tinguish between Appearance and Certainty, because, in the first place, it had nothing but Phenomena (Appearances) to build. upon; and, in the second place, because there is no criterium to apply to Reason itself. Having gained this victory, they proclaimed Philosophy no longer existent. Whereupon the Stoics valorously rise, and, taking their stand upon Common-Sense, believe they rout the forces of the Skeptics; believe they retake the lost fortresses by declaring that Perceptions are true as well as false, and that you may distinguish the true from the false, by-distinguishing them: and that Reason has its criterium in Evidence, which requires no criterium, it is so clear. This seems to us pretty much the same as if the French were to invade Great Britain, possess themselves of London, Edinburgh, and Dublin, declare England the subject of France, and patriots were then to declare that the French were to be driven home again by a party of volunteers taking their stand upon Hampstead Heath, displaying the banners of England, and with loud alarums proclaiming the invaders defeated.

But it is time to consider the Ethical doctrines of the Stoics; and to do this effectually we must glance at their conception of the Deity. There are two elements in Nature. The first is

porn, or primordial matter; the passive element from which things are formed. The second is the active element, which forms things out of matter: Reason, Destiny (siuapuśvn), God. The divine Reason operating upon matter bestows upon it the laws which govern it, laws which the Stoics called λóyo dspMarioí, or productive causes. God is the Reason of the world.

With this speculative doctrine it is easy to connect their practical doctrine. Their Ethics are easily to be deduced from their theology. If Reason is the great creative law, to live conformably with Reason must be the practical moral law. If the universe be subject to a general law, every part of that universe must also be duly subordinate to it. The consequence is clear: there is but one formula for Morals, and that is, "Live harmoniously with Nature,” ὁμολογομένως τῇ φύσει ζῆν.

This is easily said. An anxious disciple might however desire greater precision, and ask, Is it universal nature, or is it the particular nature of man, that I am to live in unison with? Cleanthes taught the former; Chrysippus the latter; or, we should rather say, taught that both individual and universal nature should be understood by the formula. And this appears to have been the sense in which it was usually interpreted.

The distinctive tendency of the formula cannot be mistaken: it is to reduce every thing to Reason, which, as it has supremacy in creation, must also have supremacy in man. This is also the Platonic conception. It makes Logic the rule of life; and assumes that there is nothing in man's mind which cannot be reduced within the limits of Logic; assumes that man is all intellect. It follows, that every thing which interferes with a purely intellectual existence is to be eliminated as dangerous. The pleasures and the pains of the body are to be despised: only the pleasures and the pains of the intellect are worthy to occupy man. By his passions he is made a slave; by his intellect he is free. His senses are passive; his intellect is active. It is his duty therefore to surmount and despise his passions and his senses, that he may be free, active, virtuous.

We have here the doctrine of the Cynics, somewhat purified, but fundamentally the same; we have here also the anticipation of Rome; the forethought of that which was subsequently realized in act. Rome was the fit theatre of Stoicism, because Rome was peopled with soldiers: these soldiers had their contempt of death formed in perpetual campaigns. How little the Romans regarded the life of man their history shows. The gladiatorial combats, brutal and relentless, must have hardened the minds of all spectators; and there were no softening influences to counteract them. How different the Greeks! They did not pretend to despise this beautiful life; they did not affect to be above humanity. Life was precious, and they treasured it: treasured it not with petty fear, but with noble ingenuousness. They loved life, and wept on quitting it; and they wept without shame.

They loved life, and they said so. When the time came for them to risk it, or to give it for their country, or their honor,— when something they prized higher was to be gained by the sacrifice, then they died unflinchingly. The tears shed by Achilles and Ulysses did not unman them: these heroes fought terribly, as they loved tenderly. Philoctetes, in agony, howls like a wild. beast, because he feels pain, and feels no shame in expressing it. But these shrieks have not softened him: he is still the same stern, terrible, implacable Philoctetes.

The Stoics, in their dread of becoming effeminate, became marble. They despised pain; they despised death. To be above pain was thought manly. They did not see, that, in this respect, instead of being above Humanity, they sank miserably below it. If it is a condition of our human organization to be susceptible of pain, it is only affectation to conceal the expression of that pain. Could silence stifle pain, it were well; but to stifle the cry, is not to stifle the feeling; and to have a feeling, yet affect not to have it, is pitiful. The Savage soon learns that philosophy; but the civilized man is superior to it. You receive a blow, and you do not wince? so much of heroism is displayed by a stone. You are face to face with Death, and you have no regrets? then you are unworthy of life. Real heroism feels the pain it conquers, and loves the life it surrenders in a noble cause.

As a reaction against effeminacy, Stoicism may be applauded; as a doctrine it is one-sided. It ends in apathy and egoism. Apathy, indeed, was considered by the Stoics as the highest condition of humanity; whereas, in truth, it is the lowest.

CHAPTER IV.

THE NEW ACADEMY.

§ I. ARCESILAUS AND CARNEADES.

THE New Academy would solicit our attention, were it only for the celebrity bestowed on it by Cicero and Horace; but it has other and higher points of interest than those of literary curiosity. The combat of which it was the theatre was, and is, of singular importance. The questions connected with it are those vital questions respecting the origin and certitude of human knowledge, which so long have occupied the ingenuity of thinkers; and the consequences which flow from either solution of the problem are of the utmost importance.

The Stoics endeavored to establish the certitude of human knowledge, in order that they might establish the truth of moral principles. They attacked the doctrines of the Skeptics, and believed they triumphed by bringing forward their own doctrine of Common-Sense. But the New Academicians had other arguments to offer. They too were Skeptics, although their skepticism differed from that of the Pyrrhonists. The nature of this difference Sextus Empiricus has noted. "Many persons," says he, "confound the Philosophy of the Academy with that of the Skeptics. But although the disciples of the New Academy declare that all things are incomprehensible; yet they are distinguished from the Pyrrhonists in this very dogmatism: they affirm that all things are incomprehensible-the Skeptics do not affirm that. Moreover, the Skeptics consider all perceptions perfectly equal as to the faithfulness of their testimony; the Academicians distinguish between probable and improbable perceptions: the first

they class under various heads. There are some, they say, which are merely probable, others which are also confirmed by reflection, others which are subject to no doubt. Assent is of two kinds: simple assent, which the mind yields without repugnance as without desire, such as that of a child following its master; and the assent which follows upon conviction and reflection. The Skeptics admitted the former kind; the Academicians the latter."

These differences are of no great moment; but in the history of sects we find the smallest variation invested with a degree of importance; and we can understand the pertinacity with which the Academicians distinguished themselves from the Skeptics, even on such slight grounds as the above.

In treating of the Academicians we are forced to follow the plan pursued with the Skeptics, namely to consider the doctrines of the whole sect, rather than to particularize the share of each individual member. The Middle Academy and the New Academy we thus unite in one; although the ancients drew a distinction between them, it is difficult for moderns to do so. Arcesilaus and Carneades, therefore, shall be our types.

Arcesilaus was born at Pitane in the 116th Olympiad (B. c. 316). He was early taught mathematics and rhetoric, became the pupil of Theophrastus, afterwards of Aristotle, and finally of Polemo the Platonist. In this last school he was contemporary with Zeno, and probably there began that antagonism which was so remarkable in their subsequent career. On the death of Crates, Arcesilaus filled the Academic chair, and filled it with great ability and success. His fascinating manners won him general regard. He was learned and sweet-tempered, and gener ous to a fault. Visiting a sick friend, who, he saw, was suffering from privation, he slipped, unobserved, a purse of gold underneath the sick man's pillow. When the attendant discovered it, the sick man said with a smile, "This is one of Arcesilaus's generous frauds." He was of a somewhat luxurious temper, but he lived till the age of seventy-five, when he killed himself by hard drinking.