Before parting with thePhædo, we must be allowed to cite one passage, describing the earlier career of Socrates as a philosopher, because it has always seemed to us the true key to the understanding of the widely different views taken by Aristophanes and Plato of the real character of Socrates. The passage occurs in p. 96,A., and is rendered by Mr. Jowett thus:
'When I was young, Cebes, I had a prodigious desire to know that department of philosophy which is called Natural Science; this appeared to me to have lofty aims, as being the science which has to do with the causes of things, and which teaches why a thing is, and is created and destroyed; and I was always agitating myself with the consideration of such questions as these: Is the growth of animals the result of some decay which the hot and cold principle [principles] contract, as some have said? Is the blood the element with which we think, or the air, or the fire? or perhaps nothing of this sort—but the brain may be the originating power of the perceptions of hearing, and sight, and smell, and memory, and opinion may come from them, and science may be based on memory and opinion when no longer in motion, but at rest.... Then I heard (p. 97,B.) some one who had a book of Anaxagoras, as he said, out of which he read that mind was the disposer and cause of all, and I was quite delighted at the notion of this, which appeared admirable, and I said to myself, If mind is the disposer, mind will dispose all for the best, and put each particular in the best place; and I argued that if any one desired to find out the cause of the generation or destruction or existence of anything, he must find out what state of being or suffering or doing wasbest for that thing, and therefore a man had only to consider the best for himself and others, and then he would also know the worse, for that the same science comprised both. And I rejoiced to think that I had found in Anaxagoras a teacher of the causes of existence such as I desired, and I imagined that he would tell me first whether the earth is flat or round; and then he would further explain the cause and the necessity of this, and would teach me the nature of the best, and show that this was best; and if he said that the earth was in the centre, he would explain that this position was the best, and I should be satisfied if this were shown to me, and not want any other sort of cause.'
Now this avowal on the part of Socrates, that in his earlier career he was a follower of the physical philosophers, goes far to explain several important points. In the first place, it explains to us the propriety, and in some sense thejustice, of Aristophanes' sketch of Socrates, some twenty years earlier than we know of the philosopher's mind from Plato, viz., as a speculator on meteorics after the fashion of Anaxagoras himself, a star-gazer, a lecturer on clouds and thunder and circling motions, rain and mist, and phenomena celestial and subterranean. We know, indeed, from Diogenes Laertius, ii. 4, that Socrates had been a hearer of Archelaus, himself a pupil of Anaxagoras. And thus we understand why Socrates was identified with the other sophists or schoolmen of the day, who taught 'wisdom' generally, ethics not less than physics. As subverters of the established traditions about the gods, and exponents of truth to the best of their knowledge, they met with the same opposition and the same obloquy, in their day, that the Huxleys and the Darwins, and other conspicuous men of our own times, are not wholly exempt from. Their teaching was thought to be 'latitudinarian,' and so they were credited with many views from which they would have recoiled with horror. In theNubes(902), Socrates is charged with denying the existence of justice, and defending the proposition by the example of the gods, who themselves set it at nought, as when Zeus maltreated and imprisoned his own father, Cronus; and in the same play (1415), the lawfulness of a son beating his father is maintained as a part of the new-fangled Socratic creed. Now in the second book of theRepublic(p. 377,fin.), this case of Cronus is expressly repudiated by Socrates as monstrous and unnatural; as also the doctrine that a son may lawfully beat his own father for wrong-doing. In a very curious passage of the 'Wasps' (1037), Aristophanes bitterly blames the Athenians for not having supported him in putting down thenuisanceof the philosophers, whom he callsἠπίαλοιandπυρετοὶ, 'agues' and 'fevers,' teachers of parricide, and base informers. By not giving the prize, he says, to his play of the 'Clouds,' only the year before, they had frustrated all his hopes of crushing and extinguishing the philosophers. Now, these philosophers are represented as headed by Socrates, and Socrates was the very worst of them. That he was at that period (about twenty years before his death) essentially a sophist, and incurring with the rest of them the odium of the popular opinion, seems undeniable. The precise views that he held on ethics, and consequently the exact nature of his teaching at that period, we have no other means of knowing. But it seems inconceivable that Aristophanes should have so grossly misrepresented his character with the slightest chance of success; and we know that it was his ardent desire that his play of the 'Clouds' should succeed. On the whole, we should say, there is a greater chance that Aristophanes truly represented the feeling of his age about Socrates than Plato, who, at best, gives us the Socrates as endeared to his private friends—the man of matured thought, and possibly of much altered and more chastened views. Nor ought we to forget that Plato is as severe against the Sophists generally as Aristophanes is against Socrates in particular. All high teaching at Athens—all that we include in the idea of a college education—was done by the Sophists. The art ofῥητορικὴwas one of the most important: we can see the effect of the training incidentally in the style and the speeches of Euripides and Thucydides. Socrates saw that the ethical principles of the Sophists were wrong, and he engaged in the dangerous task of trying to reform them.
But secondly, the Platonic passage gives us a clue to that sympathy which Socrates, or at least Plato, always shows for the Eleatic school of philosophy as represented by Zeno and Parmenides. 'Of all the pre-Socratic philosophers, Plato speaks of the Eleatic with the greatest respect,' says Mr. Jowett (Preface toPhilebus, p. 227). That school was a reaction from the teaching of the Ionic physicists, Thales, Anaximenes, and others, who were speculators on natural phenomena without any true system of induction. Anaxagoras' doctrine ofΝοῦς, or pervading intelligence, though purely a pantheistic one, stood half-way between the two schools. Xenocrates, the founder of the Eleatics, taught that Creation emanated from a One Being, and not from a fortuitous concurrence of atoms, from water or air, or states of repose, or flux, or any other merephysical reason. In the Philebus (p. 28,C., and p. 30,D.) we find an express eulogy and sympathy with Anaxagoras, whose views were in truth much more adapted to the doctrine ofἰδέαιand abstractions than the materialistic views of the Ionic school. And in theParmenides, one of the most obscure of the Platonic dialogues, the discussions onτὸ ἓν, The One, and the relations of the real to the phenomenal, though a great advance over the Eleatic doctrines, which, as Mr. Jowett says, 'had not gone beyond the contradictions of matter, motion, space, and the like' (Introd.Parmen., p. 234), still are based on the views of Zeno in the main. Parmenides, indeed, was 'the founder of idealism, and also of dialectic, or, in modern phraseology, of metaphysics and logic.' (Ibid.)
We proceed now to theTheætetus, one of the most important, as well as difficult, of the Platonic dialogues. To this Mr. Jowett has written a rather long but excellent Introduction, replete with large views of the Platonic philosophy, and containing many original and striking remarks,e.g.(p. 329): 'The Greeks, in the fourth century before Christ, had no words for "subject" and "object," and no distinct conception of them; yet they were always hovering about the question involved in them.' (We should be inclined to say, that the familiar distinction betweenτὰ νοητὰandτὰ αἰσθητὰ, to a considerable extent represented our terms 'subjective' and 'objective.') Again (p. 328): 'The writings of Plato belong to an age in which the power of analysis had outrun the means of knowledge; and through a spurious use of dialectic, the distinctions which had been already "won from the void and formless infinite," seemed to be rapidly returning to their original chaos.' And (p. 353), 'The relativity of knowledge' (viz., to the individual mind) 'is a truism to us, but was a great psychological discovery in the fifth century before Christ.' In p. 360 the remark is a shrewd one: 'The ancient philosophers in the age of Plato thought of science' (i.e.,ἐπιστήμη, exact knowledge) 'only as pure abstraction, and to thisopinion(δόξα) stood in no relation.' The subject ofTheætetus, 'Whatisknowledge?' involving, as it doubtless does, some satire on Sophists, who professed to teach what they were themselves unable to explain, has been well called 'A critical history of Greek psychology as it existed down to the fourth century.' In this treatise, the views of the earlier philosophers, that there is no test of existence or reality except perception,αἴσθησις, are impugned. Plato did not, perhaps, himself hold the opinion that objective truth existed, independently of opinion; but his favourite theory ofἰδέαι, or abstracts, implied the existence ofsometypical, eternal, absolute standard of goodness and justice, as well as of the beautiful. If this were not the case, then all moral as well as all physicalοὐσίαιwould depend on our sense of them. There would be noφύσει δίκαιον, but onlyνόμῳ δίκαιον. That would be right in every state which the laws enacted; and thus in two neighbouring states one course of acting (say, lying or stealing, or promiscuous intercourse) would be right, because it is legalised; in another it would be wrong, because punishable by the law. Nor is this difficulty wholly imaginary, as Aristotle felt. (Eth. Nic. V. ch. 7.) The old law, for instance, sanctioned polygamy, as modern usage does in some parts of the East; while the law of Europe condemns it. So in the case of murder: a Greek thought it a solemn and absolute duty to slay the slayer of his father; while we should regard it as one murder added to another. There was a good deal of sense therefore in what Protagoras taught, that 'man is the measure,'μέτρον ἄνθρωπος. If I feel it hot, itishot to me; if cold, then itiscold: or if wine tastes sour, or bitter, because my digestion is in an abnormal state, then to me itissour or bitter; and it is no use to argue with me that it is not, but you must set right my disordered stomach, and then the wine will taste as it should. Apply this doctrine to the diversities of religious belief; the Christian says the Buddhist and the Mahommedan are wrong; and each of these retort the same on the Christian and on each other. A thing cannot be absolutely truemerelybecause this or that party asserts it, which is but a 'petitio principii.' Protagoras would have said, had he lived much later, and not altogether absurdly, 'If this form of religion is one that you embrace from conviction, and with entire faith in it, then to you itistrue.' And after saying this to the Christian, he would have turned to the Buddhist and the Mahommedan, and have repeated the same formula to each.
Now Plato, to make the victory over Protagoras more complete, first shows, in theTheætetus, that he, Protagoras, by his doctrine ofμέτρον ἄνθρωπος, virtually holds the same opinion as those (1) who makeαἴσθησιςthe sole test of truth; (2) who, like Heraclitus, allow of no fixed existence, but hold thatπάντα γίγνεται, states of things are alwayscoming into being, because everything is in a state of perpetual flux. For it is evident that each of these views denies any permanent, stable, or objective existence of anything. Even a momentary perception is a fleeting sensation, not a true and real sense. While I say this paper is 'white,'somediscolorationof it occurred while the monosyllable was being pronounced, and therefore it was not true that the paper wasabsolutelywhite. It appears to us that the question which Mr. Jowett moots as a difficulty in his Introduction (p. 326) is not really very important: 'Would Protagoras have identified his own thesis, "Man is the measure of all things," with the other, "All knowledge is sensible perception?" Secondly, would he have based the relativity of knowledge on the Heraclitean flux?' The latter, we think, Protagoras clearly does, when he says (p. 168,B.)ἥιλεῳ τῇ διανοίᾳ ξυγκαθεὶς ὡς ἀληθῶς σκέψει, τί ποτε λέγομεν κινεῖσθαί τε ἀποφαινόμενοι τὰ πάντα τό τε δοκοῦν ἑκάστῳ τοῦτο καὶ εἶναι ἰδιώτῃ τε καὶ πόλει. To us it appears that Plato classed them together, simply because they are logically coherent and inseparable. He insists that all sensations imply a patient and an agent. Fire does not burn if there is nothing for it to consume. Colour is non-existent (being a mere effect of light), unless there is an eye to behold it. That indeed is true, and Epicurus and Lucretius also perceived (Lucr., ii. 795) that three conditions are wanted to produce colour—viz., light, an object to be seen, and an eye to see it. It is quite true, that a person sees a red or a blue cloth on a table while he looks at it, but that when he turns his back upon it, it hasnocolour, because one of the three conditions, the sight, has been withdrawn. Mr. Jowett seems, however (with the disciples of a modern school), to press this doctrine of relativity too far in asserting (Introd., p. 332), 'There would be no world, if there neither were, nor never had been, any one to perceive the world.' For we cannot escape from the conclusion that the world must have existed (in the sense in which we know of existence) prior to life,i.e., any perceptive faculty, being placed upon it.
What appears to have struck Plato most strongly in considering the doctrine of Protagoras was this—that if everybody is right, or as right as any other, all reasoning, argument, persuasion, in fine, the whole science of dialectics, becomesipso factouseless and absurd (p. 161,E.) There are no such characters aswiseandfoolish. Protagoras himself felt the difficulty, but evaded it thus: the wise man is not one who tries to argue a person out of his convictions,e.g., that justice is only tyranny, or that sweet is bitter, but who so trains and educates the mind or appetite that the sounder and better view will spontaneously present itself. Thus a good sophist or a wise legislator will endeavour so to educate and so to govern, that right and reasonable views will approve themselves to the people. Again, in judging of what will be good or useful in the end, sagacity is needed, which clearly is not the property of everyone alike. A thing is right or wrong only as individual conviction or the law of a State makes it so for the time being; but in advising a certain course of action, where result, and therefore, forethought are involved, one counsellor may be greatly superior to another (p. 172). Hence, as legislation is prospective, it is not true that one man's opinion as to the wisdom or expediency of a measure is as good as another's; but there are some things at least in which one man's must be better than another's judgment.
It was thus that Protagoras endeavoured to reconcile the obvious fact that some men were more clever than others, with the theory that all morality is based on mere human opinion. And those persons would take a very shallow view who think that all this is merely an ingenious quibbling. The difficulties which Protagoras attempted to solve are real ones, and only thinkers know to what extent all questions, both of religion and casuistry, are bound up with them.
We proceed to perform, somewhat in brief, the less agreeable task of showing that Mr. Jowett's version of theTheætetus, though always fluent and pleasant to read, is not always as accurate as might have been desired.
In p. 149,A., Socrates playfully asks Theætetus if he has never heard that he, Socrates, is the son of a midwife, by name, Phænaretè,μάλα γενναίας τε καὶ βλοσυρᾶς, 'a sour-faced old lady,' we should say. Mr. Jowett somewhat oddly renders this phrase, a 'midwife, brave and burly.' The epithets mean something very different. The first is an ironical allusion to the humble station of the professional midwife, the latter to the alarm which her presence might inspire in the timid.... Forβλοσυρὸνis something that shocks and causes terror, as in Æschylus, Suppl. 813; Eumen. 161. To this real or supposed parentage of the philosopher, a joke is directed by Aristophanes in theNubes, 137—
καὶ φροντίδ' ἐξήμβλωκας έξευρημένην.
Perhaps also theΦαιναρέτηin Acharn. 49, may have reference to this person. In p. 151,B.,προσφέρου πρὸς ἐμὲis not 'come to me,' but 'behave towards me,' 'deal with me.' And in p. 156,A.,ἀντίτυποι ἄνθρωποιare not 'repulsive' mortals (at least, according to our established use of the word), but 'refractory,' 'men on whom one can make no impression,' but from whom a blow rebounds as a hammer does from an anvil.Antisthenes and the cynical party seem to be meant. In p. 156,D., we come to a very obscure passage. Mr. Jowett's version is, 'And the slower elements have their motions in the same place and about things near them, and thus beget; but the things begotten are quicker, for their motions are from place to place.' This is not very intelligible. Forἡ κίνησις, it seems to us that we should readἡ γένεσις. The figure of speech is taken from the notion of sexual contact, and byπρὸς τὰ πλησιάζοντα τὴν κίνησιν ἴσχει, Socrates seems to mean that certain impressions or objects meet certain senses,e.g., sounds the ear, scents the nose, objects the eye, but severally 'have their rate of motion according to the speed of those faculties with which they naturally unite;' but, he adds, the sensations of hearing, smelling, seeing are more instantaneously perceived, when once produced, because theγένεσιςor production of such sensation takes placeἐν φορᾷ, while theαἴσθησιςand theαἰσθητὸνare moving in space towards each other, and thus, as it were, the offspring partakes of the speed of the parents. In plain words, sight and sound and smell are produced at very different intervals of time, but are equally sudden sensationswhenproduced; and even those which are more slowly generated are as quickly felt. (Compare Aristot., Eth. x. ch. iii. s. 4.πάσῃ (κινήσει) γὰρ οἰκεῖον εἶναι δοκεῖ τὰχος καὶ βραδυτής.) In p. 159,D.,ἡ γλυκύτης πρὸς τοῦ οἴνου περὶ αὐτὸν φερομένηseems to us to mean, the sense of sweetness from the wine moving to and coming uponthe patient,'τὸν πάσχοντα(unless, indeed, we should readπερὶ αὐτὴν,i.e.,γλῶσσαν, which would render the meaning rather clearer). Mr. Jowett's version is, 'the quality of sweetness which arises out of, and is moving about the wine.' Just below,περὶ δὲ τὸν οἶνον γιγνομένην καὶ φερομένην πικρότητα, the wordsκαὶ φερομένηνread very like an interpolation, as an attentive consideration of the passage, we think, will show.
In p. 161,A., we come upon some rather loose rendering. Theætetus asks Socrates whether he has not been all along speaking in irony, and whether, having proved that black is white, he is not prepared equally to prove that white is black. This, of course, is a playful satire on his skill in dialectics. The wordsἀλλὰ πρὸς θεῶν εἰπὲ, ἦ αὖ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει, literally mean, 'But tell me in heaven's name, is not all this, on the other hand,notso?' And so just below, Socrates says, 'You are, indeed, a lover of arguments and a worthy good soul, my Theodorus, for thinking that I am a mere bag of words, and can easily bring them out when wanted, and prove that, on the other hand, these things are not so.' In the very next words,τὸ δὲ γιγνόμενον οὐκ ἐννοεῖς, there is a joke, and not a bad one, on the doctrine,οὐδὲν ἔστιν ἀλλὰ πάντα γίγνεται. Mr. Jowett's version of the whole passage seems rather careless: 'But I should like to know, Socrates, by heaven I should, whether you mean to say that all this is untrue? Socrates: You are fond of argument, Theodorus, and now you innocently fancy that I am a bag full of arguments, and can easily pull one out which will prove the reverse of all this. But you do not see that in reality none of these arguments come from me. They all come from him who talks with me. I only know just enough to extract them from the wisdom of another, and to receive them in a spirit of fairness.' The last words,ἀποδέξασθαι μετρίως, more accurately mean, 'to take it from its parent fairly well,'i.e., as a theme for discussion. The phraseμητρόθεν δέχεσθαι, said of the nurse taking a newly-born infant, is playfully alluded to.
In p. 161,c., Mr. Jowett's version but poorly represents the real sense of a keenly ironical passage:—'Then, when we were reverencing him as a god, he might have condescended to inform us that he was no wiser than a tadpole, and did not even aspire to be a man: would not this have produced an overpowering effect?' The exact words of Plato are these: 'In which case he would have commenced his address to us in grand style, and very contemptuously, by letting us see that we have been looking up to him, as to a god, for his wisdom, while he all the time was in no degree superior, in respect of intelligence, to a tadpole, not to say to any other man.' The point is, that if Protagoras had commenced his work entitled 'Truth,' with the proposition, 'A pig is the measure of all things' (i.e., the standard by which feelings and notions are to be tested), 'he would have well shown his contempt of men who foolishly tookhimfor an authority.' Of course the very object and heart's desire of Protagoras in writing such a book was to be thought supremely clever. Hence the irony is apparent.
Again, in p. 160,B., Socrates says to Theodorus:—
'You have capitally expressed my weakness by your simile (τὴν νόσον μου ἀπείκασας). I, however, am stouter (ἰσχυρικώτερος) than they; for before now many and many a Hercules and Theseus' (meaning, of course, many Sophists), 'on meeting me, men brave at talk, have pounded me right well; but I don't give it up for all that, so strong a passion has taken possession of my soul for this kind of exercise. Therefore, do not refuse on your part to prepare fora contest with me, and so to benefit yourself and me alike.'
We see no reason whatever why the above should have been diluted down to such a version as this:—
'I see, Theodorus, that you perfectly apprehend the nature of my complaint; but I am even more pugnacious than the giants of old, for I have met with no end of heroes. Many a Hercules, many a Theseus, mighty in words, have broken my head; nevertheless, I am always at this rough game, which inspires me like a passion. Please, then, to indulge me with a trial, for your own edification as well as mine.'
The following (p. 175,A.) is not satisfactory:—
'And when some one boasts of a catalogue of twenty-five ancestors, and goes back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, he cannot understand his poverty of ideas. Why is he unable to calculate that Amphitryon had a twenty-fifth ancestor, who might have been anybody, and was such as fortune made him, and he had a fiftieth, and so on? He is amused at the notion that he cannot do a sum, and thinks that a little arithmetic would have got rid of his senseless vanity.'
What Plato really says is this:—
'But, when men pride themselves on a list of five-and-twenty ancestors, and trace them back to Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, it seems to him surprising that they should make these trumpery reckonings; and they should not be able (further) to calculate that the twenty-fifth from Amphitryon backwards was just such a person as fortune chanced to make him, or at least the fiftieth from him, and thus to get rid of the vanity of a senseless mind,—at this he cannot suppress a smile.'
In p. 194,C., the wordsτὰ ἰόντα διὰ τῶν αἰσθήσεων, ἐνσημαινόμενα εἰς τοῦτ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς κέαρ, ὃ ἔφη Ὅμηρος, &c., should be rendered, 'the impressions entering us through our senses, leaving their marks on thisheart's core, as Homer called it, intending to express in allegory the resemblance betweenκῆρandκηρός,' &c. Mr. Jowett rather loosely turns it,—'the impressions which pass through the senses andsink into the[waxen]heart of the soul, as Homer says in a parable,' &c. And just below, the wordsεἶτα οὐ παραλλάττουσι τῶν αἰσθήσεων τὰ σημεῖα, which he renders 'and are not liable to confusion,' might just as well have been brought out in their true sense, 'and further, they do not misapply the impressions of (or left by) the senses;' forπαραλλάσσεινis 'to change wrongly,' and is a word selected as exactly and most happily representing the idea Plato wished to convey, that confused memories owe their confusion to not keeping distinctly apart the impressions formerly received. A few lines further on,ὅταν λάσιόν του τὸ κέαρ ᾖ, ὃ δὴ ἐπῄνεσεν ὁ πάντα σοφὸς ποιητὴς, ἢ ὅταν κοπρῶδες&c., there are some points which only a careful rendering will bring out. In taking a delicate impression of a seal or gem on clarified wax, a hair left in it would mar the impression. And the dark yellow colour of natural wax was thought by the Greeks to be made foul by the dirt of the insects; clarifying it, in fact, was 'defæcation.' So we render it thus:—'When, then, a man's heart has hairs in it, which is the state the all-wise poet referred to [in calling itλάσιον κῆρ], or when it has dirt left in it, or is made of wax that is not pure [but adulterated], or too soft or too hard, then,' &c. Now this hardly appears in Mr. Jowett's version, 'But when the heart of any oneis shaggy, as the poet who knew everything says, or muddy and of impure wax, or very soft, or very hard, then,' &c.
Of thePhædrus, as a whole, Mr. Jowett appears to us to give a correct account, in saying (Introd., p. 552) that
'the continuous thread which appears and reappears throughout is rhetoric. This is the ground into which the rest of the dialogue is inlaid, in parts embroidered with fine words, "in order to please Phædrus." The speech of Lysias and the first speech of Socrates are examples of the false rhetoric, as the second speech of Socrates is adduced as an instance of the true. But the true rhetoric is based upon dialectic, and dialectic is a sort of inspiration akin to love; they are two aspects of philosophy in which the technicalities of rhetoric are absorbed. The true knowledge of things in heaven and earth is based upon enthusiasm or love of the ideas; and the true order of speech or writing proceeds according to them.'
With regard to the first speech of Socrates on Love (p. 237,C., to 241,D.) it appears to us that it is not so much 'an example of the false rhetoric,' as a proof how much better and more logically even a paradoxical subject can be treated by a dialectician than by a mere rhetorician. The hit at Phædrus for having given no definition whatever of his subject (p. 237,C.) is one of the points of contrast which is very significant; and there is this subtle irony underlying the whole speech, that whereas Socrates undertook to prove thatχαρίζεσθαι μὴ ἐρῶντιwas better thanχαρίζεσθαι ἐρῶντι, his essay is made to turn, in fact, simply on the latter point,μὴ χαρίζεσθαι ἐρῶντι, so as to be a diatribe against viciousπαιδεραστία; only a word or two at the end being added inapparentsanction of the other, and by way of verbally fulfilling the engagement he had made:λέγω οὖν ἑνιλόγῳ, ὅτι ὅσα τὸν ἕτερον λελοιδορήκαμεν, τῷ ἑτέρῳ τἀναντία τούτων ἀγαθὰ πρόσεστι(p. 341,fin.) And thepalinodia, or pretended recantation (p. 244,seq.), cleverly pursues the same theme, by showing that love, in its philosophical and nonsensual phase, is a divine emotion, and the source of every blessing to man. The famous allegory that follows, which means that Reason should control Passion, gives a sketch of the orderly and well-trained man, gradually recovering, even as the depraved mind gradually loses, the impressions and memories of the god-like existence men enjoyed in a previous state. The latter part of the dialogue hangs on to the allegory, not indeed very directly; rather, we should say, it reverts to the former part, and is intended to show, by a critique of the two essays, that no essayist or speech-maker can hope to succeed, who derives all his art from rules and treatises and the pedantic phraseology of the teachers. He must trust to dialectic,i.e., the science of hard and close reasoning, if he would rise above mereδημηγορία, or clap-trap; and psychology itself must form the basis of dialectic.
Mr. Jowett's version of this dialogue is fully as lax as that of theSymposium. Still it reads pleasantly, and if one could forget the incomparable and often so much more expressive Greek, one would be fairly content with the general correctness of the paraphrase. Almost at the outset, he rendersεἴ σοι σχολὴ προϊόντι ἀκούειν, 'if you have leisure tostay and listen,' instead of 'towalk onand listen,' where a slight satire is intended on the 'constitutional' and prescribed exercise of the effeminate youth. Andγέγραφε γὰρ δὴ ὁ Λυσίας πειρώμενόν τινα τῶν καλῶν, οὐχ ὑπ' ἐραστοῦ δὲ, ἀλλ' αὐτὸ τοῦτο καὶ κεκόμψευταιmeans, 'Lysias, you must know, has written about one of the handsome youths having proposals made to him, not, however, by a lover; but this is the very point he has put in a new and quaint light.' (Of course,κεκόμψευται, to which we have given a medial sense, may also be taken as a passive.) Mr. Jowett gives us nothing nearer to the above than 'Lysiasimagineda fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover; and this was the point; he ingeniously proved that,' &c. In p. 229,A.,κατὰ τὸν Ἰλισσὸν ἵωμενshould be rendered, 'let us goalongordownthe Ilissus,'i.e., in the bed or channel, or even along the bank; certainly not, 'let us gotothe Ilissus.' Nor isἀγροίκῳ τινὶ σοφίᾳ(p. 329,fin.), this sort of 'crudephilosophy,' but 'an uncourteous (or uncivil) kind of philosophy,' viz., that which employs itself in giving the lie to received traditions.
The charming and justly celebrated passage in p. 230,B.—one of the few in Greek literature that indicate intense feeling for the beauties of nature—we propose to render as follows, nearly every word being acloserepresentative of the equivalent Greek:—
'Upon my word, the retreat is a charming one; for not only is this plane-tree of ample size and height, but the dense shade of this tallagnusis quite beautiful to behold; in full flower too, so as to make the place most fragrant! Yon spring, also, is most grateful, that flows from under the plane-tree with a stream of very cold water, as one may judge by the feeling to the foot. Moreover, there appears, from the images and ornaments, to be a shrine here to certain Nymphs and to the Achelöus. Pray notice, also, the balmy air of the place, how delightful and exceeding sweet, and how it rings with the shrill summer chirp of the chorus of cicadas! But the quaintest thing of all is the growth of the grass, which on this gentle slope springs up in just enough abundance for one to recline one's head and be quite comfortable. So that you have proved a most excellent guide for a strange visitor, my dear Phædrus.'
Some extra pains might have been fairly bestowed on a passage almost without rival in Greek literature. But Mr. Jowett gives us the following bare and clipped paraphrase of it:—
'Yes, indeed, and a fair and shady resting-place, full of summer sounds and scents. There is the lofty and spreading plane-tree, and the agnus castus, high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest fragrance; and the stream which flows beneath the plane-tree is deliciously cold to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images, this must be a spot sacred to Achelöus and the Nymphs; moreover, there is a sweet breeze, and the grasshoppers chirrup; and the greatest charm of all is the grass like a pillow gently sloping to the head. My dear Phædrus, you have been an admirable guide.'
In p. 248,C.,θεσμὸς Ἀδραστείαςis not 'a law of the goddess Retribution,' but simply 'a law of necessity.' Had we space, we could point out not a few very inadequate, not to say inaccurate, renderings in the grand and mystical passage about theἰδέαof beauty, p. 250. For instance, Mr. Jowett does not see that we should construeκατειλήφαμεν αὐτὸ(viz.,κάλλος)διὰ τῆς ἐναργεστάτης αἰσυήσεως τῶν ἡμετέρων, 'we realize it (here on earth) by the clearest of all our senses,' viz., the sight of the eye. The whole translation of the great allegory, in fact, reads as if it came from one who hadnever taken the trouble to make outexactlywhat the Greek meant; and, as it is very difficult, and the passage itself very sublime, the student ought to have found in Professor Jowett a safe and cautious and accurate guide to the language as well as to the mind of Plato.
We are compelled to pass on, rapidly and very briefly, to that most difficult of Platonic dialogues, thePhilebus. This treats of a life made up of pleasure and intellectuality,φρόνησις, combined in certain proportions, aμικτός βίος, as the best and happiest. And the doctrine ofπέραςandἄπειρον, the Finite and the Infinite, which Aristotle (Eth., ii. 5) attributes to Protagoras,τὸ κακὸν τοῦ ἀπείρου, ὡς οἱ Πυθαγόρειοι εἴκαζον, τὸ δ' ἀγαθὸν τοῦ πεπερασμένου, is so applied as to show that mere pleasure carried to excess is self-destroying. This also is touched upon in the Tenth Book of the Ethics, ch. ii., where theμικτὸς βίοςofἡδονὴandφρόνησιςcombined is preferred to either alone. It has sometimes occurred to us, that in this dialogue Plato has purposely used involved constructions and an affected obscurity of style, as if to satirize Heraclitus, or some sophist of the Ephesian school. The scholastic formulæἓν καὶ πολλὰ, implying synthesis and analysis, andμᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον, 'the more or less,' to denote theἄπειρον, which can always be carried forward or backward, as in 'hot and cold,' tillπέρας, or definite quantity, is brought to limit them,—these and other subtleties give to thePhilebus, besides its linguistic difficulties, which are great, an aspect which is seldom inviting to younger students.
In the difficult passage (p. 15,B.), aboutἰδέαι, Mr. Jowett has again failed to give the exact sense. Plato says, one difficulty about them is, 'whether we must assume that the abstract principle of each quality (e.g., abstract beauty) pervades concretes and infinites, dispersed and separated in each, or existsas a whole outside of itself.' That is to say, if an abstract orἰδέαis one thing indivisible, which yet exists in different objects, it must reside outside itself, and apart from the centre of its ownοὐσία,, or essence. The wordsεἴθ' ὅλην αὐτὴν αὑτῆς χωρὶς, Mr. Jowett oddly translates, 'or as still entire,and yet contained in others.' In p. 15,D.,ταὐτὸν ἓν καὶ πολλὰ ὑπὸ λόγων γιγνόμεναis, 'this doctrine of "one and many" being the same, brought into existence (or, as we say, brought before our notice) by discussions,' not 'the one and many are identifiedby the reasoning power;' nor isἄγηρων πάθος τῶν λόγων αὐτῶν, just below, 'a quality of reason, as such, which never grows old,' but 'a conditions of discussion themselves,' &c. Surely, to render the pluralλόγοιby 'reason,' is a singular error. In p. 23,D., by not noticing the emphaticἐγὼthe author has failed to see that there is a reference to the clumsy attempts oftirosat synthesis and analysis, p. 15.fin.; so that Socrates intends to say that he fearsheis not much more skilful. A few lines below, where the doctrine of causation is introduced, the wordsτῆς ξυμμίξεως τούτων πρὸς ἄλληλα τὴν αἰτίαν ὅρα, 'consider now thecauseof the union of these conditions (the finite and the infinite) with each other,' is poorly rendered by 'find the cause of the third or compound.' In p. 24,D., Socrates argues that, if the principle of limitation (πέρας) were admissible in, or could co-exist with, 'more or less,'i.e.progressive degree, the infinite would cease, byipso factobecoming finite. And he concludes,κατὰ δὴ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἄπειρον γίγνοιτ' ἂν τὸ θερμότερον καὶ τοὐναντίον ἅμα, 'according to this way of putting it, the "hotter" would become at the same time infinite and finite.' Surely Mr. Jowett quite misses the sense in rendering it, 'which proves that comparatives, such as the hotter and the colder, are to be ranked inthe class of the infinite.' In p. 26,B., Socrates says that 'the goddess Harmony, perceiving the general lewdness and badness of men, and that there was no limiting principle in them, either of pleasures or of satisfying them, introduced law and order, containing in themselves the finite. And you, Protarchus (he adds), say that she thereby spoiled our pleasures; whereas I say, on the contrary, that she saved them.' If the text is right,πέρας οὐδὲν ἐνὸνis the accusative absolute; but we propose to readκαὶ πέρας, &c., so that the accusative will depend onκατιδοῦσα. Mr. Jowett's version is—'Methinks that the goddess saw the universal wantonness and wickedness of all things, having no limit of pleasure or satiety, and she devised the limit of the law and order, tormenting the soul, as you say, Philebus, or, as I affirm, saving the soul.'
It is no disparagement to the best of scholars to say that a perfect translation of the whole of Plato is too great a task for any one person to perform. It would be hardly possible to have the same knowledge of every dialogue, and those less familiar to the translator would not be wholly free from some mistakes. The scholarship that can grapple with and gain a perfect mastery over the Greek of Plato, to say nothing of his philosophy, must be of a very high order. No man, perhaps, could have done the task better than Professor Jowett; and no man, probably, is more fully aware thatit might have been a good deal better even than it is.
Art. VII.—Mr. Miall's Motion on Disestablishment.
Debate on the Motion of Edward Miall, Esq., M.P., May 9th, 1871. Reprinted from the Nonconformist.
We doubt whether when the opponents of Mr. Gladstone's Irish Church policy, during the electoral campaign of 1868, insisted that disestablishment in Ireland would inevitably be followed by disestablishment in England, they expected that such a debate as that which took place in the House of Commons on the 9th of May last would furnish a seeming justification of their prediction. The prediction, however, was one which tended to fulfil itself; for, if it did not suggest, it encouraged the movement which has followed it. The plea—in the mouths of English Episcopalians, at least—was an essentially selfish one, and has brought with it its own punishment. Mr. Gladstone has reminded us that he did his best to convince the electors of Lancashire that, neither on logical, nor on practical grounds, did his proposal necessarily involve the sweeping away of all the Established churches; and he has also said, and, no doubt, with truth, that while Mr. Miall and his supporters may be entitled to speak of the Irish Church Act of 1869 as the initiation of a policy, that was not the intention of its authors, who regarded it simply as a measure of justice to the Irish people. The upholders of Establishment, however, were too heated and unreflecting to see that, in refusing to allow Mr. Gladstone and the Liberal party to escape by this flying bridge, they were virtually bringing down the enemy on a portion of their territory hitherto comparatively secure. The less, they insisted, involved the greater, and the public at large, taking them at their word, was prepared for an advance movement on the part of the opponents of all national religious establishments which a few years ago would have been regarded as the blunder of a party altogether bereft of political prudence.
It nevertheless required no small degree of courage on the part of Mr. Miall to give notice so soon as a year after the passing of the Irish Church Act that he would, in the following session, ask Parliament to apply the principle of that measure to the other Established Churches of the kingdom, and we are not surprised to know that the time selected was, in part, determined by accidental circumstances, as much as by deliberate choice. It is true that the honourable member was not a novice in the matter; seeing that in 1856 he had submitted a motion which similarly aimed at the extinction of the Irish Establishment. But the Irish question, even in 1856, was, so far as public sentiment was concerned, more advanced than the English Church question is now; for Protestant ascendancy in Ireland had long been condemned by English Liberalism, though the mode of bringing it to an end occasioned a wide divergence of opinion. Nobody could and nobody did, then deny Mr. Miall's facts, however much they dissented from his practical conclusions; while the absence of concurring circumstances gave to the debate an air of languor strangely in contrast with the excitement occasioned by the same topic in after years. It is true that the recent disestablishment motion is not the first which has been submitted to the House of Commons, even in regard to the Church of England. For nearly forty years ago—on the 16th of April, 1833—Mr. Faithfull, the member for Brighton—a borough then, as now, intrepidly represented in Parliament—moved: 'That the Church of England, as by law established, is not recommended by practical utility: that its resources have always been subjected to parliamentary enactments, and that the greater part, if not the whole, of those resources ought to be appropriated to the relief of the nation;' but on this occasion the question excited too little interest to subject the mover to any sharp antagonism; Lord Althorpe declining to reply to Mr. Faithfull's speech, and moving the previous question, while the motion was negatived without a division. Mr. Gladstone's memorable declaration, in 1868, that 'in the settlement of the Irish Church that Church, as a State-Church, must cease to exist,' required high moral courage; but the speaker knew that he was the mouthpiece of a party powerful within, as well as without, the walls of Parliament, and that he was sounding the tocsin for an immediate, and a comparatively brief struggle, in which success was already assured. Mr. Miall, on the contrary, knew that he would have no powerful backing in the House of Commons, however great the moral strength which he represented, and he knew also that he headed a skirmishing party, rather than led a final attack; while he must also have been conscious that the wisdom of his procedure would, by friendly, as well as hostile, critics, be judged by the measure of success.
That the success was great, few personswho combine intelligence with candour will be likely to deny, and probably it was greater than either Mr. Miall, or the most sanguine of his friends, had ventured to expect. Success, of course, has relation to the objects aimed at, and these were well defined, and such as can be readily compared with the actual results. We assume that Mr. Miall wished, by means of his motion, to give a practical direction to the out-door agitation with which he has been so many years identified; to put the subject in the category of practical political questions, by forcing it on the notice of politicians by the ordinary political methods; to place before the greatest legislative assembly in the world, with something like completeness, views held by a large and growing party in the country, but never before directly and fully advocated in Parliament; to draw out the forces enlisted on the side of establishments, and to put them on the defensive, at a time when the difficulties in the way of defence were by no means inconsiderable; and, finally, to secure such a thorough discussion of the whole subject by the country as would hasten the time when it must be dealt with with a view to a practical settlement. If this is an accurate description of Mr. Miall's aims, can it be said of any one of them that there has been even an approach to failure? Could any parliamentary question, in the hands of an independent member, have been launched with greateréclat, or with more hopeful presages, than characterized the discussion in the House of Commons on the 9th of May last? A large house—a speech which the most competent critics in England have pronounced to be of the highest class—a seven hours' debate sustained, for the most part, by members of the greatest mark—a weakness of argument and of tone on the part of the opponents of the motion which has excited general surprise—a division almost exactly tallying with the calculations of those at whose instance it was taken—leading articles and correspondence on the subject in every journal in the kingdom, and an almost universal impression that disestablishment is nearer at hand than it was thought to be before the motion was submitted—if these do not satisfy the most ardent of 'Liberationists,' the patience which has hitherto distinguished them must have given way to unreasoning haste.
On one point, at least, in regard to which there was, at one time, room for reasonable doubt, Mr. Miall's triumph must be considered complete. Although it would have been difficult for any Nonconformist member to have successfully vindicated a refusal to support the motion, on the plea that it was 'premature,' yet there was something to be urged in support of the plea itself, and it required a recognition of some facts scarcely known to the public at large to decide unhesitatingly in favour of the course actually adopted. But, now that the motion has been made, the plea of prematureness can scarcely be repeated. Even Sir Roundell Palmer frankly admitted that, having regard to the feeling excited by the subject, both in the house and in the country, it was one which was rightly brought under discussion, and, notwithstanding the embarrassment which it was likely to occasion the ministry, Mr. Gladstone tendered his thanks to Mr. Miall for initiating the discussion, since, 'by introducing this question, he has absorbed minor matters, which really involve his motion as an ulterior consequence, but which do not fully express it,' and has 'raised the question in a clear, comprehensive, and manly manner, calculated to keep it from all debasing contact, and to raise a fair trial of the great national question involved in the motion.' These admissions are in singular contrast to the reception given to Mr. Miall's Irish Church motion in 1856, when a Conservative member actually tried to avert discussion by moving the adjournment of the house, and Lord Palmerston, the then Premier, though he did not venture to sanction the attempt, deprecated as 'unfortunate' the enforced consideration of the subject.
If Mr. Miall has not acquired fame as a parliamentary debater, he has made two speeches which will live in the political history of this half century. Of that of 1856 it may, perhaps, be said that its influence was greatest in the effect which it produced on the minds of Liberal politicians whose minds were made up in condemnation of the Irish Establishment, but whose notions in regard to remedial measures were confused and undecided, or were radically unsound. The principle which he then affirmed was as bread cast upon waters seen after many days; and seen in the unequivocal shape of a statute of the realm giving practical effect to the views enunciated thirteen years ago. But the task undertaken then was far less difficult than that of 1871, the area of discussion was much narrower, and the issues raised much less complicated. Of Mr. Miall's recent speech, Mr. Leatham happily said that it seemed to him 'as though it were the condensation of the thought of a life-time;' but, in truth, the speaker had to disengage his mind from many thoughts which had for years engaged the highest powers of his intellect and the warmest sympathies of his heart. He had to remember that hewas standing, not on a Liberation platform, but on the floor of the House of Commons, and that he was addressing not the eagerly responsive readers of theNonconformist, but the cold and critical readers of journals of a very different type. And, further, while avowing that the religious side of the question was that which most powerfully affected his own mind, and conscious that the most potent arguments which he could employ were those which derive their force from religious considerations, he had to leave that vantage ground, from the admitted unwillingness and unfitness of the House of Commons to deal with the subject in its spiritual aspects, and to take the lower ground involved in objections of an exclusively political and social character. It required no small degree of self-restraint, and of practical skill, for a speaker of such antecedents as those of Mr. Miall to keep strictly within the lines which he had laid down for himself; and the unstinted admiration expressed by all the subsequent speakers and especially by public journals, which—within a week of his Metropolitan Tabernacle speech—were little likely to be biased in his favour, have shown conclusively the completeness of his success. When the usually moderateGuardianaffirms that Mr. Miall's speech was a signal example of dissenting exaggeration, dissenting narrowness of view, and dissenting shortness of thought and inability to comprehend the higher aspects of a great religious and national question; and theRecordasserts that 'never was a speech delivered on a great question more damaging to the cause it was intended to support:' the very recklessness of the misrepresentations indicate a consciousness that the impression produced was of a kind which has given great uneasiness to the supporters of the Establishment. We expect, moreover, that thereadingof the speech, in the complete form in which it has since been published and widely circulated, will be found to have deepened the impression produced by its delivery, and by a first hasty perusal. Its calm yet forcible statements—its close reasoning—its apt and pungent illustrations—its incontrovertible facts, and its elevation of tone and style will, we are confident, perceptibly affect the minds of thoughtful men on whom, for some time past, the truth has been dawning that there must be something radically wrong in the existing relations between the State and the several religious bodies of the country. By a process of filtration, the truths enunciated by Mr. Miall in this speech will, aided by other influences, find their way into quarters into which none of his previous utterances on the same subject have penetrated, and, unless the tendency of ecclesiastical events greatly changes, it may be expected that the seed now sown will germinate, and produce its fruits, with a degree of rapidity for which previous efforts furnish no precedent.
Nor would justice be done to others were there no recognition of the valuable aid given to the mover of the resolution by those who supported him in the debate. It was fitting that a proposal so deeply affecting the welfare of the Church of England should be seconded by a member of that body, and the duty which Mr. J. D. Lewis voluntarily undertook was discharged with both ability and courage. The facts and figures supplied by Mr. Richard admirably supplemented Mr. Miall's exposition of principle; while, so far as the Principality is concerned, they demolished some of the boldest allegations of the advocates of the existing system. If Mr. Leatham's speech must be spoken of in terms of qualified praise—and notably in regard to his insinuation respecting the views previously expressed by Mr. Winterbotham—it must be admitted that he blurted out some truths which were required to be told, however roughly, and presented with admirable force, as well as vivacity, some aspects of the question which ought not to have been neglected in such a discussion, and which will tell upon minds but little affected by the less graphic method of the philosophical and unrhetorical member for Bradford.
We do not wonder that the Dean of Norwich has expressed dissatisfaction with the apologetic and low-toned character of the replies given by the upholders of the Establishment; for an ecclesiastic who holds it to be the duty of the State to find out which is Christ's Church, and, having found it, to uphold and extend it to the utmost, must have heard, or read, the debate with downright dismay. The proverb that 'one story's good till another's told' does not apply in this case; for strong as was Mr. Miall's case when he had concluded his speech, it was stronger still after the weakness of the other side had been shown by the reply. 'Is that all?' might have been asked by any one conversant with all the traditionary arguments used in defence of Church Establishments, after hearing Mr. Bruce, Sir Roundell Palmer, Dr. Ball, Mr. Disraeli, and Mr. Gladstone. Of the 'national conscience' which enjoins the provision by the State of the means of grace for the nation, or of the 'national atheism' involved in the absence of such provision; or, in fact, of any theory whatever on which it may be supposed to be possible to base an Establishment,there was heard nothing. The friends of the Church, indeed, so far abandoned theory, that Sir Roundell Palmer reproached Mr. Miall with the theoretical character of his arguments, and was himself forced to fall back on statements of the most prosaic and practical character; while Mr. Disraeli, though vaguely asserting that 'the State ought to recognise and support some religious expression in the community,' was content to rest the case of the Establishment chiefly on 'the manifold and ineffable blessings it bestows.'
It was perhaps a misfortune for that establishment that its defence was mainly undertaken by official and ex-official advocates. They, it is clear, were more concerned for their own position, in relation to the question, now or hereafter—and especially hereafter—than affected by a noble zeal on behalf of Church Establishments. Of course, if it had been felt that the foundations of those institutions were firm as the everlasting hills, that fact would have given firmness of tone, if not vigour of expression, to those who were under the necessity of doing battle on their behalf. But the insecurity of the position renders necessary a system of Parliamentary 'hedging'—to use sporting phraseology—on the part of those who wish to continue to be, or to become, the depositaries of political power; and that, perhaps, is the most alarming fact which the late debate has forced on the notice of those who once thought that Church and State nevercouldbe separated.
The Home Secretary, in particular, described the ministerial policy in this matter with a frankness which revealed in an almost amusing way the embarrassment of official Liberalism. He admitted that 'the question of an Established Church was seriously occupying the minds of the people of Scotland,' but added that 'nothing, he was assured, would be done in the matter until the great majority of the people were in favour of disestablishment.' With respect, however, to England, 'the question was far less mature.' No fair-minded man, he added, could deny 'that there was a great deal of truth in many of the statements' made by Mr. Miall, in regard to the shortcomings of the Establishment, and the extent to which the spiritual necessities of the people had been met by Nonconformists. But, he continued:—
'The practical question for the House to consider was whether they were for those reasons prepared to pass a resolution which would bind them at once to legislate on the subject. No Government would, he thought, be justified in undertaking such a task in the present state of public opinion. The calmness of his hon. friend in dealing with the question would, he was afraid, not be imitated by the country at large, and its discussion must lead to great dissension and controversy, although in the end the result might tend to promote peace and harmony. It was a subject on which no Government should attempt to legislate without the assurance of success. (Ironical cheers.) He was speaking without reference to the present or any other Government, and he must repeat that no Ministry would be justified in proceeding to deal with a question of such great importance without some assurance of success. ("Hear, hear," and a laugh.) It was the business of private members to ventilate such questions, and the duty of the Government to take them up only when public opinion declared it to be expedient.'
And then, as asolatiumto those whom these ominous statements were calculated to disturb, he proceeded to say a few civil words about the great work which is being done by the Church of England, and the deep root she has taken in the affections of the people; returning, however, to the official line on which he started, by admitting that he 'was not prepared to defend the Established Church with any abstract arguments,' and insisting that, as prudent men, they must see their way more clearly before adopting such a motion. 'Call you that backing your friends?' was the indignant, and not unnatural reply of the fervent Dr. Ball, who declared that 'the Church would be defended as long as it did not imperil the interests of the Government, and no longer.'
Mr. Disraeli's milder expression of the opinion that 'when it comes to a question of maintaining the union between Church and State, I think your adhesion to the proposal, or your objection to it, should be founded on some principle which cannot be disputed, and guided by some policy which the country can comprehend,' did elicit from the Prime Minister 'very different sounds'—to use the language of Mr. Disraeli—but the substance was substantially the same. He could remind the Opposition leader that, notwithstanding his appreciation of principles, he himself was content to rest his defence of the Establishment, 'not so much upon adhesion to any abstract theory, or principle, as upon the fact that the convictions of the nation are in its favour, or, in other words, that public opinion is adverse to the motion of my honourable friend.' And it was, practically, upon this proposition Mr. Gladstone took his stand; while he, at the same time, strengthened his position by descriptions of the 'vastness of the operation' pointed at in the motion, and the immense difficulties which it would involve, and alsodilated, with characteristic grace and copiousness, on the pre-eminent advantages resulting from the manner in which the Church of England discharges its practical duties. And his closing declaration went no further, and rose no higher, than this:—
'I cannot but stand upon the firm conviction that the nation which sent us here does not wish us to adopt the motion of the hon. member.... I do not think that it is necessary for us—indeed, I don't think the hon. gentleman expects that we should do so—to vote for a motion which we are firmly convinced is at variance with the established convictions of the country, and I shall venture to say to my hon. friend, what I am sure he will not resent, that if he seeks to convert the majority of the House of Commons to his opinions, he must begin by undertaking the preliminary work of converting to those opinions the majority of the people of England.'
When Mr. Miall led the attack on the Irish Establishment, in 1856, it was stated that the task of replying to him was assigned to Mr. Whiteside, but that the vehement representative of Dublin University was quite unprepared to deal with a case so dispassionately put as it was by Mr. Miall; while it is certain that he found his physical force oratory—as Mr. Bright once described it—much more available in a subsequent session, in denouncing the anticipated betrayal of the Church by Mr. Gladstone. Sir Roundell Palmer, however, did not shrink from fulfilling the intention which had been ascribed to him previous to the debate, and, perhaps, no fitter representative man could have been chosen for the purpose. Certainly no one could have succeeded more fully in keeping the discussion up to the high level to which its originator had sought to raise it. No one could be more candid in his recognition of the ability, and the admirable spirit, with which Mr. Miall had placed the subject before the House.[40]No one could be more discriminating in choosing the grounds on which his resistance was offered to the motion; and no one could put the case of the Church more suavely, or more willingly. But, notwithstanding all these high recommendations, the speech was a singularly weak one, in regard to both its reasoning and its facts. The latter, indeed, constituted the weakest part of his case—though, in some quarters, they are relied upon with a confidence which seems to us to be attributable either to imperfect knowledge, or to mistaken views of their bearing on the question in dispute.
The two main facts urged by Sir Roundell Palmer were these—first, that the existence of an Established Church no longer involves injustice to Nonconformists; second, that 'this great institution does a work of inestimable value over the whole land, and in every part of society,' and, more especially, that, to the poor, and in the rural parishes, it is of 'priceless value.'
If the first of these propositions can be sustained, the most effective weapon at their command will be taken out of the hands of the assailants of the Establishment. Mr. Miall, of course, insisted on the converse of that proposition with the utmost emphasis—denouncing, as he did, 'the essential and inseparable injustice involved in lifting one Church from among many into political ascendancy, and endowing it with property belonging to the people in their corporate capacity;' and affirming that 'the inmost principle of a Church Establishment is necessarily unjust in its operation,' and that 'man suffers injustice at the hands of the State when the State places him in a position of exceptional disadvantage on account of his religious faith, or his ecclesiastical associations.' Sir Roundell Palmer has two replies to this, viz., that what Dissenters 'call ascendancy' is 'no longer an ascendancy involving any civil rights, privileges, or advantage whatever,' and that those who do not participate in the benefit derived from the property in the hands of the Establishment 'fail to do so from simple choice.' He further asserts that the idea 'that no State institution intended for the public good can be just which everybody does not equally participate in,' would 'lead us into communism, or some other system of the kind.'
The plea that, the Establishment being open to all, no injustice is done to these who stay outside, is one which it is difficult to discuss with patience, even when seriously urged, as it seems to have been, by an opponent like Sir Roundell Palmer. We saw nothing of the inadequacy, as regards quantity, of that which the Establishment offers to all—an inadequacy so great that the offer becomes a mockery: it is enough to point out that that offer is one which, from the necessity of the case, cannot possibly be accepted. The well-known saying of Horne Tooke's that the London Tavern was open to every man—who could afford to pay thebill, suggests the answer to the shallow averment that the injustice endured by Nonconformists is, after all, self-inflicted. If they are ready to pay the price at which the advantages of the Establishment are offered to them, to sin against their convictions, and to swallow their conscientious scruples, they may enjoy religious equality within its pale, instead of struggling for it without. It is a new use of the old defence of the Irish Establishment so happily ridiculed by Thomas Moore, in his 'Dream of Hindostan:'—