as a finer shade of Christian experience, in the mystic doctrines of Eckhart and Tauler concerning that union with God which can only be attained by the literal negation of self, by a kind of moral suicide; of which something also may be found, under the cowl of the monk, in the clear, cold, inaccessible, impossible heights of the book of the Imitation. It presents itself once more, now altogether beyond Christian influence, in the hard and ambitious intellectualism of Spinoza; a doctrine of pure repellent substance — substance “in vacuo,” to be lost in which, however, would be the proper consummation of the transitory individual life. Spinoza’s own absolutely colourless existence was a practical comment upon it. Descartes; Malebranche, under the monk’s cowl again; Leibnitz; Berkeley with his theory of the “Vision of all things in God”; do but present variations on the same theme through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By one and all it is assumed, in the words of Plato, that to be colourless, formless, impalpable is the note of the superior grade of knowledge and existence, evanescing steadily, as one ascends towards that perfect (perhaps not quite attainable) condition of either, which in truth can only be attained by the suppression of all the rule and outline of one’s own actual experience and thought.
Something like that certainly there had been already in the doctrine of Parmenides, to whom Plato was so willing to go to school. And in the nineteenth century, as on the one hand the philosophy of motion, of the “perpetual flux,” receives its share of verification from that theory of development with which in various forms all modern science is prepossessed; so, on the other hand, the philosophy of rest also, of the perpetual lethargy, the Parmenidean assertion of the exclusive reign of “The One,” receives an unlooked-for testimony from the modern physical philosopher, hinting that the phenomena he deals with — matter, organism, consciousness — began in a state of indeterminate, abstract indifference, with a single uneasy start in a sort of eternal sleep, a ripple on the dead, level surface. Increasing indeed for a while in radius and depth, under the force of mechanic law, the world of motion and life is however destined, by force of its own friction, to be restored sooner or later to equilibrium; nay, is already gone back some noticeable degrees (how desirably!) to the primeval indifference, as may be understood by those who can reckon the time it will take for our worn-out planet, surviving all the fret of the humanity it housed for a while, to be drawn into the sun.
But it is of Plato after all we should be thinking; of the comparatively temperate thoughts, the axiomata media, he was able to derive, by a sort of compromise, from the impossible paradox of his ancient master. What was it, among things inevitably manifest on his pages as we read him, that Plato borrowed and kept from the Eleatic School!
Two essential judgments of his philosophy: The opposition of what is, to what appears; and the parallel opposition of knowledge to opinion; (heteron epistęmęs doxa; eph’ heterô ara heteron ti dynamenę hekatera autôn pephyke? ouk enchôrei gnôston kai doxaston tauton einai?)+ and thirdly, to illustrate that opposition, the figurative use, so impressed on thought and speech by Plato that it has come to seem hardly a figure of speech at all but appropriate philosophic language, of the opposition of light to darkness. —
Well, then (Socrates is made to say in the fifth book of The Republic) if what is, is the object of knowledge, would not something other than what is, be the object of opinion?
Yes! something else.
Does opinion then opine what is not; or is it impossible to have even opinion concerning what is not? Consider! does not he who has opinion direct his opinion upon something? or is it impossible, again, to have an opinion, yet an opinion about nothing?
Impossible!
But he who has an opinion has opinion at least about something; hasn’t he? Yet after all what is not, is not a thing; but would most properly be denominated nothing.
Certainly.
Now to what is not, we assigned of necessity ignorance: to what is, knowledge.
Rightly: he said.
Neither what is, then, nor what is not, is the object of opinion.
No!
Opinion therefore would be neither ignorance nor knowledge.
It seems not.
Is it, then, beyond these; going beyond knowledge in clearness, beyond ignorance in obscurity?
Neither the one, nor the other.
But, I asked, opinion seems to you (doesn’t it?) to be a darker thing than knowledge, yet lighter than ignorance.
Very much so; he answered.
Does it lie within those two?
Yes.
Opinion, then, would be midway, between these two conditions?
Undoubtedly so.
Now didn’t we say in what went before that if anything became apparent such that it is, and is not, at the same time, a thing of that kind would lie between that which is in unmixed clearness, and that which wholly is not; and that there would be, in regard to that, neither knowledge nor ignorance; but, again, a condition revealing itself between ignorance and knowledge?
Rightly.
And now, between these two, what we call ‘opinion’ has in fact revealed itself.
Clearly so.
It would remain for us therefore, as it seems, to find that which partakes of both — both of Being and Not-being, and which could rightly be called by neither term distinctly; in order that, if it appear, we may in justice determine it to be the object of opinion; assigning the extremes to the extremes, the intermediate to what comes between them.
Or is it not thus?
Thus it is.
These points then being assumed, let him tell me! let him speak and give his answer — that excellent person, who on the one hand thinks there is no Beauty itself, nor any idea of Beauty itself, ever in the same condition in regard to the same things (aei kata tauta hôsautôs echousan)+ yet, on the other hand, holds that there are the many beautiful objects: — that lover of sight (ho philotheamôn)+ who can by no means bear it if any one says that the beautiful is one; the just also; and the rest, after the same way. For good Sir! we shall say, pray tell us, is there any one of these many beautiful things which will not appear ugly (under certain conditions) of the many just or pious actions which will not seem unjust or impious?
No! he answered. Rather it must be that they shall seem, in a
manner, both beautiful and ugly; and all the rest you ask of.
Well! The many double things: — Do they seem to be at all less
half than double?
Not at all.
And great, in truth, and little, and light, and heavy — will they at all more truly be called by these names which we may give them, than by the opposite names?
No! he said; but each of them will always hold of both.
Every several instance of ‘The Many,’ then — is it, more truly than it is not, that which one may affirm it to be?
It is like people at supper-parties he said (very Attic supper- parties!) playing on words, and the children’s riddle about the eunuch and his fling round the bat — with what, and on what, the riddle says he hit it; for these things also seem to set both ways, and it is not possible, fixedly, to conceive any one of them either to be, or not to be; neither both, nor the one, nor the other.
Have you anything then you can do with them; or anywhere you can place them with fairer effect than in that position between being and the being not? For presumably they will not appear more obscure than what is not, so as not to be, still more; nor more luminous than what is, so as to be, even more than that. We have found then that the many customary notions of the many, about Beauty and the rest are revolved somewhere between not-being and being unmixedly.
So we have.
And agreed, at least, at the outset, that if anything of this sort presented itself, it must be declared matter not of knowledge, but of opinion; to be apprehended by the intermediate faculty; as it wanders unfixed, there, between. Republic, 478.
Many a train of thought, many a turn of expression, only too familiar, some may think, to the reader of Plato, are summarised in that troublesome yet perhaps attractive passage. The influence then of Parmenides on Plato had made him, incurably (shall we say?) a dualist. Only, practically, Plato’s richly coloured genius will find a compromise between the One which alone really is, is yet so empty a thought for finite minds; and the Many, which most properly is not, yet presses so closely on eye and ear and heart and fancy and will, at every moment. That which really is (to on)+ the One, if he is really to think about it at all, must admit within it a certain variety of members; and, in effect, for Plato the true Being, the Absolute, the One, does become delightfully multiple, as the world of ideas — appreciable, through years of loving study, more and more clearly, one by one, as the perfectly concrete, mutually adjusted, permanent forms of our veritable experience: the Bravery, for instance, that cannot be confused, not merely with Cowardice, but with Wisdom, or Humility. One after another they emerge again from the dead level, the Parmenidean tabula rasa, with nothing less than the reality of persons face to face with us, of a personal identity. It was as if the firm plastic outlines of the delightful old Greek polytheism had found their way back after all into a repellent monotheism. Prefer as he may in theory that blank white light of the One — its sterile, “formless, colourless, impalpable,” eternal identity with itself — the world, and this chiefly is why the world has not forgotten him, will be for him, as he is by no means colour-blind, by no means a colourless place. He will suffer it to come to him, as his pages convey it in turn to us, with the liveliest variety of hue, as in that conspicuously visual emblem of it, the outline of which (essentially characteristic of himself as it seems) he had really borrowed from the old Eleatic teacher who had tried so hard to close the bodily eye that he might the better apprehend the world unseen. —
And now (he writes in the seventh book of The Republic) take for a figure of human nature, as regards education and the lack thereof, some such condition as this. Think you see people as it were in some abode below-ground, like a cave, having its entrance spread out upwards towards the light, broad, across the whole cavern. Suppose them here from childhood; their legs and necks chained; so that there they stay, and can see only what is in front of them, being unable by reason of the chain to move their heads round about: and the light of a fire upon them, blazing from far above, behind their backs: between the fire and the prisoners away up aloft: and see beside it a low wall built along, as with the showmen, in front of the people lie the screens above which they exhibit their wonders.
I see: he said.
See, then, along this low wall, men, bearing vessels of all sorts wrought in stone and wood; and, naturally, some of the bearers talking, other silent.
It is a strange figure you describe: said he: and strange prisoners. —
They are like ourselves: I answered! Republic, 514.
Metaphysical formulae have always their practical equivalents. The ethical alliance of Heraclitus is with the Sophists, and the Cyrenaics or the Epicureans; that of Parmenides, with Socrates, and the Cynics or the Stoics. The Cynic or Stoic ideal of a static calm is as truly the moral or practical equivalent of the Parmenidean doctrine of the One, as the Cyrenaic monochronos hędonę+ — the pleasure of the ideal now — is the practical equivalent of the doctrine of motion; and, as sometimes happens, what seems hopelessly perverse as a metaphysic for the understanding is found to be realisable enough as one of many phases of our so flexible human feeling. The abstract philosophy of the One might seem indeed to have been translated into the terms of a human will in the rigid, disinterested, renunciant career of the emperor Marcus Aurelius, its mortal coldness. Let me however conclude with a document of the Eleatic temper, nearer in its origin to the age of Plato: an ancient fragment of Cleanthes the Stoic, which has justly stirred the admiration of Stoical minds; though truly, so hard is it not to lapse from those austere heights, the One, the Absolute, has become in it after all, with much varied colour and detail in his relations to concrete things and persons, our father Zeus.
An illustrious athlete; then a mendicant dealer in water-melons; chief pontiff lastly of the sect of the Stoics; Cleanthes, as we see him in anecdote at least, is always a loyal, sometimes a very quaintly loyal, follower of the Parmenidean or Stoic doctrine of detachment from all material things. It was at the most critical points perhaps of such detachment, that somewhere about the year three hundred before Christ, he put together the verses of his famous “Hymn.” By its practical indifference, its resignation, its passive submission to the One, the undivided Intelligence, which dia pantôn phoita+ — goes to and fro through all things, the Stoic pontiff is true to the Parmenidean schooling of his flock; yet departs from it also in a measure by a certain expansion of phrase, inevitable, it may be, if one has to speak at all about that chilly abstraction, still more make a hymn to it. He is far from the cold precept of Spinoza, that great re-assertor of the Parmenidean tradition: That whoso loves God truly must not expect to be loved by Him in return. In truth, there are echoes here from many various sources. Ek sou gar genos esmen+: — that is quoted, as you remember, by Saint Paul, so just after all to the pagan world, as its testimony to some deeper Gnôsis than its own. Certainly Cleanthes has conceived his abstract monotheism a little more winningly, somewhat better, than dry, pedantic Xenophanes; perhaps because Socrates and Plato have lived meanwhile. You might even fancy what he says an echo from Israel’s devout response to the announcement: “The Lord thy God is one Lord.” The Greek certainly is come very near to his unknown cousin at Sion in what follows: —
kydist’, athanatôn, polyônyme, pankrates aiei Zeu, physeos archęge, nomou meta panta kybernôn, chaireˇ se gar pantessi themis thnętoisi prosaudan, k.t.l.
Mullach, Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, I. .
Thou O Zeus art praised above all gods: many are Thy names and
Thine is all power for ever.
The beginning of the world was from Thee: and with law Thou
rulest over all things.
Unto Thee may all flesh speak: for we are Thy offspring.
Therefore will I raise a hymn unto Thee: and will ever sing of
Thy power.
The whole order of the heavens obeyeth Thy word: as it moveth
around the earth:
With little and great lights mixed together: how great art Thou,
King above all for ever!
Nor is anything done upon earth apart from Thee: nor in the
firmament, nor in the seas:
Save that which the wicked do: by their own folly.
But Thine is the skill to set even the crooked straight: what is
without fashion is fashioned and the alien akin before Thee.
Thus hast Thou fitted together all things in one: the good with
the evil:
That Thy word should be one in all things: abiding for ever.
Let folly be dispersed from our souls: that we may repay Thee
the honour, wherewith Thou hast honoured us:
Singing praise of Thy works for ever: as becometh the sons of
men.+
NOTES
29. +Transliteration: To Syngramma. Translation: “The Prose.”
32. +Transliteration: ousia achrômatos, aschęmatistos, anaphęs. E-text editor’s translation: “the colorless, utterly formless, intangible essence.” Plato, Phaedrus 247c. See also Appreciations, “Coleridge,” where Pater uses the same quotation.
33. +Transliteration: aphasia. Liddell and Scott definition: “speechlessness.”
34. +Transliteration: to on. Translation: “that which is.”
35. +The principle is that of Baruch Spinoza.
36. +Transliteration: Kosmos. Liddell and Scott definition: “I. 1. order; 2. good order, good behaviour, decency; 3. a set form or order: of states, government; 4. the mode or fashion of a thing; II. an ornament…; III. the world or universe, from its perfect arrangement.”
36. +Transliteration: kosmiotęs. Liddell and Scott definition: “propriety, decorum, orderly behaviour.”
36. +Transliteration: archę. Liddell and Scott definition: “I. beginning, first cause, origin. II. 1. supreme power, sovereignty, dominion; 2. office.”
37. +Transliteration: para panta legomena. Pater’s translation: “in spite of common language.”
38. “The Lord thy God. . . .” Deuteronomy 6:4. “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD: . . .” See also Mark 12:29: “And Jesus answered him, The first of all the commandments is, Hear, O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord: . . .”
38. +Transliteration: Peri physeôs. E-text editor’s translation: “Regarding Nature — i.e. the title De Naturâ Rerum.”
39. +Transliteration: hę men hopôs estin te kai hôs ouk esti mę einai. Pater’s translation: “that what is, is; and that what is not, is not.” Parmenides, Epeôn Leipsana [Fragmentary Song or Poem], line 35. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 117. Ed. F.W.A. Mullach. Darmstadt: Scientia Verlag Aalen, 1967 (reprint of the Paris, 1860 edition).
39. +Transliteration: peithous esti keleuthos; alętheię gar opędei. Pater’s translation: “this is the path to persuasion, for truth goes along with it.” Parmenides, Epeôn Leipsana [Fragmentary Song or Poem], line 36. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 118. Although I have left the quotation as Pater renders it, the semicolon should be a comma, as in the Mullach collection Pater used — otherwise the first half of the sentence would be a question, and that is not how Pater himself translates the verse.
39. +Transliteration: tęn dę toi phrazô panapeithea emmen atarpon; oute gar an gnoięs to ge mę eon ou gar ephikton. Pater’s translation: “I tell you that is the way which goes counter to persuasion: That which is not, never could you know: there is no way of getting at that.” Parmenides, Epeôn Leipsana, lines 38-9. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 118.
39. +Transliteration: To gar auto voein estin te kai einai. Pater’s translation in Latin: “idem est enim cogitare et esse”; in English, that may be translated, “Thinking and being are identical.” Parmenides, Epeôn Leipsana, line 40. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 118.
39. +Transliteration: tothi gar palin hixomai authis. Pater’s translation: “at what point I begin; for thither I shall come back over again.” Parmenides, Epeôn Leipsana, line 42. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 118.
43. +Transliteration: heteron epistęmęs doxa; eph’ heterô ara heteron ti dynamenę hekatera autôn pephyke; ouk enchôrei gnôston kai doxaston tauton einai. E-text editor’s translation: “opinion differs from scientific knowledge…To each of them belongs a different power, so to each falls a different sphere…it is not possible for knowledge and opinion to be one and the same.” Plato, Republic, 478a-b.
44. +Transliteration: aei kata tauta hôsautôs echousan. Pater’s translation: “ever in the same condition in regard to the same things.” Plato, Republic 478.
45. +Transliteration: ho philotheamôn. Liddell and Scott definition “fond of seeing, fond of spectacles or shows.” This word is from the same passage just cited, note for page 44.
46. +Transliteration: to on. Translation: “that which is.”
48. Transliteration: monochronos hędonę. Pater’s definition “the pleasure of the ideal now.” The adjective monochronos means, literally, “single or unitary time.” See also Marius the Epicurean, Vol. 1, Cyrenaicism, and Vol. 2, Second Thoughts, where Pater quotes the same key Cyrenaic language.
49. +Transliteration: dia pantôn phoita. E-text editor’s translation: “which courses through all things.” Cleanthes (300-220 B.C.), Hymn to Zeus, lines 12-13. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 151. Ed. F.W.A. Mullach. Darmstadt: Scientia Verlag Aalen, 1967 (reprint of the Paris, 1860 edition). Pater has translated Cleanthes’ phrase koinos logos as “undivided Intelligence.” The relevant verse reads, “su kateuthynęs koinon logon, hos dia pantôn phoita,” which may be translated, “You guide the Universal Thought that courses through all things.” But the word logos is multivalent and subject to philosophical nuance, so any translation of it is bound to be limited.
49. +Transliteration: Ek sou gar genos esmen. E-text editor’s translation: “For we are born of you.” Cleanthes (300-220 B.C.), Hymn to Zeus, line 4. Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 151. Pater alludes also to Saint Paul’s words in Acts 17:28: “For in him we live, and move, and have our being.”
50. +Here Pater provides a somewhat abbreviated translation of the Hymn to Zeus. As above, the Greek is from Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum, Vol. 1, 151.