Christianity and Greek Philosophy
by Benjamin Franklin Cocker
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"Plato made me know the true God, Jesus Christ showed me the way to him." ST. AUGUSTINE



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.






In preparing the present volume, the writer has been actuated by a conscientious desire to deepen and vivify our faith in the Christian system of truth, by showing that it does not rest solely on a special class of facts, but upon all the facts of nature and humanity; that its authority does not repose alone on the peculiar and supernatural events which transpired in Palestine, but also on the still broader foundations of the ideas and laws of the reason, and the common wants and instinctive yearnings of the human heart. It is his conviction that the course and constitution of nature, the whole current of history, and the entire development of human thought in the ages anterior to the advent of the Redeemer centre in, and can only be interpreted by, the purpose of redemption.

The method hitherto most prevalent, of treating the history of human thought as a series of isolated, disconnected, and lawless movements, without unity and purpose; and the practice of denouncing the religions and philosophies of the ancient world as inventions of satanic mischief, or as the capricious and wicked efforts of humanity to relegate itself from the bonds of allegiance to the One Supreme Lord and Lawgiver, have, in his judgment, been prejudicial to the interests of all truth, and especially injurious to the cause of Christianity. They betray an utter insensibility to the grand unities of nature and of thought, and a strange forgetfulness of that universal Providence which comprehends all nature and all history, and is yet so minute in its regards that it numbers the hairs on every human head, and takes note of every sparrow's fall, A juster method will lead us to regard the entire history of human thought as a development towards a specific end, and the providence of God as an all-embracing plan, which sweeps over all ages and all nations, and which, in its final consummation, will, through Christ, "gather together all things in one, both things which are in heaven and things which are on earth."

The central and unifying thought of this volume is that the necessary ideas and laws of the reason, and the native instincts of the human heart, originally implanted by God, are the primal and germinal forces of history; and that these have been developed under conditions which were first ordained, and have been continually supervised by the providence of God. God is the Father of humanity, and he is also the Guide and Educator of our race. As "the offspring of God," humanity is not a bare, indeterminate potentiality, but a living energy, an active reason, having definite qualities, and inheriting fundamental principles and necessary ideas which constitute it "the image and likeness of God." And though it has suffered a moral lapse, and, in the exercise of its freedom, has become alienated from the life of God, yet God has never abandoned the human race. He still "magnifies man, and sets his heart upon him." "He visits him every morning, and tries him every moment." "The inspiration of the Almighty still gives him understanding." The illumination of the Divine Logos still "teacheth man knowledge." The Spirit of God still comes near to and touches with strong emotion every human heart. "God has never left himself without a witness" in any nation, or in any age. The providence of God has always guided the dispersions and migrations of the families of the earth, and presided over and directed the education of the race. "He has foreordained the times of each nation's existence, and fixed the geographical boundaries of their habitations, in order that they should seek the Lord, and feel after and find Him who is not far from any one of us." The religions of the ancient world were the painful effort of the human spirit to return to its true rest and centre—the struggle to "find Him" who is so intimately near to every human heart, and who has never ceased to be the want of the human race. The philosophies of the ancient world were the earnest effort of human reason to reconcile the finite and the infinite, the human and the Divine, the subject and God. An overruling Providence, which makes even the wrath of man to praise Him, took up all these sincere, though often mistaken, efforts into his own plan, and made them sub-serve the purpose of redemption. They aided in developing among the nations "the desire of salvation," and in preparing the world for the advent of the Son of God. The entire course and history of Divine providence, in every nation, and in every age, has been directed towards the one grand purpose of "reconciling all things to Himself." Christianity, as a comprehensive scheme of reconciliation, embracing "all things," can not, therefore, be properly studied apart from the ages of earnest thought, of profound inquiry, and of intense religious feeling which preceded it. To despise the religions of the ancient world, to sneer at the efforts and achievements of the old philosophers, or even to cut them off in thought from all relation to the plans and movements of that Providence which has cared for, and watched over, and pitied, and guided all the nations of the earth, is to refuse to comprehend Christianity itself.

The author is not indifferent to the possibility that his purpose may be misconceived. The effort may be regarded by many conscientious and esteemed theologians with suspicion and mistrust. They can not easily emancipate themselves from the ancient prejudice against speculative thought. Philosophy has always been regarded by them as antagonistic to Christian faith. They are inspired by a commendable zeal for the honor of dogmatic theology. Every essay towards a profounder conviction, a broader faith in the unity of all truth, is branded with the opprobrious name of "rationalism." Let us not be terrified by a harmless word. Surely religion and right reason must be found in harmony. The author believes, with Bacon, that "the foundation of all religion is right reason." The abnegation of reason is not the evidence of faith, but the confession of despair. Sustained by these convictions, he submits this humble contribution to theological science to the thoughtful consideration of all lovers of Truth, and of Christ, the fountain of Truth. He can sincerely ask upon it the blessing of Him in whose fear it has been written, and whose cause it is the purpose of his life to serve.

The second series, on "Christianity and Modern Thought," is in an advanced state of preparation for the press.

NOTE.—It has been the aim of the writer, as far as the nature of the subject would permit, to adapt this work to general readers. The references to classic authors are, therefore, in all cases made to accessible English translations (in Bohn's Classical Library); such changes, however, have been made in the rendering as shall present the doctrine of the writers in a clearer and more forcible manner. For valuable services rendered in this department of the work, by Martin L. D'Ooge, M. A., Acting Professor of Greek Language and Literature in the University of Michigan, the author would here express his grateful acknowledgment.










CHAPTER IX. THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (continued). PRE-SOCRATIC SCHOOL (continued) Idealist: Pythagoras—Xenophanes—Parmenides—Zeno. Natural Realist: Anaxagoras. THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL. Socrates.




THE PHILOSOPHERS OF ATHENS (continued). THE SOCRATIC SCHOOL (continued). Aristotle.


CHAPTER XIV. The Propaedeutic Office of Greek Philosophy.

CHAPTER XV. The Propaedeutic Office of Greek Philosophy (continued).

"Ye men of Athens, all things which I behold bear witness to your carefulness in religion; for, as I passed through your city and beheld the objects of your worship, I found amongst them an altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD; whom, therefore, ye worship, though ye know; Him not, Him declare I unto you. God who made the world and all things therein, seeing He is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; neither is He served by the hands of men, as though he needed any thing; for He giveth unto all life, and breath, and all things. And He made of one blood all the nations of mankind to dwell upon the face of the whole earth; and ordained to each the appointed seasons of their existence, and the bounds of their habitation, that they should seek God, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him, though he be not far from every one of us: for in Him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain of your own poets have said, For we are also His offspring. Forasmuch, then, as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by the art and device of man. Howbeit, those past times of ignorance God hath overlooked; but now He commandeth all men everywhere to repent, because He hath appointed a day wherein He will judge the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath ordained; whereof He hath given assurance unto all, in that He hath raised Him from the dead."—Acts xvii. 22-31.




"Is it not worth while, for the sake of the history of men and nations, to study the surface of the globe in its relation to the inhabitants thereof?"—Goethe.

There is no event recorded in the annals of the early church so replete with interest to the Christian student, or which takes so deep a hold on the imagination, and the sympathies of him who is at all familiar with the history of Ancient Greece, as the one recited above. Here we see the Apostle Paul standing on the Areopagus at Athens, surrounded by the temples, statues, and altars, which Grecian art had consecrated to Pagan worship, and proclaiming to the inquisitive Athenians, "the strangers" who had come to Athens for business or for pleasure, and the philosophers and students of the Lyceum, the Academy, the Stoa, and the Garden, "the unknown God."

Whether we dwell in our imagination on the artistic grandeur and imposing magnificence of the city in which Paul found himself a solitary stranger, or recall the illustrious names which by their achievements in arts and philosophy have shed around the city of Athens an immortal glory,—or whether, fixing our attention on the lonely wanderer amid the porticoes, and groves, and temples of this classic city, we attempt to conceive the emotion which stirred his heart as he beheld it "wholly given to idolatry;" or whether we contrast the sublime, majestic theism proclaimed by Paul with the degrading polytheism and degenerate philosophy which then prevailed in Athens, or consider the prudent and sagacious manner in which the apostle conducts his argument in view of the religious opinions and prejudices of his audience, we can not but feel that this event is fraught with lessons of instruction to the Church in every age.

That the objects which met the eye of Paul on every hand, and the opinions he heard everywhere expressed in Athens, must have exerted a powerful influence upon the current of his thoughts, as well as upon the state of his emotions, is a legitimate and natural presumption. Not only was "his spirit stirred within him"—his heart deeply moved and agitated when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry—but his thoughtful, philosophic mind would be engaged in pondering those deeply interesting questions which underlie the whole system of Grecian polytheism. The circumstances of the hour would, no doubt, in a large degree determine the line of argument, the form of his discourse, and the peculiarities of his phraseology. The more vividly, therefore, we can represent the scenes and realize the surrounding incidents; the more thoroughly we can enter into sympathy with the modes of thought and feeling peculiar to the Athenians; the more perfectly we can comprehend the spirit and tendency of the age; the more immediate our acquaintance with the religious opinions and philosophical ideas then prevalent in Athens, the more perfect will be our comprehension of the apostle's argument, the deeper our interest in his theme. Some preliminary notices of Athens and "the Men of Athens" will therefore be appropriate as introductory to a series of discourses on Paul's sermon on Mars' Hill.

The peculiar connection that subsists between Geography and History, between a people and the country they inhabit, will justify the extension of our survey beyond the mere topography of Athens. The people of the entire province of Attica were called Athenians (Athenaioi) in their relation to the state, and Attics (Attikoi) in regard to their manners, customs, and dialect.[1] The climate and the scenery, the forms of contour and relief, the geographical position and relations of Attica, and, indeed, of the whole peninsula of Greece, must be taken into our account if we would form a comprehensive judgment of the character of the Athenian people.

The soil on which a people dwell, the air they breathe, the mountains and seas by which they are surrounded, the skies that overshadow them,—all these exert a powerful influence on their pursuits, their habits, their institutions, their sentiments, and their ideas. So that could we clearly group, and fully grasp all the characteristics of a region—its position, configuration, climate, scenery, and natural products, we could, with tolerable accuracy, determine what are the characteristics of the people who inhabit it. A comprehensive knowledge of the physical geography of any country will therefore aid us materially in elucidating the natural history, and, to some extent, the moral history of its population. "History does not stand outside of nature, but in her very heart, so that the historian only grasps a people's character with true precision when he keeps in full view its geographical position, and the influences which its surroundings have wrought upon it."[2]

[Footnote 1: Niebuhr's "Lectures on Ethnography and Geography," p. 91.]

[Footnote 2: Ritter's "Geographical Studies," p. 34.]

It is, however, of the utmost consequence the reader should understand that there are two widely different methods of treating this deeply interesting subject—methods which proceed on fundamentally opposite views of man and of nature. One method is that pursued by Buckle in his "History of Civilization in England." The tendency of his work is the assertion of the supremacy of material conditions over the development of human history, and indeed of every individual mind. Here man is purely passive in the hands of nature. Exterior conditions are the chief, if not the only causes of man's intellectual and social development. So that, such a climate and soil, such aspects of nature and local circumstances being given, such a nation necessarily follows.[3] The other method is that of Carl Ritter, Arnold Guyot, and Cousin.[4] These take account of the freedom of the human will, and the power of man to control and modify the forces of nature. They also take account of the original constitution of man, and the primitive type of nations; and they allow for results arising from the mutual conflict of geographical conditions. And they, especially, recognize the agency of a Divine Providence controlling those forces in nature by which the configuration of the earth's surface is determined, and the distribution of its oceans, continents, and islands is secured; and a providence, also, directing the dispersions and migrations of nations—determining the times of each nation's existence, and fixing the geographical bounds of their habitation, all in view of the moral history and spiritual development of the race,—"that they may feel after, and find the living God." The relation of man and nature is not, in their estimation, a relation of cause and effect. It is a relation of adjustment, of harmony, and of reciprocal action and reaction. "Man is not"—says Cousin—"an effect, and nature the cause, but there is between man and nature a manifest harmony of general laws."... "Man and nature are two great effects which, coming from the same cause, bear the same characteristics; so that the earth, and he who inhabits it, man and nature, are in perfect harmony."[5] God has created both man and the universe, and he has established between them a striking harmony. The earth was made for man; not simply to supply his physical wants, but also to minister to his intellectual and moral development. The earth is not a mere dwelling-place of nations, but a school-house, in which God himself is superintending the education of the race. Hence we must not only study the events of history in their chronological order, but we must study the earth itself as the theatre of history. A knowledge of all the circumstances, both physical and moral, in the midst of which events take place, is absolutely necessary to a right judgment of the events themselves. And we can only elucidate properly the character of the actors by a careful study of all their geographical and ethological conditions.

[Footnote 3: See chap. ii. "History of Civilization."]

[Footnote 4: Ritter's "Geographical Studies;" Guyot's "Earth and Man;" Cousin's "History of Philosophy," lec. vii., viii., ix.]

[Footnote 5: Lectures, vol. i. pp. 162, 169.]

It will be readily perceived that, in attempting to estimate the influence which exterior conditions exert in the determination of national character, we encounter peculiar difficulties. We can not in these studies expect the precision and accuracy which is attained in the mathematical, or the purely physical sciences. We possess no control over the "materiel" of our inquiry; we have no power of placing it in new conditions, and submitting it to the test of new experiments, as in the physical sciences. National character is a complex result—a product of the action and reaction of primary and secondary causes. It is a conjoint effect of the action of the primitive elements and laws originally implanted in humanity by the Creator, of the free causality and self-determining power of man, and of all the conditions, permanent and accidental, within which the national life has been developed. And in cases where physical and moral causes are blended, and reciprocally conditioned and modified in their operation;—where primary results undergo endless modifications from the influence of surrounding circumstances, and the reaction of social and political institutions;—and where each individual of the great aggregate wields a causal power that obeys no specific law, and by his own inherent power sets in motion new trains of causes which can not be reduced to statistics, we grant that we are in possession of no instrument of exact analysis by which the complex phenomena of national character may be reduced to primitive elements. All that we can hope is, to ascertain, by psychological analysis, what are the fundamental ideas and laws of humanity; to grasp the exterior conditions which are, on all hands, recognized as exerting a powerful influence upon national character; to watch, under these lights, the manifestations of human nature on the theatre of history, and then apply the principles of a sound historic criticism to the recorded opinions of contemporaneous historians and their immediate successors. In this manner we may expect, at least, to approximate to a true judgment of history.

There are unquestionably fundamental powers and laws in human nature which have their development in the course of history. There are certain primitive ideas, imbedded in the constitution of each individual mind, which are revealed in the universal consciousness of our race, under the conditions of experience—the exterior conditions of physical nature and human society. Such are the ideas of cause and substance; of unity and infinity, which govern all the processes of discursive thought, and lead us to the recognition of Being in se;—such the ideas of right, of duty, of accountability, and of retribution, which regulate all the conceptions we form of our relations to all other moral beings, and constitute morality;—such the ideas of order, of proportion, and of harmony, which preside in the realms of art, and constitute the beau-ideal of esthetics;—such the ideas of God, the soul, and immortality, which rule in the domains of religion, and determine man a religious being. These constitute the identity of human nature under all circumstances; these characterize humanity in all conditions. Like permanent germs in vegetable life, always producing the same species of plants; or like fundamental types in the animal kingdom, securing the same homologous structures in all classes and orders; so these fundamental ideas in human nature constitute its sameness and unity, under all the varying conditions of life and society. The acorn must produce an oak, and nothing else. The grain of wheat must always produce its kind. The offspring of man must always bear his image, and always exhibit the same fundamental characteristics, not only in his corporeal nature, but also in his mental constitution.

But the germination of every seed depends on conditions ab extra, and all germs are modified, in their development, by geographical and climatal surroundings. The development of the acorn into a mature and perfect oak greatly depends on the exterior conditions of soil, and moisture, light, and heat. By these it may be rendered luxuriant in its growth, or it may be stunted in its growth. It may barely exist under one class of conditions, or it may perish under another. The Brassica oleracea, in its native habitat on the shore of the sea, is a bitter plant with wavy sea-green leaves; in the cultivated garden it is the cauliflower. The single rose, under altered conditions, becomes a double rose; and creepers rear their stalks and stand erect. Plants, which in a cold climate are annuals, become perennial when transported to the torrid zone.[6] And so human nature, fundamentally the same under all circumstances, may be greatly modified, both physically and mentally, by geographical, social, and political conditions. The corporeal nature of man—his complexion, his physiognomy, his stature; the intellectual nature of man—his religious, ethical, and esthetical ideas are all modified by his surroundings. These modifications, of which all men dwelling in the same geographical regions, and under the same social and political institutions, partake, constitute the individuality of nations. Thus, whilst there is a fundamental basis of unity in the corporeal and spiritual nature of man, the causes of diversity are to be sought in the circumstances in which tribes and nations are placed in the overruling providence of God.

[Footnote 6: See Carpenter's "Compar. Physiology," p. 625; Lyell's "Principles of Geology," pp. 588, 589.]

The power which man exerts over material conditions, by virtue of his intelligence and freedom, is also an important element which, in these studies, we should not depreciate or ignore. We must accept, with all its consequences, the dictum of universal consciousness that man is free. He is not absolutely subject to, and moulded by nature. He has the power to control the circumstances by which he is surrounded—to originate new social and physical conditions—to determine his own individual and responsible character—and he can wield a mighty influence over the character of his fellow-men. Individual men, as Lycurgus, Solon, Pericles, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon have left the impress of their own mind and character upon the political institutions of nations, and, in indirect manner, upon the character of succeeding generations of men. Homer, Plato, Cicero, Bacon, Kant, Locke, Newton, Shakspeare, Milton have left a deep and permanent impression upon the forms of thought and speech, the language and literature, the science and philosophy of nations. And inasmuch as a nation is the aggregate of individual beings endowed with spontaneity and freedom, we must grant that exterior conditions are not omnipotent in the formation of national character. Still the free causality of man is exercised within a narrow field. "There is a strictly necessitative limitation drawing an impassable boundary-line around the area of volitional freedom." The human will "however subjectively free" is often "objectively unfree;" thus a large "uniformity of volitions" is the natural consequence.[7] The child born in the heart of China, whilst he may, in his personal freedom, develop such traits of character as constitute his individuality, must necessarily be conformed in his language, habits, modes of thought, and religious sentiments to the spirit of his country and age. We no more expect a development of Christian thought and character in the centre of Africa, unvisited by Christian teaching, than we expect to find the climate and vegetation of New England. And we no more expect that a New England child shall be a Mohammedan, a Parsee, or a Buddhist, than that he shall have an Oriental physiognomy, and speak an Oriental language. Indeed it is impossible for a man to exist in human society without partaking in the spirit and manners of his country and his age. Thus all the individuals of a nation represent, in a greater or less degree, the spirit of the nation. They who do this most perfectly are the great men of that nation, because they are at once both the product and the impersonation of their country and their age. "We allow ourselves to think of Shakspeare, or of Raphael, or of Phidias as having accomplished their work by the power of their individual genius, but greatness like theirs is never more than the highest degree of perfection which prevails widely around it, and forms the environment in which it grows. No such single mind in single contact with the facts of nature could have created a Pallas, a Madonna, or a Lear; such vast conceptions are the growth of ages, the creation of a nation's spirit; and the artist and poet, filled full with the power of that spirit, but gave it form, and nothing but form. Nor would the form itself have been attained by any isolated talent. No genius can dispense with experience.... Noble conceptions already existing, and a noble school of execution which will launch mind and hand upon their true courses, are indispensable to transcendent excellence. Shakspeare's plays were as much the offspring of the long generations who had pioneered the road for him, as the discoveries of Newton were the offspring of those of Copernicus."[8] The principles here enounced apply with equal force to philosophers and men of science. The philosophy of Plato was but the ripened fruit of the pregnant thoughts and seminal utterances of his predecessors,—Socrates, Anaxagoras, and Pythagoras; whilst all of them do but represent the general tendency and spirit of their country and their times. The principles of Lord Bacon's "Instauratio Magna" were incipient in the "Opus Majus" of Roger Bacon, the Franciscan friar. The sixteenth century matured the thought of the thirteenth century. The inductive method in scientific inquiry was immanent in the British mind, and the latter Bacon only gave to it a permanent form. It is true that great men have occasionally appeared on the stage of history who, like the reformers Luther and Wesley, have seemed to be in conflict with the prevailing spirit of their age and nation, but these men were the creations of a providence—that providence which, from time to time, has supernaturally interposed in the moral history of our race by corrective and remedial measures. These men were inspired and led by a spirit which descended from on high. And yet even they had their precursors and harbingers. Wyckliffe and John Huss, and Jerome of Prague are but the representatives of numbers whose names do not grace the historic page, who pioneered the way for Luther and the Reformation. And no one can read the history of that great movement of the sixteenth century without being persuaded there were thousands of Luther's predecessors and contemporaries who, like Staupitz and Erasmus, lamented the corruptions of the Church of Rome, and only needed the heroic courage of Luther to make them reformers also. Whilst, therefore, we recognize a free causal power in man, by which he determines his individual and responsible character, we are compelled to recognize the general law, that national character is mainly the result of those geographical and ethological, and political and religious conditions in which the nations have been placed in the providence of God.

[Footnote 7: See Dr. Wheedon's "Freedom of the Will," pp. 164, 165.]

[Footnote 8: Froude, "Hist. of England," pp. 73, 74.]

Nations, like persons, have an Individuality. They present certain characteristic marks which constitute their proper identity, and separate them from the surrounding nations of the earth; such, for example, as complexion, physiognomy, language, pursuits, customs, institutions, sentiments, ideas. The individuality of a nation is determined mainly from without, and not, like human individuality, from within. The laws of a man's personal character have their home in the soul; and the peculiarities and habits, and that conduct of life, which constitute his responsible character are, in a great degree, the consequence of his own free choice. But dwelling, as he does, in society, where he is continually influenced by the example and opinions of his neighbors; subject, as he is, to the ceaseless influence of climate, scenery, and other terrestrial conditions, the characteristics which result from these relations, and which are common to all who dwell in the same regions, and under the same institutions, constitute a national individuality. Individual character is variable under the same general conditions, national character is uniform, because it results from causes which operate alike upon all individuals.

Now, that man's complexion, his pursuits, his habits, his ideas are greatly modified by his geographical surroundings, is the most obvious of truths. No one doubts that the complexion of man is greatly affected by climatic conditions. The appearance, habits, pursuits of the man who lives within the tropics must, necessarily, differ from those of the man who dwells within the temperate zone. No one expects that the dweller on the mountain will have the same characteristics as the man who resides on the plains; or that he whose home is in the interior of a continent will have the same habits as the man whose home is on the islands of the sea. The denizen of the primeval forest will most naturally become a huntsman. The dweller on the extended plain, or fertile mountain slope, will lead a pastoral, or an agricultural life. Those who live on the margin of great rivers, or the borders of the sea, will "do business on the great waters." Commerce and navigation will be their chief pursuits. The people whose home is on the margin of the lake, or bay, or inland sea, or the thickly studded archipelago, are mostly fishermen. And then it is a no less obvious truth that men's pursuits exert a moulding influence on their habits, their forms of speech, their sentiments, and their ideas. Let any one take pains to observe the peculiarities which characterize the huntsman, the shepherd, the agriculturist, or the fisherman, and he will be convinced that their occupations stamp the whole of their thoughts and feelings; color all their conceptions of things outside their own peculiar field; direct their simple philosophy of life; and give a tone, even, to their religious emotions.

The general aspects of nature, the climate and the scenery, exert an appreciable and an acknowledged influence on the mental characteristics of a people. The sprightliness and vivacity of the Frank, the impetuosity of the Arab, the immobility of the Russ, the rugged sternness of the Scot, the repose and dreaminess of the Hindoo are largely due to the country in which they dwell, the air they breathe, the food they eat, and the landscapes and skies they daily look upon. The nomadic Arab is not only indebted to the country in which he dwells for his habit of hunting for daily food, but for that love of a free, untrammelled life, and for those soaring dreams of fancy in which he so ardently delights. Not only is the Swiss determined by the peculiarities of his geographical position to lead a pastoral life, but the climate, and mountain scenery, and bracing atmosphere inspire him with the love of liberty. The reserved and meditative Hindoo, accustomed to the profuse luxuriance of nature, borrows the fantastic ideas of his mythology from plants, and flowers, and trees. The vastness and infinite diversity of nature, the colossal magnitude of all the forms of animal and vegetable life, the broad and massive features of the landscape, the aspects of beauty and of terror which surround him, and daily pour their silent influences upon his soul, give vividness, grotesqueness, even, to his imagination, and repress his active powers. His mental character bears a peculiar and obvious relation to his geographical surroundings.[9]

[Footnote 9: Ritter, "Geograph. Studies," p. 287.]

The influence of external nature on the imagination—the creative faculty in man—is obvious and remarkable. It reveals itself in all the productions of man—his architecture, his sculpture, his painting, and his poetry. Oriental architecture is characterized by the boldness and massiveness of all its parts, and the monotonous uniformity of all its features. This is but the expression, in a material form, of that shadowy feeling of infinity, and unity, and immobility which an unbroken continent of vast deserts and continuous lofty mountain chains would naturally inspire. The simple grandeur and perfect harmony and graceful blending of light and shade so peculiar to Grecian architecture are the product of a country whose area is diversified by the harmonious blending of land and water, mountain and plain, all bathed in purest light, and canopied with skies of serenest blue. And they are also the product of a country where man is released from the imprisonment within the magic circle of surrounding nature, and made conscious of his power and freedom. In Grecian architecture, therefore, there is less of the massiveness and immobility of nature, and more of the grace and dignity of man. It adds to the idea of permanence a vital expression. "The Doric column," says Vitruvius, "has the proportion, strength, and beauty of man." The Gothic architecture had its birthplace among a people who had lived and worshipped for ages amidst the dense forests of the north, and was no doubt an imitation of the interlacing of the overshadowing trees. The clustered shaft, and lancet arch, and flowing tracery, reflect the impression which the surrounding scenery had woven into the texture of the Teutonic mind.

The history of painting and of sculpture will also show that the varied "styles of art" are largely the result of the aspects which external nature presented to the eye of man. Oriental sculpture, like its architecture, was characterized by massiveness of form and tranquillity of expression; and its painting was, at best, but colored sculpture. The most striking objects are colossal figures, in which the human form is strangely combined with the brute, as in the winged bulls of Nineveh and the sphinxes of Egypt. Man is regarded simply as a part of nature, he does not rise above the plane of animal life. The soul has its immortality only in an eternal metempsychosis—a cycle of life which sweeps through all the brute creation. But in Grecian sculpture we have less of nature, more of man; less of massiveness, more of grace and elegance; less repose, and more of action. Now the connection between these styles of art, and the countries in which they were developed, is at once suggested to the thoughtful mind.

And then, finally, the literature of a people equally reveals the impress of surrounding cosmical conditions. "The poems of Ossian are but the echo of the wild, rough, cloudy highlands of his Scottish home." The forest songs of the wild Indian, the negro's plaintive melodies in the rice-fields of Carolina, the refrains in which the hunter of Kamtchatka relates his adventures with the polar bear, and in which the South Sea Islander celebrates his feats and dangers on the deep, all betoken the influence which the scenes of daily life exert upon the thoughts and feelings of our race. "To what an extent nature can express herself in, and modify the culture of the individual, as well as of an entire people, can be seen on Ionian soil in the verse of Homer, which, called forth under the most favorable sky, and on the most luxuriant shore of the Grecian archipelago, not only charms us to-day, but bearing this impress, has determined what shall be the classic form throughout all coming time."[10]

[Footnote 10: See Ritter, pp. 288, 289. Poetic art has unquestionably its geographical distributions like the fauna and flora of the globe. "If you love the images, not merely of a rich, but of a luxuriant fancy; if you are pleased with the most daring flights; if you would see a poetic creation full of wonders, then turn your eye to the poetry of the orient, where all forms appear in purple; where each flower glows like the morning ray resting on the earth. But if, on the contrary, you prefer depth of thought, and earnestness of reflection; if you delight in the colossal, yet pale forms, which float about in mist, and whisper of the mysteries of the spirit-land, and of the vanity of all things, except honor, then I must point you to the hoary north.... Or if you sympathize with that deep feeling, that longing of the soul, which does not linger on the earth, but evermore looks up to the azure tent of the stars, where happiness dwells, where the unquiet of the beating heart is still, then you must resort to the romantic poetry of the west."—"Study of Greek Literature," Bishop Esaias Tegner, p. 38.]

In seeking, therefore, to determine correctly what are the characteristics of a nation, we must endeavor to trace how far the physical constitution of that people, their temperament, their habits, their sentiments, and their ideas have been formed, or modified, under the surrounding geographical conditions, which, as we have seen, greatly determine a nation's individuality. Guided by these lights, let us approach the study of "the men of Athens."

Attica, of which Athens was the capital, and whose entire populations were called "Athenians," was the most important of all the Hellenic states. It is a triangular peninsula, the base of which is defined by the high mountain ranges of Cithaeron and Parnes, whilst the two other sides are washed by the sea, having their vertex at the promontory of Sunium, or Cape Colonna. The prolongation of the south-western line towards the north until it reaches the base at the foot of Mount Cithaeron, served as the line of demarkation between the Athenian territory and the State of Megara. Thus Attica may be generally described as bounded on the north-east by the channel of the Negropont; on the south-west by the gulf of AEgina and part of Megara; and on the north-west by the territory which formed the ancient Boeotia, including within its limits an area of about 750 miles.[11]

Hills of inferior elevation connect the mountain ranges of Cithaeron and Parnes with the mountainous surface of the south-east of the peninsula. These hills, commencing with the promontory of Sunium itself, which forms the vertex of the triangle, rise gradually on the south-east to the round summit of Hymettus, and onward to the higher peak of Pentelicus, near Marathon, on the east. The rest of Attica is all a plain, one reach of which comes down to the sea on the south, at the very base of Hymettus. Here, about five miles from the shore, an abrupt rock rises from the plain, about 200 feet high, bordered on the south by lower eminences. That rock is the Acropolis. Those lower eminences are the Areopagus, the Pmyx, and the Museum. In the valley formed by these four hills we have the Agora, and the varied undulations of these hills determine the features of the city of Athens.[12]

[Footnote 11: See art. "Attica," Encyc. Brit.]

[Footnote 12: See Conybeare and Howson's "Life and Epistles of St. Paul," vol. i. p. 346.]

Nearly all writers on the topography of Athens derive their materials from Pausanias, who visited the city in the early part of the second century, and whose "Itinerary of Greece" is still extant.[13] He entered the city by the Peiraic gate, the same gate at which Paul entered some sixty years before. We shall place ourselves under his guidance, and, so far as we are able, follow the same course, supplying some omissions, as we go along, from other sources. On entering the city, the first building which arrested the attention of Pausanias was the Pompeium, so called because it was the depository of the sacred vessels, and also of the garments used in the annual procession in honor of Athena (Minerva), the tutelary deity of Athens, from whom the city derived its name. Near this edifice stood a temple of Demeter (Ceres), containing statues of that goddess, of her daughter Persephone, and of Iacchus, all executed by Praxiteles; and beyond were several porticoes leading from the city gates to the outer Ceramicus, while the intervening space was occupied by various temples, the Gymnasium of Hermes, and the house of Polytion, the most magnificent private residence in Athens.

[Footnote 13: The account here given of the topography of Athens is derived mainly from the article on "Athens" in the Encyc. Brit.]

There were two places in Athens known by the name of Ceramicus, one without the walls, forming part of the suburbs; and the other within the walls, embracing a very important section of the city. The outer Ceramicus was covered with the sepulchres of the Athenians who had been slain in battle, and buried at the public expense; it communicated with the inner Ceramicus by the gate Dipylum. The Ceramicus within the city probably included the Agora, the Stoa Basileios, and the Stoa Poecile, besides various other temples and public buildings.

Having fairly passed the city gates, a long street is before us with a colonnade or cloister on either hand; and at the end of this street, by turning to the left, we might go through the whole Ceramicus to the open country, and the groves of the Academy. But we turn to the right, and enter the Agora,—the market-place, as it is called in the English translation of the sacred narrative.

We are not, however, to conceive of the market-place at Athens as bearing any resemblance to the bare, undecorated spaces appropriated to business in our modern towns; but rather as a magnificent public square, closed in by grand historic buildings, of the highest style of architecture; planted with palm-trees in graceful distribution, and adorned with statues of the great men of Athens and the deified heroes of her mythology, from the hands of the immortal masters of the plastic art. This "market-place" was the great centre of the public life of the Athenians,—the meeting-place of poets, orators, statesmen, warriors, and philosophers,—a grand resort for leisure, for conversation, for business, and for news. Standing in the Agora, and looking towards the south, is the Museum, so called because it was believed that Musaeus, the father of poetry, was buried there. Towards the north-west is the Pnyx, a sloping hill, partially levelled into an open area for political assemblies. To the north is seen the craggy eminence of the Areopagus, and on the north-east is the Acropolis towering high above the scene, "the crown and glory of the whole."

The most important buildings of the Agora are the Porticoes or cloisters, the most remarkable of which are the Stoa Basileios, or Portico of the king; the Stoa Eleutherius, or Portico of the Jupiter of Freedom; and the Stoa Poecile, or Painted Porch. These Porticoes were covered walks, the roof being supported by columns, at least on one side, and by solid masonry on the other. Such shaded walks are almost indispensable in the south of Europe, where the people live much in the open air, and they afford a grateful protection from the heat of the sun, as well as a shelter from the rain. Seats were also provided where the loungers might rest, and the philosophers and rhetoricians sit down for intellectual conversation. The "Stoic" school of philosophy derived its name from the circumstance that its founder, Zeno, used to meet and converse with his disciples under one of these porticoes,—the Stoa Poecile. These porticoes were not only built in the most magnificent style of architecture, but adorned with paintings and statuary by the best masters. On the roof of the Stoa Basileios were statues of Theseus and the Day. In front of the Stoa Eleutherius was placed the divinity to whom it was dedicated; and within were allegorical paintings, celebrating the rise of "the fierce democracy." The Stoa Poecile derived its name from the celebrated paintings which adorned its walls, and which were almost exclusively devoted to the representation of national subjects, as the contest of Theseus with the Amazons, the more glorious struggle at Marathon, and the other achievements of the Athenians; here also were suspended the shields of the Scionaeans of Thrace, together with those of the Lacedemonians, taken at the island of Sphacteria.

It is beyond our purpose to describe all the public edifices,—the temples, gymnasia, and theatres which crowd the Ceramic area, and that portion of the city lying to the west and south of the Acropolis. Our object is, if possible, to convey to the reader some conception of the ancient splendor and magnificence of Athens; to revive the scenes amidst which the Athenians daily moved, and which may be presumed to have exerted a powerful influence upon the manners, the taste, the habits of thought, and the entire character of the Athenian people. To secure this object we need only direct attention to the Acropolis, which was crowded with the monuments of Athenian glory, and exhibited an amazing concentration of all that was most perfect in art, unsurpassed in excellence, and unrivalled in richness and splendor. It was "the peerless gem of Greece, the glory and pride of art, the wonder and envy of the world."

The western side of the Acropolis, which furnished the only access to the summit of the hill, was about 168 feet in breadth; an opening so narrow that, to the artists of Pericles, it appeared practicable to fill up the space with a single building, which, in serving the purpose of a gateway to the Acropolis, should also contribute to adorn, as well as fortify the citadel. This work, the greatest achievement of civil architecture in Athens, which rivalled the Parthenon in felicity of execution, and surpassed it in boldness and originality of design, consisted of a grand central colonnade closed by projecting wings. This incomparable edifice, built of Pentelic marble, received the name of Propylaea from its forming the vestibule to the five-fold gates by which the citadel was entered. In front of the right wing there stood a small Ionic temple of pure white marble, dedicated to Nike Apteros (Wingless Victory).

A gigantic flight of steps conducted from the five-fold gates to the platform of the Acropolis, which was, in fact, one vast composition of architecture and sculpture dedicated to the national glory. Here stood the Parthenon, or temple of the Virgin Goddess, the glorious temple which rose in the proudest period of Athenian history to the honor of Minerva, and which ages have only partially effaced. This magnificent temple, "by its united excellences of materials, design, and decoration, internal as well as external, has been universally considered the most perfect which human genius ever planned and executed. Its dimensions were sufficiently large to produce an impression of grandeur and sublimity, which was not disturbed by any obtrusive subdivision of parts; and, whether viewed at a small or greater distance, there was nothing to divert the mind of the spectator from contemplating the unity as well as majesty of mass and outline; circumstances which form the first and most remarkable characteristic of every Greek temple erected during the purer ages of Grecian taste and genius."[14]

[Footnote 14: Leake's "Topography of Athens," p. 209 et seq.]

It would be impossible to convey any just and adequate conception of the artistic decorations of this wonderful edifice. The two pediments of the temple were decorated with magnificent compositions of statuary, each consisting of about twenty entire figures of colossal size; the one on the western pediment representing the birth of Minerva, and the other, on the eastern pediment, the contest between that goddess and Neptune for the possession of Attica. Under the outer cornice were ninety-two groups, raised in high relief from tablets about four feet square, representing the victories achieved by her companions. Round the inner frieze was presented the procession of the Parthenon on the grand quinquennial festival of the Panathenaea. The procession is represented as advancing in two parallel columns from west to east; one proceeding along the northern, the other along the southern side of the temple; part facing inward after turning the angle of the eastern front, and part meeting towards the centre of that front.

The statue of the virgin goddess, the work of Phidias, stood in the eastern chamber of the cella, and was composed of ivory and gold. It had but one rival in the world, the Jupiter Olympus of the same famous artist. On the summit or apex of the helmet was placed a sphinx, with griffins on either side. The figure of the goddess was represented in an erect martial attitude, and clothed in a robe reaching to the feet. On the breast was a head of Medusa, wrought in ivory, and a figure of Victory about four cubits high. The goddess held a spear in her hand, and an aegis lay at her feet, while on her right, and near the spear, was a figure of a serpent, believed to represent that of Erichthonius.

According to Pliny, the entire height of the statue was twenty-six cubits (about forty feet), and the artist, Phidias, had ingeniously contrived that the gold with which the statue was encrusted might be removed at pleasure. The battle of the Centaurs and Lapithae was carved upon the sandals; the battle of the Amazons was represented on the aegis which lay at her feet, and on the pedestal was sculptured the birth of Pandora.

The temple of Erechtheus, the most ancient structure in Athens, stood on the northern side of the Acropolis. The statue of Zeus Polieus stood between the Propylaea and the Parthenon. The brazen colossus of Minerva, cast from the spoils of Marathon, appears to have occupied the space between the Erechtheium and the Propylaea, near the Pelasgic or northern wall. This statue of the tutelary divinity of Athens and Attica rose in gigantic proportions above all the buildings of the Acropolis, the flashing of whose helmet plumes met the sailor's eye as he approached from the Sunian promontory. And the remaining space of the wide area was literally crowded with statuary, amongst which were Theseus contending with the Minotaur; Hercules strangling the serpents; the Earth imploring showers from Jupiter; and Minerva causing the olive to sprout, while Neptune raises the waves. After these works of art, it is needless to speak of others. It may be sufficient to state that Pausanias mentions by name towards three hundred remarkable statues which adorned this part of the city even after it had been robbed and despoiled by its several conquerors.

The Areopagus, or hill of Ares (Mars), so called, it is said, in consequence of that god having been the first person tried there for the crime of murder, was, beyond all doubt, the rocky height which is separated from the western end of the Acropolis by a hollow, forming a communication between the northern and southern divisions of the city. The court of the Areopagus was simply an open space on the highest summit of the hill, the judges sitting in the open air, on rude seats of stone, hewn out of the solid rock. Near to the spot on which the court was held was the sanctuary of the Furies, the avenging deities of Grecian mythology, whose presence gave additional solemnity to the scene. The place and the court were regarded by the people with superstitious reverence.

This completes, our survey of the principal buildings, monuments, and localities within the city of Athens. We do not imagine we have succeeded in conveying any adequate idea of the ancient splendor and glory of this city, which was not only the capital of Attica, but also

"The eye of Greece, mother of art and eloquence."

We trust, however, that we have contributed somewhat towards awakening in the reader's mind a deeper interest in these classic scenes, and enabling him to appreciate, more vividly, the allusions we may hereafter make to them.

The mere dry recital of geographical details, and topographical notices is, however, of little interest in itself, and by itself. A tract of country derives its chief interest from its historic associations—its immediate relations to man. The events which have transpired therein, the noble or ignoble deeds, the grand achievements, or the great disasters of which it has been the theatre, these constitute the living heart of its geography. Palestine has been rendered forever memorable, not by any remarkable peculiarities in its climate or scenery, but by the fact that it was the home of God's ancient people—the Hebrews and still more, because the ardent imagination of the modern traveller still sees upon its mountains and plains the lingering footprints of the Son of God. And so Attica will always be regarded as a classic land, because it was the theatre of the most illustrious period of ancient history—the period of youthful vigor in the life of humanity, when viewed as a grand organic whole.

Here on a narrow spot of less superficies than the little State of Rhode Island there flourished a republic which, in the grandeur of her military and naval achievements, at Marathon, Thermopylae, Plataea, and Salamis, in the sublime creations of her painters, sculptors, and architects, and the unrivalled productions of her poets, orators, and philosophers, has left a lingering glory on the historic page, which twenty centuries have not been able to eclipse or dim. The names of Solon and Pericles; of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle; of Isocrates and Demosthenes; of Myron, Phidias, and Praxiteles; of Herodotus, Xenophon, and Thucydides; of Sophocles and Euripides, have shed an undying lustre on Athens and Attica.

How much of this universal renown, this imperishable glory attained by the Athenian people, is to be ascribed to their geographical position and surroundings, and to the elastic, bracing air, the enchanting scenery, the glorious skies, which poured their daily inspiration on the Athenian mind, is a problem we may scarcely hope to solve.

Of this, at least, we may be sure, that all these geographical and cosmical conditions were ordained by God, and ordained, also, for some noble and worthy end. That God, "the Father of all the families of the earth," cared for the Athenian people as much as for Jewish and Christian nations, we can not doubt. That they were the subjects of a Providence, and that, in God's great plan of human history, they had an important part to fulfill, we must believe. That God "determined the time of each nation's existence, and fixed the geographical bounds of its habitation," is affirmed by Paul. And that the specific end for which the nation had its existence was fulfilled, we have the fullest confidence. So far, therefore, as we can trace the relation that subsists between the geographical position and surroundings of that nation, and its national characteristics and actual history, so far are we able to solve the problem of its destiny; and by so much do we enlarge our comprehension of the plan of God in the history of our race.

The geographical position of Greece was favorable to the freest commercial and maritime intercourse with the great historic nations—those nations most advanced in science, literature, and art. Bounded on the west by the Adriatic and Ionian seas, by the Mediterranean on the south, and on the east by the AEgean Sea, her populations enjoyed a free intercommunication with the Egyptians, Hebrews, Persians, Phoenicians, Romans, and Carthaginians. This peculiarity in the geographical position of the Grecian peninsula could not fail to awaken in its people a taste for navigation, and lead them to active commercial intercourse with foreign nations.[15] The boundless oceans on the south and east, the almost impassable mountains on the west and north of Asia, presented insurmountable obstacles to commercial intercourse. But the extended border-lands and narrow inland seas of Southern Europe allured man, in presence of their opposite shores, to the perpetual exchange of his productions. An arm of the sea is not a barrier, but rather a tie between the nations. Appearing to separate, it in reality draws them together without confounding them.[16] On such a theatre we may expect that commerce will be developed on an extensive scale.[17] And, along with commerce, there will be increased activity in all departments of productive industry, and an enlarged diffusion of knowledge. "Commerce," says Ritter, "is the great mover and combiner of the world's activities." And it also furnishes the channels through which flow the world's ideas. Commerce, both in a material and moral point of view, is the life of nations. Along with the ivory and ebony, the fabrics and purple dyes, the wines and spices of the Syrian merchant, there flowed into Greece the science of numbers and of navigation, and the art of alphabetical writing from Phoenicia. Along with the fine wheat, and embroidered linen, and riches of the farther Indias which came from Egypt, there came, also, into Greece some knowledge of the sciences of astronomy and geometry, of architecture and mechanics, of medicine and chemistry; together with the mystic wisdom of the distant Orient. The scattered rays of light which gleamed in the eastern skies were thus converged in Greece, as on a focal point, to be rendered more brilliant by contact with the powerful Grecian intellect, and then diffused throughout the western world. Thus intercourse with surrounding nations, by commerce and travel, contact therewith by immigrations and colonizations, even collisions and invasions also, became, in the hands of a presiding Providence, the means of diffusing knowledge, of quickening and enlarging the active powers of man, and thus, ultimately, of a higher civilization.

[Footnote 15: Humboldt's "Cosmos," vol. ii. p. 143.]

[Footnote 16: Cousin, vol. i. pp. 169, 170.]

[Footnote 17: The advantageous situation of Britain for commerce, and the nature of the climate have powerfully contributed to the perfection of industry among her population. Had she occupied a central, internal station, like that of Switzerland, the facilities of her people for dealing with others being so much the less, their progress would have been comparatively slow, and, instead of being highly improved, their manufactures would have been still in infancy. But being surrounded on all sides by the sea, that "great highway of nations," they have been able to maintain an intercourse with the most remote as well as the nearest countries, to supply them on the easiest terms with their manufactures, and to profit by the peculiar products and capacities of production possessed by other nations. To the geographical position and climate of Great Britain, her people are mainly indebted for their position as the first commercial nation on earth.—See art. "Manufactrues," p. 277, Encyc. Brit.]

Then further, the peculiar configuration of Greece, the wonderful complexity of its coast-line, its peninsular forms, the number of its islands, and the singular distribution of its mountains, all seem to mark it as the theatre of activity, of movement, of individuality, and of freedom. An extensive continent, unbroken by lakes and inland seas, as Asia, where vast deserts and high mountain chains separate the populations, is the seat of immobility.[18] Commerce is limited to the bare necessities of life, and there are no inducements to movement, to travel, and to enterprise. There are no conditions prompting man to attempt the conquest of nature. Society is therefore stationary as in China and India. Enfolded and imprisoned within the overpowering vastness and illimitable sweep of nature, man is almost unconscious of his freedom and his personality. He surrenders himself to the disposal of a mysterious "fate" and yields readily to the despotic sway of superhuman powers. The State is consequently the reign of a single despotic will. The laws of the Medes and Persians are unalterable. But in Greece we have extended border-lands on the coast of navigable seas; peninsulas elaborately articulated, and easy of access. We have mountains sufficiently elevated to shade the land and diversify the scenery, and yet of such a form as not to impede communication. They are usually placed neither in parallel chains nor in massive groups, but are so disposed as to inclose extensive tracts of land admirably adapted to become the seats of small and independent communities, separated by natural boundaries, sometimes impossible to overleap. The face of the interior country,—its forms of relief, seemed as though Providence designed, from the beginning, to keep its populations socially and politically disunited. These difficulties of internal transit by land were, however, counteracted by the large proportion of coast, and the accessibility of the country by sea. The promontories and indentations in the line of the Grecian coast are hardly less remarkable than the peculiar elevations and depressions of the surface. "The shape of Peloponnesus, with its three southern gulfs, the Argolic, Laconian, and Messenian, was compared by the ancient geographers to the leaf of a plane-tree: the Pagasaean gulf on the eastern side of Greece, and the Ambrakian gulf on the western, with their narrow entrances and considerable area, are equivalent to internal lakes: Xenophon boasts of the double sea which embraces so large a portion of Attica; Ephorus, of the triple sea by which Boeotia was accessible from west, north, and south—the Euboean strait, opening a long line of country on both sides to coasting navigation. But the most important of all Grecian gulfs are the Corinthian and Saronic, washing the northern and north-eastern shores of Peloponnesus, and separated by the narrow barrier of the Isthmus of Corinth. The former, especially, lays open AEtolia, Phokis, and Boeotia, as the whole northern coast of Peloponnesus, to water approach.... It will thus appear that there was no part of Greece proper which could be considered as out of the reach of the sea, whilst most parts of it were easy of access. The sea was thus the sole channel for transmitting improvements and ideas as well as for maintaining sympathies" between the Hellenic tribes.[19] The sea is not only the grand highway of commercial intercourse, but the empire of movement, of progress, and of freedom. Here man is set free from the bondage imposed by the overpowering magnitude and vastness of continental and oceanic forms. The boisterous and, apparently, lawless winds are made to obey his will. He mounts the sea as on a fiery steed and "lays his hand upon her mane." And whilst thus he succeeds, in any measure, to triumph over nature, he wakes to conscious power and freedom. It is in this region of contact and commingling of sea and land where man attains the highest superiority. Refreshing our historic recollections, and casting our eyes upon the map of the world, we can not fail to see that all the most highly civilized nations have lived, or still live, on the margin of the sea.

[Footnote 18: Cousin, vol. i. pp. 151, 170.]

[Footnote 19: Grote's "Hist, of Greece," vol. ii. pp. 221, 225.]

The peculiar configuration of the territory of Greece, its forms of relief, "so like, in many respects, to Switzerland," could not fail to exert a powerful influence on the character and destiny of its people. Its inclosing mountains materially increased their defensive power, and, at the same time, inspired them with the love of liberty. Those mountains, as we have seen, so unique in their distribution, were natural barriers against the invasion of foreign nations, and they rendered each separate community secure against the encroachments of the rest. The pass of Thermopylae, between Thessaly and Phocis, that of Cithaeron, between Boeotia and Attica; and the mountain ranges of Oneion and Geraneia, along the Isthmus of Corinth, were positions which could be defended against any force of invaders. This signal peculiarity in the forms of relief protected each section of the Greeks from being conquered, and at the same time maintained their separate autonomy. The separate states of Greece lived, as it were, in the presence of each other, and at the same time resisted all influences and all efforts towards a coalescence with each other, until the time of Alexander. Their country, a word of indefinite meaning to the Asiatic, conveyed to them as definite an idea as that of their own homes. Its whole landscape, with all its historic associations, its glorious monuments of heroic deeds, were perpetually present to their eyes. Thus their patriotism, concentrated within a narrow sphere, and kept alive by the sense of their individual importance, their democratic spirit, and their struggles with surrounding communities to maintain their independence, became a strong and ruling passion. Their geographical surroundings had, therefore, a powerful influence upon their political institutions. Conquest, which forces nations of different habits, characters, and languages into unity, is at last the parent of degrading servitude. These nations are only held together, as in the Roman empire, by the iron hand of military power. The despot, surrounded by a foreign soldiery, appears in the conquered provinces, simply to enforce tribute, and compel obedience to his arbitrary will. But the small Greek communities, protected by the barriers of their seas and gulfs and mountains, escaped, for centuries, this evil destiny. The people, united by identity of language and manners and religion, by common interest and facile intercommunication, could readily combine to resist the invasions of foreign nations, as well as the encroachments of their own rulers. And they were able to easily model their own government according to their own necessities and circumstances and common interests, and to make the end for which it existed the sole measure of the powers it was permitted to wield.[20]

[Footnote 20: Encyc. Brit, art. "Greece."]

The soil of Attica was not the most favorable to agricultural pursuits. In many places it was stony and uneven, and a considerable proportion was bare rock, on which nothing could be grown. Not half the surface was capable of cultivation. In this respect it may be fitly compared to some of the New England States. The light, dry soil produced excellent barley, but not enough of wheat for their own consumption. Demosthenes informs us that Athens brought every year, from Byzantium, four hundred thousand medimni of wheat. The alluvial plains, under industrious cultivation, would furnish a frugal subsistence for a large population, and the mildness of the climate allowed all the more valuable products to ripen early, and go out of season last. Such conditions, of course, would furnish motives for skill and industry, and demand of the people frugal and temperate habits. The luxuriance of a tropical climate tends to improvidence and indolence. Where nature pours her fullness into the lap of ease, forethought and providence are little needed. There is none of that struggle for existence which awakens sagacity, and calls into exercise the active powers of man. But in a country where nature only yields her fruits as the reward of toil, and yet enough to the intelligent culture of the soil, there habits of patient industry must be formed. The alternations of summer and winter excite to forethought and providence, and the comparative poverty of the soil will prompt to frugality. Man naturally aspires to improve his condition by all the means within his power. He becomes a careful observer of nature, he treasures up the results of observation, he compares one fact with another and notes their relations, and he makes new experiments to test his conclusions, and thus he awakes to the vigorous exercise of all his powers. These physical conditions must develop a hardy, vigorous, prudent, and temperate race; and such, unquestionably, were the Greeks. "Theophrastus, and other authors, amply attest the observant and industrious agriculture prevalent in Greece. The culture of the vine and olive appears to have been particularly elaborate and the many different accidents of soil, level, and exposure which were to be found, afforded to observant planters materials for study and comparison."[21] The Greeks were frugal in their habits and simple in their modes of life. The barley loaf seems to have been more generally eaten than the wheaten loaf; this, with salt fish and vegetables, was the common food of the population. Economy in domestic life was universal. In their manners, their dress, their private dwellings, they were little disposed to ostentation or display.

[Footnote 21: Grote, "Hist. of Greece," vol. ii. p. 230.]

The climate of Attica is what, in physical geography, would be called maritime. "Here are allied the continental vigor and oceanic softness, in a fortunate union, mutually tempering each other."[22] The climate of the whole peninsula of Greece seems to be distinguished from that of Spain and Italy, by having more of the character of an inland region. The diversity of local temperature is greater; the extremes of summer and winter more severe. In Arcadia the snow has been found eighteen inches thick in January, with the thermometer at 16 deg. Fahrenheit, and it sometimes lies on the ground for six weeks. The summits of the central chains of Pindus and most of the Albanian mountains are covered with snow from the beginning of November to the end of March. In Attica, which, being freely exposed to the sea, has in some measure an insular climate, the winter sets in about the beginning of January. About the middle of that month the snow begins to fall, but seldom remains upon the plain for more than a few days, though it lies on the summit of the mountain for a month.[23] And then, whilst Boeotia, which joins to Attica, is higher and colder, and often covered with dense fogs, Attica is remarkable for the wonderful transparency, dryness, and elasticity of its atmosphere. All these climatal conditions exerted, no doubt, a modifying influence upon the character of the inhabitants.[24] In a tropical climate man is enfeebled by excessive heat. His natural tendency is to inaction and repose. His life is passed in a "strenuous idleness." His intellectual, his reflective faculties are overmastered by his physical instincts. Passion, sentiment, imagination prevail over the sober exercises of his reasoning powers. Poetry universally predominates over philosophy. The whole character of Oriental language, religion, literature is intensely imaginative. In the frozen regions of the frigid zone, where a perpetual winter reigns, and where lichens and mosses are the only forms of vegetable life, man is condemned to the life of a huntsman, and depends mainly for his subsistence on the precarious chances of the chase. He is consequently nomadic in his habits, and barbarous withal. His whole life is spent in the bare process of procuring a living. He consumes a large amount of oleaginous food, and breathes a damp heavy atmosphere, and is, consequently, of a dull phlegmatic temperament. Notwithstanding his uncertain supplies of food, he is recklessly improvident, and indifferent to all the lessons of experience. Intellectual pursuits are all precluded. There is no motive, no opportunity, and indeed no disposition for mental culture. But in a temperate climate man is stimulated to high mental activity. The alternations of heat and cold, of summer and of winter, an elastic, fresh, and bracing atmosphere, a diversity in the aspects of nature, these develop a vivacity of temperament, a quickness of sensibility as well as apprehension, and a versatility of feeling as well as genius. History marks out the temperate zone as the seat of the refined and cultivated nations.

[Footnote 22: Guyot, "Earth and Man," p. 181.]

[Footnote 23: Encyc. Brit., art. "Greece."]

[Footnote 24: The influence of climatic conditions did not escape the attention of the Greeks. Herodotus, Hippocrates, and Aristotle speak of the climate of Asia as more enervating than that of Greece. They regarded the changeful character and diversity of local temperature in Greece as highly stimulating to the energies of the populations. The marked contrast between the Athenians and the Boeotians was supposed to be represented in the light and heavy atmosphere which they respectively breathed.—Grote, vol. ii. pp. 232-3.]

The natural scenery of Greece was of unrivalled grandeur—surpassing Italy, perhaps every country in the world. It combined in the highest degree every feature essential to the highest beauty of a landscape except, perhaps, large rivers. But this was more than compensated for by the proximity of the sea, which, by its numerous arms, seemed to embrace the land on nearly every side. Its mountains, encircled with zones of wood, and capped with snow, though much lower than the Alps, are as imposing by the suddenness of their elevation—"pillars of heaven, the fosterers of enduring snows."[25] Rich sheltered plains lie at their feet, covered with an unequally woven mantle of trees, and shrubs, and flowers,—"the verdant gloom of the thickly-mantling ivy, the narcissus steeped in heavenly dew, the golden-beaming crocus, the hardy and ever-fresh-sprouting olive-tree,"[26] and the luxuriant palm, which nourishes amid its branches the grape swelling with juice. But it is the combination of these features, in the most diversified manner, with beautiful inland bays and seas, broken by headlands, inclosed by mountains, and studded with islands of every form and magnitude, which gives to the scenery of Greece its proud pre-eminence. "Greek scenery," says Humboldt, "presents the peculiar charm of an intimate blending of sea and land, of shores adorned with vegetation, or picturesquely girt with rocks gleaming in the light of aerial tints, and an ocean beautiful in the play of the ever-changing brightness of its deep-toned wave."[27] And over all the serene, deep azure skies, occasionally veiled by light fleecy clouds, with vapory purple mists resting on the distant mountain tops. This glorious scenery of Greece is evermore the admiration of the modern traveller. "In wandering about Athens on a sunny day in March, when the asphodels are blooming on Colones, when the immortal mountains are folded in a transparent haze, and the AEgean slumbers afar among his isles," he is reminded of the lines of Byron penned amid these scenes—

[Footnote 25: Pindar.]

[Footnote 26: Sophocles, "oedipus at Colonna."]

[Footnote 27: "Cosmos," vol. ii. p. 25.]

"Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olives ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his honeyed wealth Hymettus yields; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, The freeborn wanderer of the mountain air; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Still in his beams Mendeli's marbles glare; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but nature still is fair."[28]

[Footnote 28: Canto ii., v. lxxxvi., "Childe Harold."]

The effect of this scenery upon the character, the imagination, the taste of the Athenians must have been immense. Under the influence of such sublime objects, the human mind becomes gifted as with inspiration, and is by nature filled with poetic images. "Greece became the birth-place of taste, of art, and eloquence, the chosen sanctuary of the muses, the prototype of all that is graceful, and dignified, and grand in sentiment and action."

And now, if we have succeeded in clearly presenting and properly grouping the facts, and in estimating the influence of geographical position and surroundings on national character, we have secured the natural criteria by which we examine, and even correct the portraiture of the Athenian character usually presented by the historian.

The character of the Athenians has been sketched by Plutarch[29] with considerable minuteness, and his representations have been permitted, until of late years, to pass unchallenged. He has described them as at once passionate and placable, easily moved to anger, and as easily appeased; fond of pleasantry and repartee, and heartily enjoying a laugh; pleased to hear themselves praised, and yet not annoyed by criticism and censure; naturally generous towards those who were poor and in humble circumstances, and humane even towards their enemies; jealous of their liberties, and keeping even their rulers in awe. In regard to their intellectual traits, he affirms their minds were not formed for laborious research, and though they seized a subject as it were by intuition, yet wanted patience and perseverance for a thorough examination of all its bearings. "An observation," says the writer of the article on "Attica," in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, "more superficial in itself, and arguing a greater ignorance of the Athenians, can not easily be imagined." Plutarch lived more than three hundred years after the palmy days of the Athenian Demos had passed away. He was a Boeotian by birth, not an Attic, and more of a Roman than a Greek in all his sympathies. We are tempted to regard him as writing under the influence of prejudice, if not of envy. He was scarcely reliable as a biographer, and as materials for history his "Parallel Lives" have been pronounced "not altogether trustworthy."[30]

[Footnote 29: "De Praecept."]

[Footnote 30: Encyc. of Biography, art. "Plutarch."]

That the Athenians were remarkable for the ardor and vivacity of their temperament,—that they were liable to sudden gusts of passion,—that they were inconstant in their affections, intolerant of dictation, impatient of control, and hasty to resent every assumption of superiority,—that they were pleased with flattery, and too ready to lend a willing ear to the adulation of the demagogue,—and that they were impetuous and brave, yet liable to be excessively elated by success, and depressed by misfortune, we may readily believe, because such traits of character are in perfect harmony with all the facts and conclusions already presented. Such characteristics were the natural product of the warm and genial sunlight, the elastic bracing air, the ethereal skies, the glorious mountain scenery, and the elaborate blending of sea and land, so peculiar to Greece and the whole of Southern Europe.[31] These characteristics were shared in a greater or less degree by all the nations of Southern Europe in ancient times, and they are still distinctive traits in the Frenchman, the Italian, and the modern Greek.[32]

[Footnote 31: "As the skies of Hellas surpassed nearly all other climates in brightness and elasticity, so, also, had nature dealt most lovingly with the inhabitants of this land. Throughout the whole being of the Greek there reigned supreme a quick susceptibility, out of which sprang a gladsome serenity of temper, and a keen enjoyment of life; acute sense, and nimbleness of apprehension; a guileless and child-like feeling, full of trust and faith, combined with prudence and forecast. These peculiarities lay so deeply imbedded in the inmost nature of the Greeks that no revolutions of time and circumstances have yet been able to destroy them; nay, it may be asserted that even now, after centuries of degradation, they have not been wholly extinguished in the inhabitants of ancient Hellas."—"Education of the Moral Sentiment amongst the Ancient Greeks." By FREDERICK JACOBS, p. 320.]

[Footnote 32: These are described by the modern historian and traveller as lively, versatile, and witty. "The love of liberty and independence does not seem to be rooted out of the national character by centuries of subjugation. They love to command; but though they are loyal to a good government, they are apt readily to rise when their rights and liberties are infringed. As there is little love of obedience among them, so neither is there any toleration of aristocratic pretensions."—Encyc. Brit., art. "Greece."]

The consciousness of power, the feeling of independence, the ardent love of freedom induced in the Athenian mind by the objective freedom of movement which his geographical position afforded, and that subordination and subserviency of physical nature to man so peculiar to Greece, determined the democratic character of all their political institutions. And these institutions reacted upon the character of the people and intensified their love of liberty. This passionate love of personal freedom, amounting almost to disease, excited them to a constant and almost distressing vigilance. And it is not to be wondered at if it displayed itself in an extreme jealousy of their rulers, an incessant supervision and criticism of all their proceedings, and an intense and passionate hatred of tyrants and of tyranny. The popular legislator or the successful soldier might dare to encroach upon their liberties in the moment when the nation was intoxicated and dazzled with their genius, their prowess, and success; but a sudden revulsion of popular feeling, and an explosion of popular indignation, would overturn the one, and ostracism expel the other. Thus while inconstancy, and turbulence, and faction seem to have been inseparable from the democratic spirit, the Athenians were certainly constant in their love of liberty, faithful in their affection for their country,[33] and invariable in their sympathy and admiration for that genius which shed glory upon their native land. And then they were ever ready to repair the errors, and make amends for the injustice committed under the influence of passionate excitement, or the headlong impetuosity of their too ardent temperament. The history of Greece supplies numerous illustrations of this spirit. The sentence of death which had been hastily passed on the inhabitants of Mytilene was, on sober reflection, revoked the following day. The immediate repentance and general sorrow which followed the condemnation of the ten generals, as also of Socrates, are notable instances.

[Footnote 33: When immense bribes were offered by the king of Persia to induce the Athenians to detach themselves from the alliance with the rest of the Hellenic States, she answered by the mouth of Aristides "that it was impossible for all the gold in the world to tempt the Republic of Athens, or prevail with it to sell its liberty and that of Greece!"]

In their private life the Athenians were courteous, generous, and humane. Whilst bold and free in the expression of their opinions, they paid the greatest attention to rules of politeness, and were nicely delicate on points of decorum. They had a natural sense of what was becoming and appropriate, and an innate aversion to all extravagance. A graceful demeanor and a quiet dignity were distinguishing traits of Athenian character. They were temperate and frugal[34] in their habits, and little addicted to ostentation and display. Even after their victories had brought them into contact with Oriental luxury and extravagance, and their wealth enabled them to rival, in costliness and splendor, the nations they had conquered, they still maintained a republican simplicity. The private dwellings of the principal citizens were small, and usually built of clay; their interior embellishments also were insignificant—the house of Polytion alone formed an exception.[35] All their sumptuousness and magnificence were reserved for and lavished on their public edifices and monuments of art, which made Athens the pride of Greece and the wonder of the world. Intellectually, the Athenians were remarkable for their quickness of apprehension, their nice and delicate perception, their intuitional power, and their versatile genius. Nor were they at all incapable of pursuing laborious researches, or wanting in persevering application and industry, notwithstanding Plutarch's assertion to the contrary. The circumstances of every-day life in Attica, the conditions which surrounded the Athenian from childhood to age, were such as to call for the exercise of these qualities of mind in the highest degree. Habits of patient industry were induced in the Athenian character by the poverty and comparative barrenness of the soil, demanding greater exertion to supply their natural wants. And an annual period of dormancy, though unaccompanied by the rigors of a northern winter, called for prudence in husbanding, and forethought and skill in endeavoring to increase their natural resources. The aspects of nature were less massive and awe-inspiring, her features more subdued, and her areas more circumscribed and broken, inviting and emboldening man to attempt her conquest. The whole tendency of natural phenomena in Greece was to restrain the imagination, and discipline the observing and reasoning faculties in man. Thus was man inspired with confidence in his own resources, and allured to cherish an inquisitive, analytic, and scientific spirit. "The French, in point of national character, hold nearly the same relative place amongst the nations of Europe that the Athenians held amongst the States of Ancient Greece." And whilst it is admitted the French are quick, sprightly, vivacious, perhaps sometimes light even to frivolity, it must be conceded they have cultivated the natural and exact sciences with a patience, and perseverance, and success unsurpassed by any of the nations of Europe. And so the Athenians were the Frenchmen of Greece. Whilst they spent their "leisure time"[36] in the place of public resort, the porticoes and groves, "hearing and telling the latest news" (no undignified or improper mode of recreation in a city where newspapers were unknown), whilst they are condemned as "garrulous," "frivolous," "full of curiosity," and "restlessly fond of novelties," we must insist that a love of study, of patient thought and profound research, was congenial to their natural temperament, and that an inquisitive and analytic spirit, as well as a taste for subtile and abstract speculation, were inherent in the national character. The affluence, and fullness, and flexibility, and sculpture-like finish of the language of the Attics, which leaves far behind not only the languages of antiquity, but also the most cultivated of modern times, is an enduring monument of the patient industry of the Athenians.[37] Language is unquestionably the highest creation of reason, and in the language of a nation we can see reflected as in a mirror the amount of culture to which it has attained. The rare balance of the imagination and the reasoning powers, in which the perfection of the human intellect is regarded as consisting, the exact correspondence between the thought and the expression, "the free music of prosaic numbers in the most diversified forms of style," the calmness, and perspicuity, and order, even in the stormiest moments of inspiration, revealed in every department of Greek literature, were not a mere happy stroke of chance, but a product of unwearied effort—and effort too which was directed by the criteria which reason supplied. The plastic art of Greece, which after the lapse of ages still stands forth in unrivalled beauty, so that, in presence of the eternal models it created, the modern artist feels the painful lack of progress was not a spontaneous outburst of genius, but the result of intense application and unwearied discipline. The achievements of the philosophic spirit, the ethical and political systems of the Academy, the Lyceum, the Stoa, and the Garden, the anticipations, scattered here and there like prophetic hints, of some of the profoundest discoveries of "inductive science" in more modern days,—all these are an enduring protest against the strange misrepresentations of Plutarch.

[Footnote 34: These are still characteristics of the Greeks. "They are an exceedingly temperate people; drunkenness is a vice remarkably rare amongst them; their food also is spare and simple; even the richest are content with a dish of vegetables for each meal, and the poor with a handful of olives or a piece of salt fish.... All other pleasures are indulged with similar propriety; their passions are moderate, and insanity is almost unknown amongst them."—Encyc. Brit., art. "Greece."]

[Footnote 35: Niebuhr's Lectures, vol. i. p. 101.]

[Footnote 36: Eukaireo corresponds exactly to the Latin vacare, "to be at leisure."]

[Footnote 37: Frederick Jacobs, on "Study of Classic Antiquity," p. 57.]

In Athens there existed a providential collocation of the most favorable conditions in which humanity can be placed for securing its highest natural development. Athenian civilization is the solution, on the theatre of history, of the problem—What degree of perfection can humanity, under the most favorable conditions, attain, without the supernatural light, and guidance, and grace of Christianity?[38] "Like their own goddess Athene the people of Athens seem to spring full-armed into the arena of history, and we look in vain to Egypt, Syria, and India, for more than a few seeds that burst into such marvellous growth on the soil of Attica."[39]

[Footnote 38: It has been asserted by some theological writers, Watson for example, that no society of civilized men has been, or can be constituted without the aid of a religion directly communicated by revelation, and transmitted by oral tradition;—"that it is possible to raise a body of men into that degree of civil improvement which would excite the passion for philosophic investigation, without the aid of religion... can have no proof, and is contradicted by every fact and analogy with which we are acquainted." (Institutes, vol. i. p. 271; see also Archbishop Whately, "Dissertation," etc., vol. i. Encyc. Brit., p. 449-455).

The fallacy of the reasoning by which this doctrine is sought to be sustained is found in the assumption "that to all our race the existence of a First Cause is a question of philosophy," and that the idea of God lies at the end of "a gradual process of inquiry" and induction, for which a high degree of "scientific culture" is needed. Whereas the idea of a First Cause lies at the beginning, not at the end of philosophy; and philosophy is simply the analysis of our natural consciousness of God, and the presentation of the idea in a logical form. Faith in the existence of God is not the result of a conscious process of reflection; it is the spontaneous and instinctive logic of the human mind, which, in view of phenomena presented to sense, by a necessary law of thought immediately and intuitively affirms a personal Power, an intelligent Mind as the author. In this regard, there is no difference between men except the clearness with which they apprehend, and the logical account they can render to themselves, of this instinctive belief. Spontaneous intuition, says Cousin, is the genius of all men; reflection the genius of few men. "But Leibnitz had no more confidence in the principle of causality, and even in his favorite principle of sufficient reason, than the most ignorant of men;" the latter have this principle within them, as a law of thought, controlling their conception of the universe, and doing this almost unconsciously; the former, by an analysis of thought, succeeded in defining and formulating the ideas and laws which necessitate the cognition of a God. The function of philosophy is simply to transform alethes doxa into itisteme—right opinion into science,—to elucidate and logically present the immanent thought which lies in the universal consciousness of man.

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