Page:Imperial Dictionary of Universal Biography Volume 1.pdf/245

over entire animated nature, and thinks he discovers everywhere traces of a ψυχη. In the plant, in the zoophyte, in the animal, in man, there is, present and energetic, a great formative principle, operating simply, and in one mode only, in some; in several modes, in others. According to our philosopher, therefore, the first question is—what is this all-pervading principle—what can the study of its vast and varied phenomena teach us, concerning its nature and essence? A mode of inquiry alike specious and enticing; and the pursuit of which has stamped on the work we are considering, its right to the position assigned to it by most editors—a position, viz., at the head of the Natural History of the Stagyrite: but equivalent, at the same time, to that peremptory subordination of psychology to physiology, which, at all periods of philosophical history, has run into excesses so grievous, ending in the entire assimilation of the destinies of man to the destinies of the plant. Irrespective however of its consequences (on the ground of which it is neither logical nor safe to condemn a doctrine), the method has been repudiated by the soundest philosophers, as imperfect in itself, and utterly incomplete. On what ground is it assumed that the mere vital principle, and what we term the human soul, are the same in essence? Is there no surer mode of ascertaining facts regarding the latter, than through an induction spreading over the phenomena of life as manifested through the whole organic creation? What about the evidence of Consciousness and the imperative intimations of the human Reason? Collect and compare as many outward phenomena as one pleases, can the inquirer ever reach that distinct knowledge of the soul of an animal, to which reflection may lead him concerning his own? This Aristotle wholly ignores; and he has, therefore, committed the logical error of attempting to reach truth concerning what is comparatively clear, through investigation of what must ever remain mysterious. The grand positive doctrine inculcated in this book, followed almost necessarily from the foregoing method of inquiry.—What is Soul? Is it a substance—a distinct essence or existence? Aristotle replies, it is not a substance: it is a power manifesting itself in various ways, and giving form to the matter to which it belongs; in other words, organizing and sustaining it: in his own language it is an ἐντελέχεια, or principle of energy—a potential, as modern physicists would phrase it; a principle which, when in positive action, he designates by the term ἐνέργεία. This entelechy puts forth its power; and, as energy—is the cause of nutrition, sensibility, locomotion, and intelligence; when not in act, it is only a potential—it is not a substance. The conclusion, we have said, flows directly from the method; and the two conjoined, inexorably determine Aristotle's place in the annals of philosophy. Observe, in contrast, the result of the labours of two of her foremost thinkers, the one in modern and the other of ancient times,—both having followed the method of Consciousness. First, as to Des Cartes. No marvel that the Meditations were so hateful to Aristotelians—their main foundation, or rather their very first principle being the assertion of the substantiality of the soul, and the true duality of our human nature. But from Des Cartes go back to Plato, and the last moments of Socrates. "Socrates," says Crito, "have you no wish to express to myself and your friends—no command that we may execute relative to your children, or any other thing that concerns you?" "That which I have always desired of you, Crito, nothing more; watch over yourself; you will in this way render service to me, to my family, to yourself, although at present you promise me nothing; while, if you neglect yourself, and do not precisely follow the counsels just given, and which I have given you for long, your finest promises now would be of little avail." "We shall strive," replied Crito, "to act as you have counselled. But how shall we bury you?" "Quite as you please," said Socrates, "provided you can lay hold of me, and that I do not escape you." Then turning to us all with a sweet smile, "I cannot, my friends, persuade Crito that I, who converse with you, and arrange what I have to say to you, am indeed Socrates. He is bent on imagining, on the contrary, that the thing he will so soon see dead is Socrates, and he asks how he shall bury me! Our entire conversation, and my effort to prove that when the poison shall have done its work, I shall remain with you no more, but go to possess felicity ineffable, seem to have passed over him unheeded, or as if I had only wished to console you, and sustain myself. Be my sureties to Crito, not as he wished to be surety for me with the judges, namely, that I should not attempt to escape; do you, on the contrary, be my sureties that I shall escape the moment I am dead; and thus poor Crito may be induced to regard things more calmly, when, seeing my body burnt or laid underground, he will not sorrow for me as if I suffered pains—he will not say at my funeral 'that is Socrates,'—that he carries Socrates, or inters Socrates; for you should know, my dear Crito, that to speak erroneously is not a fault against things merely, but an evil done to minds. Be of good courage, and declare at once that it is my body you are burying; bury it as you please, and in the way that shall appear most conformable to the laws."—Is it necessary to point the contrast? From each of the opposite views there has been a long descent. The Platonic doctrine culminated in Christianity:—Aristotle, with all his greatness, produced Cabanis.—The manifestations of the entelechy are, as we have said, nutrition, sensibility, locomotion, intelligence. In man, the potential has become wholly an ἐνέργεια; all these functions are performed. Faithful to our object, we pass without further remark Aristotle's acute and perfect analysis of the phenomena of the first three functions, and turn to his doctrine concerning Intelligence. It is in this part of his work that we recognize a vagueness and uncertainty, so foreign to the resolute and clear-cut mind of the Stagyrite. Aristotle divides the human intelligence into two distinct parts—the passive and the active intellect. The passive intellect simply receives the impression of intelligent things, just as the sensibility receives the impression of sensible things. The active intellect, on the other hand, takes hold of these things as understood, compares them, classifies them, forms general truths, dwells in contemplation of these truths, and thinks of them as totally independent of matter. Observe, next, another point. The entelechy, in so far as it manifests itself in nutrition, is of course inseparable from matter, and must perish with the body, of which it is a mere power. So also with the function of sensibility; so with the passive intellect, and all its attributes, such as memory, and—according to Aristotle—every form of imagination. Being mere functions, which cannot be exercised unless in connection with the matter to which they belong, they must perish with the body,—in other words, all that large portion of the soul must die. But what of the active Intellect? That faculty appears to operate above the sphere of actual matter,—can it exist by itself and think, independently of matter? In other words may it be—immortal? Aristotle has nowhere clearly explained himself, on this, one of the final problems of philosophy. He tells us, indeed, that this active principle is a principle divine, indestructible, eternal; and he hints that it is a substance. The obscure and . uncertain words in which these opinions are indicated, saved the illustrious Stagyrite with churchmen,—with those especially who trembled at the name of Des Cartes; but they can satisfy no free inquirer. Immortality on such terms, were indeed no immortality at all, for it would exclude all personality. Memory gone, and not merely the entire previous furniture of the mind, but the power of acquiring more,—gone through the vanishing of all the rest of the entelechy,—what could remain? An abstract intellectual activity without materials for thought,—a part, it may be, of the Divinity lent to man for a season, and now having returned! We agree entirely with Professor Butler: "I do not hesitate to pronounce, that to me, the evidence that Aristotle held the sublime and consoling doctrine of immortality is far from satisfactory. It is impossible, that if he held it, the very importance of the question, and the natural earnestness which such a conviction would bring with it—as well as its certainty of a strong sympathetic support in the hearts of all his auditors, should not have led to statements more decisive and unequivocal than any which the most scrupulous research can detect in his extant writings. It is not sufficient to satisfy the demands of human anxiety on this subject, that an eternity should be pronounced essential to an active intellectual principle, which itself seems described as unable to exercise any conscious energies, apart from the bodily structure; a quickening essence, whose very existence retreats into nothingness, when nothing is left that it can quicken. The spirit of Aristotle's physiology unquestionably is materiality: and in exalting the 'active intellect' above the human bodily structure, he seems to have exalted it above humanity itself. It is quite evident that Aristotle was (and naturally) perplexed to conceive the kind of existence that could belong to a separate reason; and has altogether evaded the consideration of it."' Professor Butler might have added, that the subordinate place