The Biographical History of Philosophy.*

HOBBES said, nihil est in intellectu quod non fuerit prius in sensu,tthe mind contains nothing which was not first in the sense. Leibnitz made the epigrammatic addition, nisi ipse intellectus, except the mind itself. We can well understand that this would be aggravating to a positivist, and Mr. Lewes accordingly flouts it, but it was one of the finest things ever said, for all that. The difference between the proposition as first stated by him of Malmesbury, and as amended by Leibnitz, is the everlasting bone of philosophic contention, which we are assured by the positivist is only a bone, and never can yield any real philosophic nutriment. From Thales to Comte, duce G. H. Lewes, leads to the conclusion that Metaphysics are impossible. Mr. Lewes draws attention to the circular movements of philosophies, and asks what they have led to; to which we cannot prevent his giving his own answer in the words of Goethe, quoted in his title-page, that man learns nothing by attempting the unknowable but to keep within the limits of the knowable. But we do not admit that 'philosophy (i. e. metaphysical philosophy) is everywhere fallen into discredit;'we think it is as rife as ever, and are well satisfied that the old questions will continue to be debated so long as there are such radical differences in human intellects as exist between minds like that of Mr. Lewes and that of Dr. Whewell. The 'discredit' into which 'philosophy' has fallen is an optical illusion pertaining to the point of view of him who announces the fact. The human race will never escape finally from the 'Metaphysical,' no, nor the Theological stage' till a man can jump from his own shadow.

The conception of the Unity of the Sciences is one which has dawned upon many minds, not to say, upon all minds of good reflecting powers that have studied the universe. It is almost an inevitable conception. That no more takes away from Auguste Comte the merit of having initiated the Scientific Method to which it points than the fact that we are all by nature Inductionists robs Bacon of his glory. Mr. Lewes says of Schelling, 'There are indeed general ideas in his NaturPhilosophie which approach the conceptions of positive science,' and there was a time when we in pride of juvenility and Schellingism felt disposed to say to Comte, 'We have heard all that before-do not tell us obvious things, man!' We acknowledge our error. We have learnt the greatness there may be in simplicity,-a point nobly put by Mr. Lewes in his defence of Locke, and no longer start to read

'The Biographical History of Philosophy, from its Origin in Greece down to the present Day.' By George Henry Lewes. Library Edition. Much enlarged and thoroughly revised. J. W. Parker and Son.

In Shelley's 'Peter Bell the Third,' occurs, applied to Wordsworth, the curious expression

'Wakening a sort of thought in sense,'

which always occurs to us when we think of the epigram of Leibnitz.

that Comte has done for science in the nineteenth century what Bacon did in the seventeenth. That he is far Bacon's inferior in reach of faculty is not to the point, and may be more than balanced by the superior depth of his affectional nature.

6

Our readers, like ourselves, are well sure that there is in human nature an inveterate tendency to both the Metaphysical Stage,' and the Theological Stage,' and they do not need to be told how Positivism presents itself to metaphysically and theologically minded thinkers. It is a system which attains its last perfection of 'Unity' by a coup d'etat, which implies all that it afterwards ignores. Its master stroke is its policy of extradition. It trundles the Infinite Ideas off the scene, upon the plea of their anomalousness, and then exclaims, 'how consistent is our scheme!' Its position is quite arbitrary. It says to Philosophy (and implicitly to Theology), Age after age, your obstinate hankering after things unseen drags these disturbing Ideas upon the stage-they will not fit in-we will not have them. And it is quite competent to Philosophy to reply, 'Age after age men of a certain mould reject these Ideas upon one ground or another-Positivism is simply the last pretence, and it will only serve the purpose of the hour, like others before it. The human mind can no more escape from Metaphysics and Theology than the globe from its atmosphere.'

It must be obvious that what Positivism practically is must depend, to a large extent, upon the nature into which it is received. Absolute rejection of the Infinite Ideas as topics of speculation is impossible to the human mind. Absolute unreligiousness, by any ignoring process whatsoever, is impossible to the human mind. Positivism then, which makes the Everlasting Puzzle fit together by just shelving certain ideas apart, and labelling them, THE GREAT MYSTERY, will be quite different things to different people. Some minds will run to the closet, and no Blue-beard sword of utter negation looming in the future will deter them. Just as no foregone conclusion of the intellect can fix in any mortal mind the boundary line between Pantheism and Theism, we may be sure that with large numbers of Positivists the Metaphysical and even the Theological will be constantly overlapping the Positive. This is certainly not the case with Mr. Lewes, who has been for many years our most consistent and persevering Positivist man of letters; but in his case the philosophy has rooted itself in a nature so genial and so open to impulses of reverence, that we have a zealous propagandist who is not only logically equitable, but capable, by reach of sympathy, of taking the points of view of other philosophers besides Auguste Comte, and writing a Biographical History of Philosophy without disguise of his own aim, and yet without offence to the feelings of any class of thinkers. The handsome volume with which he now presents the public is one without which the library of a studious man is not complete. Its dedication to ARTHUR HELPS, the author of Companions of my Solitude' and 'Friends in Council,' is a circumstance which,-though that is not the usual effect of dedications,-invests the volume with a real

interest. A book which is published as a 'memorial of long friendship' between two such men,-agreeing in so much, yet differing in so much, can hardly be without intrinsic value.

However painful it may be that the most widely-read and most attractive history of Philosophy should be written by a Positivist, the truth must be spoken; and we know of no other work of the kind which can compare with that of Mr. Lewes in its claims upon 'the general reader.' It is an important circumstance, however, that Mr. Lewes' confidence in his own position and courageous candour in controversy are such that he often makes the most important admissions; as in this passage concerning Final Causes :—

Although Bacon energetically reprobated the pursuit of Final Causes-those "barren virgins," as he characteristically styled them-pointing out the productive error of all such pursuit; and although the advance and extension of science has gradually more and more displaced this pursuit, it is still followed by minds of splendid reach and attainment, as the surest principle of research in some departments. But although the error has the countenance of men whom we cannot speak of without respect, the fact itself that only in those departments of inquiry, wherein imperfect knowledge still permits the Metaphysical Method to exercise its perverting influence, are Final Causes ever appealed to, is significant, we think, of the nature of the error. While no Astronomer, no Physicist, no Chemist, reasons teleologically, there are many Biologists who proclaim teleology to be a luminous guide. Cuvier declared that to it he owed his discoveries; Owen declares that it has often aided him.'

We say nothing of the value of such a name as that of Owen, but the very positiveness with which it is here asserted by Mr. Lewes that there are physicists who never reason teleogically will force upon many a mind an act of introspection which will establish the conviction that teleological reasoning is a necessity of the human intellect—and once on that track, what End but one?

We think Mr. Lewes is unintentionally unfair, i.e., incorrect, in his statement of the question of Absolute Ideas, which he says (p. 414, and p. 664) is the question, Have we any ideas independent of experience?' We think an unfairness lurks in the word 'independent.' It were as reasonable to ask, Have we any ideas independent' of existence? For experience and life must be precisely co-extensive. Of course we can have no ideas independent' of experience. But that, we submit, is not the question upon which 'Philosophy stakes its pretensions. The real question is, Have we any ideas which are not ACCOUNTED FOR by experience? And being as yet in our crude 'metaphysical stage,' we answer, Aye. All ideas must originate in some way in 'experience,' i.e., in the collision of faculty and fact; and, perhaps, as Locke, Lewes, and Mill tell us, 'the mind never begins but always ends in a generalization.' But the absoluteness of an idea does not consist in innateness' (which is nonsense) but in universality. Most assuredly my perception of the universality of mathematical truth is independent of,' in the sense of being unaccounted for by, my 'experience.' My perception that the whole is greater than its parts, universally, is quite another thing than my perception that a (particular) whole is greater than its parts, and is obviously unaccounted for by any possible experience.

Just in passing, we may say that Mr. Lewes has always seemed to us (in his casual controversial papers as in his books) unnecessarily severe upon Victor Cousin; not unjust, perhaps, in any other way, but severe. But this is a small matter. The History of Philosophy,' as a whole, is a model of equitable writing. The chapters on Spinoza, Locke, Berkeley, and Hobbes, strike us as excellent; that on Spinoza as beyond all praise. We can refer to no other quarter in which a student of limited time and means can find so able and luminous an exposition. With Kant, Fichte, and Hegel, we do not think Mr. Lewes is so successful. His dislike to German metaphysics is no secret, and on page 596 he avows that he is only translating Schelling.' We do not mean that his exposition in this region is incomplete, but that there is not that grasp of the matter which a sympathetic intelligence only can give.

The literary texture of the book has all the usual characteristics of style of its accomplished author. A certain genial trenchancy pervades all the criticism, and there are threads of feeling and poetry interwoven everywhere. A quotation from Shelley's 'Love's Philosophy' brightens up 'Hegel's Method;' if a bye-path of anecdotical illustration offers itself, it is cheerfully pursued; and where a drier philosopher would have pointed to 'the book on the table,' or 'the pen in my hand,' Mr. Lewes chooses to quote the rose in Julia's hair.' He is also liberal with his foot-note quotations in illustration—a feature we like much. Take 'Giordano Bruno,' for instance; a less industrious man than Mr. Lewes, and one less willing to confer a pleasure, would have omitted the extract from that author's Eroici Furori on page 327, which is a very amusing instance of superfœtation of epithet in the Italian language. But the biographical matter in general is exceedingly well chosen and well written. We shall make no apology for the length of the following extract from the memoirs of Fichte-its interest will justify us, and there is plenty of such matter in Mr. Lewes' book:

'Johann Gottlieb Fichte was born at Rammenau, a village lying between Bischofswerda and Pulsniz, in Upper Lusatia, on the 19th May, 1762.

'His childhood, of which many touching anecdotes are related, was signalized by extraordinary intellectual capacity and great moral energy. He was a precocious child, and long before he was old enough to be sent to school he learned many things from his father, who taught him to read, and taught him the pious songs and proverbs which formed his own simple stock of erudition. With these various studies was mixed an enchanting element-the stories of his early wanderings in Saxony and Franconia, stories to which young Johann listened with nevertiring eagerness. It was probably the vague longings which these recitals inspired, that made him wander into the fields, quitting his companions, boisterous in mirth, to roam away and enjoy the luxury of solitude, there to give vent to the indulgence of those unspeakable longings. This pale and meditative child is at ease in solitude. He stands for hours, gazing into the far distance, or in mournful yearning at the silent sky over-arching him. The sun goes down, and the boy returns home melancholy with the twilight. He does this so constantly that neighbours remark it; comment on it; and, in after years, when that boy has become a renowned man, they recur to it with sudden pleasure, not forgetting also that they had "always said there was something remarkable in the boy."

'Fichte's progress was so rapid that he was soon entrusted with the office of reading family prayers; and his father cherished the hope of one day seeing him a clergyman. An event curious in itself, and very important in its influence on his subsequent career, soon occurred, which favoured that hope, and went far to realize it. But before we relate it we must give a touching anecdote, which exhibits Fichte's heroic self-command in a very interesting light.

The first book which fell into his hands after the Bible and Catechism, was the renowned history of Siegfried the Horned, and it seized so powerfully on his imagination, that he lost all pleasure in any other employment, became careless and neglectful, and, for the first time in his life, was punished. Then, in the spirit of the injunction which tells us to cut off our right hand if it cause us to offend, Fichte resolved to sacrifice the beloved book, and, taking it in his hand, walked slowly to a stream flowing past the house, with the intention of throwing it in. Long he lingered on the bank, ere he could muster courage for this first self-conquest of his life; but at length, summoning all his resolution, he flung it into the water. His fortitude gave way as he saw the treasure, too dearly loved, floating away for ever, and he burst into a passionate flood of tears. Just at this moment the father arrived on the spot, and the weeping child told what he had done; but either from timidity or incapacity to explain his feelings, was silent as to his true motive. Irritated at this treatment of his present, Fichte's father inflicted upon him an unusually severe punishment, and this occurrence formed a fitting prelude to his after-life, in which he was so often misunderstood, and the actions springing from the purest convictions of duty, were exactly those for which he had most to suffer. When a sufficient time had elapsed for the offence to be in some measure forgotten, the father brought home another of these seducing books; but Fichte dreaded being again exposed to the temptation, and begged that it might rather be given to some of the other children.

It was about this time that the other event before alluded to occurred. The clergyman of the village, who had taken a fancy to Gottlieb, and often assisted in his instruction, happened one day to ask him how much he thought he could remember of the sermon of the preceding day. Fichte made the attempt, and, to the astonishment of the pastor, succeeded in giving a very tolerable account of the course of argument, as well as of the texts quoted in its illustration. The circumstance was mentioned to the Count von Hoffmansegg, the lord of the village, and one day another nobleman, the Baron von Mittiz, who was on a visit at the castle, happening to express his regret at having been too late for the sermon on the Sunday morning, he was told, half in jest, that it was of little consequence, for that there was a boy in the village who could repeat it all from memory. Little Gottlieb was sent for, and soon arrived in a clean smock-frock, and bearing a large nosegay, such as his mother was accustomed to send to the castle occasionally as a token of respect. He answered the first questions put to him with his accustomed quiet simplicity; but when asked to repeat as much as he could recollect of the morning's sermon, his voice and manner became more animated, and, as he proceeded, entirely forgetting the presence of the formidable company, he became so fervid and abundant in his cloquence, that the Count thought it necessary to interrup him, lest the playful tone of the circle should be destroyed by the serious subjects of the sermon. The young preacher had, however, made some impression on his auditory; the Baron made inquiries concerning him, and the clergyman, wishing for nothing more than an opportunity to serve his favourite, gave such an account that the Baron determined to undertake the charge of his education. He departed, carrying his protégé with him, to his castle of Siebeneichen, in Saxony, near Meissen, on the Elbe; and the heart of the poor village boy sank, as he beheld the gloomy grandeur of the baronial hall, and the dark oak forests by which it was surrounded. His first sorrow, his severest trial, had come in the shape of what a mis-judging world might regard as a singular piece of good fortune, and so deep a dejection fell on him, as seriously to endanger his health. His patron here manifested the really kindly spirit by which he had been actuated; he entered into the feelings of the child, and removed him from the lordly mansion to the abode of a country clergyman in the neighbourhood, who VOL. VII. Q Q