Philosophical Works of the Late James Frederick Ferrier/Lectures on Greek Philosophy (1888)/Anaxagoras
ANAXAGORAS.
1. The next Greek philosopher of whom we have to speak is Anaxagoras. Anaxagoras was born at Clazomenæ, one of the Ionian towns in Asia Minor, in the year 500 B.C. He was thus somewhat older than Democritus, and even than Leucippus; but as his system may be regarded as contemporary with that of the Atomists, I have thought it better to treat of them before treating of him. Though sprung from a rich and distinguished family, Anaxagoras surrendered all his possessions to his relatives, and betook himself to the study of philosophy. He settled in Athens in his early manhood, probably between the years 480 and 460 B. C.; and from this time Athens began to be the centre of those emanations of philosophic thought which had heretofore shown themselves only in the colonies.
2. As a resident within the walls of Athens, Anaxagoras dwelt for many years, enjoying the friendship of Pericles, and other distinguished citizens, to whom he imparted freely his philosophical opinions. Of the intercourse which subsisted between Pericles and Anaxagoras, Plutarch speaks in the following terms: "The philosopher with whom Pericles was most intimately acquainted, who gave him that force and sublimity of sentiment superior to all the arts of the demagogues, who, in short, formed him to that admirable dignity of manners, was Anaxagoras, the Clazomenian. This was he whom the people of those times called νοῦς, or intelligence, either in admiration of his great understanding and knowledge of the works of nature, or because he was the first who clearly proved that the universe owed its formation neither to chance nor necessity, but to a pure and unmixed mind, who separated the homogeneous parts from the other with which they were confounded. Charmed with the company of this philosopher, and instructed by him in the sublimest sciences, Pericles acquired not only an elevation of sentiment and a loftiness and purity of style, far removed from the low expressions of the vulgar, but likewise a gravity of countenance, which never relaxed into laughter, a firm and even tone of voice, an easy deportment, and a decency of dress, which no vehemence of speaking ever put into disorder. . . . These were not the only advantages which Pericles gained by conversing with Anaxagoras. From him he learnt to overcome those terrors which the various phenomena of the heavens raise in those who know not their causes, and who entertain a tormenting fear of the gods by reason of their ignorance. Nor is there any cure for it but the study of nature, which, instead of the frightful extravagances of superstition, implants in us a sober piety, supported by a rational hope.”—'Life of Pericles,' c. 4, 5, 6. At length some of the doctrines of Anaxagoras gave offence to the fickle populace. He was accused of impiety towards the gods. Pericles defended him in vain. He was banished to Lampsacus in Asia Minor, where he died, in the year 428 B.C., at the age of 72. In this place he was so highly esteemed that the inhabitants raised altars to his memory, and his popularity was kept in remembrance by the circumstance that the schoolboys of Lampsacus were allowed at his own request a holiday on the anniversary of his death.
3. The philosophy of Anaxagoras centres in the two following points: first, his doctrine of what are called ὁμοιομερῆ, a term of considerable obscurity, and which, so far as I can find, has never been elucidated satisfactorily; and, secondly, his doctrine of νοῦς or intelligence as the universal in all things, and as the designing and directing principle of the universe. In discussing the system of Anaxagoras, I shall confine myself to these two points.
4. Anaxagoras's doctrine of ὁμοιομερῆ or ὁμοιομέρεια is discussed by Lucretius, in the first book of his poem, De Natura Rerum, line 830, where he says—
" Nunc et Anaxagoræ scrutemur ὁμοιομέρειαν."
" For this it means; that bones of minute bones,
That flesh of flesh, and stones of little stones,
That nerves take other little nerves for food,
That blood is made of little drops of blood,
That gold from parts of the same nature rose,
That earths do earth, fires fire, airs air compose,
And so in all things else alike to those."
This popular or poetical version of the doctrine of Anaxagoras does not carry us very far in the way of understanding it. Taken literally, the word ὁμοιομερῆ signifies things made up of similar parts, or, perhaps more explicitly, things made up of particles similar to the things themselves. But the more complete and exact interpretation of the doctrine seems to be this, that in everything, and in every fraction of everything, there is a fraction of everything; in each there is a sample of each; in other words, all is in all. Such, stated in a somewhat abstract form, is Anaxagoras's doctrine of the ὁμοιομερῆ, a name probably invented, not by himself, but by some subsequent philosopher—I believe, by Aristotle.
5. Let me endeavour to throw some light on this doctrine by handling it in a less abstract fashion. I shall endeavour to make it clear by means of some homely and familiar illustrations. Let us suppose the world and all that it contains, the world and all its produce, animal, vegetable, and mineral—let us suppose this to be chopped up into the finest mincemeat that can be conceived. Let us suppose it pounded to a pulp or powder more impalpable than any mince-meat; let us suppose this powder to become fluid, and then to be so stirred and mingled that all its particles, even down to a degree of tenuity far beyond what can be conceived, shall be mixed through and through each other; if we suppose this, it is obvious that we should obtain a mass of matter, each portion of which, however minute, would contain samples of all the ingredients which entered into the composition of the whole. To suppose otherwise—to suppose that each particle did not contain samples of all the ingredients—would be to suppose the amalgamation not perfectly effected. But we have supposed the amalgamation to be perfect; and, therefore, I say it is obvious that whatever portion, great or small, we take of this mass of matter, that portion will necessarily contain precisely the same ingredients, and the same number of ingredients, as are contained in any other portion of this same mass. In each particle, however great or however small, all the particles will be contained which enter into the composition of the whole mass. Now I conceive that any portion, big or little, of this mass would correspond to what Anaxagoras means by the ὁμοιομερῆ. Suppose that ten thousand different kinds of matter, or that matter qualified in ten thousand different ways, went to compose our mass, in that case, if the mixture be complete—and we are supposing it complete—in that case each portion of the whole would contain portions of these ten thousand kinds of matter, and to whatever degree of fineness you might carry the division, that is to say, however small you might conceive the portion to be, it would still contain portions of these ten thousand kinds of matter. In short, the composition of the whole and the composition of its minutest parts would be precisely the same. The whole consists, we are supposing, of ten thousand kinds of matter; each particle of it (carry the division to whatever degree of minuteness you please) also consists of ten thousand kinds of matter. That, I conceive, is what is meant by saying that everything and every particle of a thing consists of particles similar to the thing or particle itself.
6. The mass of matter which I have endeavoured to describe to you, and the close intermingling of whose parts I supposed to be brought about by artificial means—this mass is, according to Anaxagoras, matter in its original condition. In order to aid our conception of what Anaxagoras means by the ὁμοιομερῆ, I suppose the universe, the present orderly universe, to be beaten up, with all its diversities, into a sort of pulp or powder of uniform consistency throughout. This pulp or powder, which, in my description of it, is set forth as artificially produced, was, in the estimation of our philosopher, the natural state of the universe before an organising intelligence went to work upon its materials, and elicited order out of chaos. In its primitive and chaotic state the world is a mass, every ingredient of which is so intimately mixed with and through every other ingredient, that each portion of it, however infinitesimally small, is a sample and representative of the whole; in other words, contains everything which the whole contains, or, as we may otherwise express it, is identical with the whole in quality, though, of course, not in quantity. Thus every particle is in parvo what the whole mass is in magno. Every particle, however small or however great, thus understood as containing within it all that the whole contains, is, I conceive, what Anaxagoras means by the ὁμοιομερῆ. I may here remark that when I spoke of each of the ὁμοιομερῆ as embracing ten thousand different kinds of matter, or as being itself matter with ten thousand qualities, I did so merely for purposes of illustration; for Anaxagoras himself sets no limits to the different kinds of matter, or to the number of qualities which may be embraced within each of the ὁμοιομερῆ. He seems to have regarded the kinds or qualities of matter as infinite, or, at any rate, as not to be measured or limited by any assignable number.
7. Bearing in mind what matter is, according to the conception of Anaxagoras, in its original character and constitution, let us now consider how this conception stands related to the doctrines of the Atomical philosophers. We find that the system of Anaxagoras stands opposed to the Atomic theory in two essential particulars: first, it denies and rejects the doctrine of atoms as the original or ultimate constituents of things; and, secondly, it insists on the existence of qualitative differences in things. I shall say a few words on each of these points.
8. First, The ὁμοιομερῆ are, in all respects, the opposite of the atoms. The atoms are absolutely simple, that is to say, are elements in the proper sense of the word. The ὁμοιομερῆ are infinitely complex, that is to say, are not elements in any sense at all. They are not elements, because each of them contains an infinite variety of particles, and each of these particles, again, is not elementary, because each contains an infinite variety of particles; which particles, again, are not elementary, because each contains an infinite variety of particles, and so on for ever. Each particle of the matter, divide and subdivide it as often as you will, still contains in parvo all that was contained in the particle with which you commenced your operations, so that while the Atomists hold matter in its original condition to be absolutely simple, Anaxagoras holds that matter in its original condition is infinitely complex. The Atomists hold that matter in its primitive state is simple, and that in its secondary state, when things have been formed by the different combinations of the atoms, it is complex. Anaxagoras holds that matter in its primitive state is complex; and that in its secondary state, when things have attained to symmetry and order, it is simple—comparatively simple, that is to say, more simple than it was in the original entanglement and involution of all in all. We may therefore say, that with the Atomists the construction of the κόσμος, or ordered universe, is a process in which matter passes from simplicity to complexity, while with Anaxagoras it is a process in which matter passes from complexity to simplicity. According to the Atomists, simplicity is first in the field, complexity supervenes; according to Anaxagoras, complexity is first in the field, and simplicity supervenes. This antagonism may not perhaps be in all points exact, but it is certainly sufficiently marked to constitute a fundamental difference between the two systems.
9. The other point in which the system of Anaxagoras stands in a relation of opposition to the Atomic theory is its doctrine of qualitative differences. The Atomic philosophers held that all difference was quantitative, not qualitative. I explained how, according to them, all the variety observable in the different objects of the universe might be accounted for by the diversity in point of size, shape, arrangement, and motions of the atoms of which these things were composed. Anaxagoras, on the other hand, was of opinion that quality held a very important place, and played a very important part, in the original constitution of matter. He held, as I have said, that there were innumerable kinds of original matter; which is merely another mode of saying, that matter is originally endowed with innumerable qualities. He conceived that qualities, or inherent differences, existed in things, and that the attempt to deduce these qualities from mere quantity was equivalent to deducing them from nothing, was deriving them from a source which did not contain them and could not produce them—was, in short, a violation of the maxim which was at that time accepted as the canon of all right reason, Ex nihilo nihil fit. The deduction of quality from quantity was a deduction of something from nothing, and was consequently an impossibility and an absurdity. Hence Anaxagoras concluded that quality was coeval with quantity, and was equally original with the original matter of the universe. And he held, further, that these qualities were innumerable or infinite, inasmuch as new qualities might continually manifest themselves, and inasmuch as (in obedience to the canon just referred to) no one quality was capable of being transmuted into any other. When a new quality appears we cannot suppose it to spring from nothing, for that would violate the maxim, Ex nihilo nihil fit; neither can we suppose it to spring from another quality, for that would equally violate the maxim; therefore, we must suppose that it was in existence all the while, and from the very first, only that it was latent; and further, as these new qualities are or may continually present themselves, we must conclude that they are infinite or innumerable. Such are the two points in which I think the philosophy of Anaxagoras stands opposed to the doctrines of the Atomists.
10. I stated in paragraph third that the philosophy of Anaxagoras centred in these two points; his doctrine of the ὁμοιομερῆ, and his doctrine of νοῦς, or a designing and directing intelligence. In summing up the first of the two topics, I request you to observe that all that I have hitherto said has been in reference to Anaxagoras's conception of matter in its original and primary condition. His doctrine of the ὁμοιομερῆ has special reference to matter in this crude and primitive state. How far the doctrine applies to matter in its secondary, that is, in the more finished and orderly condition in which we behold it, this is what we shall have hereafter to consider; so far as we have gone, we may say that we have dealt not with the κόσμος, but only with the chaos of Anaxagoras. We have endeavoured to describe the world as he supposes it to exist before it has been subjected to the operations of a designing and directing intelligence.
11. The second topic which falls to be considered in treating of the philosophy of Anaxagoras is, as I have said, his doctrine of νοῦς, or intelligence, as the designing and arranging principle of the universe. Referring to this doctrine, Aristotle remarks, that "the man," to wit, Anaxagoras, "who first announced that Reason was the cause of the world and of all orderly arrangement in nature, no less than in living bodies, appeared like a man in his sober senses in comparison with those who heretofore had been speaking at random and in the dark."—Metaph. i. 3.
12. Aristotle compliments Anaxagoras thus highly because he was the first to introduce into philosophy the conception of ends or final causes. The argument founded on final causes has been largely insisted on in modern times. It is known popularly as the argument from design, the argument which, from the contemplation of the marks of forethought and contrivance observable in the objects and operations of nature, rises to the conception of a one all-wise, all-powerful, and all-benevolent Artificer of the universe. This argument, which is also called the argument a posteriori for the being and attributes of God, has been handled in modern times by many writers of distinguished ability, among whom may be mentioned with special commendation Dr Paley, and our own eminent Principal, Dr Tulloch, of St Mary's. These authors have worked out the argument in all its bearings, and their writings cannot be too strongly recommended to students, whether of philosophy or theology. But the argument was broached more than two thousand years ago by the philosopher of whom we are treating. Anaxagoras, as I said, was the first to introduce into philosophy the conception of ends or final causes, a conception which implies an intelligent principle as the upholder and designer of all things. He was thus the founder, we may say, of what is nowadays termed Natural Theology as distinguished from Revelation. The doctrine of Anaxagoras will come out more clearly if we compare it with the position occupied by the philosophers who preceded him.
13. Previous to the time of Anaxagoras, philosophers had speculated concerning the beginning or origin of things, but not concerning their ends or purposes. The changes and operations of nature were too obtrusive not to compel them to have recourse to some active principle or principles whereby these changes might be explained. In the Ionic school some vital force was admitted, some anima mundi, by which the condensation or rarefaction of the primeval element was brought about. In the Eleatic school, in so far as they departed from the strict logic of their system and admitted change into the universe, some active principle or influence was laid down as the efficient cause of the changes. By Heraclitus, who contended that the whole universe was a continual flux or process of change—by him strife or contention was set forth as the parent or producer of all things, πόλεμος τῶν πάντων πατήρ, war as the begetter of all things. The efficient agents of. Empedocles were φιλία and νεῖκος friendship and enmity. And the Atomists invested their atoms with certain principles of attraction and repulsion, by which their combinations and separations were determined. I mention these particulars for the purpose of showing you that before the time of Anaxagoras philosophers, in forming the conception of cause, beginning, or origin, had never risen above the conception of power, force, energy, activity, or efficiency. They undoubtedly conceived that the operations of the universe were brought about by some efficient cause, by some force competent to produce them—that an all-powerful energy was at the bottom of the ongoings of nature. But this power, though irresistible, was blind and unintelligent. At least, so far as the speculations of these philosophers went, no proof had as yet been furnished that the power in question was intelligent as well as omnipotent; efficiency, and not intelligence, was its characteristic.
14. Anaxagoras struck into a new direction. He looked rather to the ends than to the beginnings of things, rather to the purposes for which things were designed than to the sources from which they sprang. This at least was the tendency of his philosophy, although we cannot say that it was more than a tendency, for he did not advance far in the new path which he had opened up. He did not turn to much account the new conception on which he had hit; but he did effect something. He turned the thoughts of philosophers into an unexplored channel. He introduced into philosophy a conception which, even in its germ, was great. Looking to the ends which the objects and operations of the universe served, and seeing that these ends were good, he concluded that they were the work of a cause which was in itself wise and good. He led philosophers to combine the notion of intelligence with the notion of power or efficiency, which heretofore had been the sole attribute assigned to the moving principle of the universe. Intelligence, as well as omnipotence, was set forth in the scheme of Anaxagoras as an attribute of the first great cause.
15. The recognition of ends or final causes in nature is equivalent to the admission of an intelligent principle as the orderer and director of the universe. It would lead me away from the scope of the present discussion were I to go into any illustrations or details of the argument from design, but I may say a few words in explanation of the principle on which it proceeds. In arguing from ends or final causes, in other words, from design, we necessarily make the idea of a thing precede its realisation; we place thought before action, and thus we necessarily lay down thought, intelligence, or reason as the first, the beginning. If thought or intelligence be the first, the beginning, by what term shall we designate the ultimate or the end? The most expressive and comprehensive term by which this can be designated, is "the good." This term for ends in general is as old as the days of Anaxagoras. Let us now attend to these two conceptions, intelligence or thought considered as the beginning, and the good considered as the end. And let us suppose an illustrative case drawn from human nature: it may, perhaps, assist us in forming some imperfect conception of the divine intelligence and its ends. Let us suppose that a savage has the thought of some good, or some end. Now he must think of this as a particular good or particular end; no man can think of good in general or end in general. Let his thoughts then of good or end be the thought of a house to shelter him, a thought which has not yet occurred to any other of his tribe. This thought is certainly the thought of something good, good for himself, perhaps also good for others. He desires to compass this end. But on consideration he sees that he cannot compass this end without means, means in the shape of wood, stones, and lime. These means then become a new end, an intermediate end, which he must compass before he can attain the ultimate end, the house. But on consideration he sees that he cannot compass this new end without means, means in the shape of tools. These means, the tools, then become a new end, another intermediate end which he must compass. But he sees on consideration that he cannot compass this new end without the aid of mechanical study and the assistance of his fellow-men; mechanical knowledge and human assistance thus become a new and intermediate end. But again, on considering the matter, he sees that he cannot overtake this new and intermediate end, he cannot betake himself to study, or obtain the aid of his fellows, unless he has a store of provisions laid in to support him while he is studying mechanics, and also to support his neighbours while they are assisting him. The acquisition of a stock of provisions thus becomes a new intermediate end; and this we shall say is the proximate end, the end which he must aim at and overtake in the first instance, before he can expect to accomplish any of the other ends. From this simple case, thus roughly drawn out, you may perceive what a succession of ends may have to be gone through before the ultimate end is overtaken, and how each means becomes in its turn an end, until the whole series is gone through. You may also, from this illustration, understand the difference between final cause, efficient cause, and natural cause. In this case the final cause of the house was the good or comfort of the savage; the efficient cause was the active power of the savage, which enabled him, we shall suppose, to carry through all the operations required before the house could be constructed; and the material cause was the provisions, the mechanical knowledge, the assistance received, together with the stones, wood, and lime of which the house was built. From this plain (although very rough and hasty) illustration, you may understand—and this is the point I wish you to bear in mind—how, in considering the subject of ends, thought Is necessarily regarded as preceding execution; how intelligence and foresight necessarily go before realisation. Suppose that the savage had set about hoarding up provisions blindly, and without any purpose in view; suppose that he had studied mechanics, and got his neighbours to assist him in fabricating tools and machines blindly and without any purpose in view; suppose that he had set himself and them to cut wood and to hew stones blindly and without any purpose in view; suppose that he had set them to build a house blindly and without any purpose in view, a house which was not purposely designed to minister either to his own good or to the good of any other creature; in short, that the idea of an ultimate end or good never entered his mind, and that nothing that had been done was done with the view of giving satisfaction either to himself or others; then I am sure that, however much we might admire the power and energy of the savage, we should have a very poor opinion of his intelligence; we should deny, indeed, that his proceedings had been directed by any degree of thought or intellect at all. We might consider him a powerful, but we could not regard him as an intelligent, agent.
16. I leave the application of this illustration very much to yourselves. I may just suggest that if you suppose the universe made for no good purpose whatever, that is, made just as you might suppose a house built by a man blindly, and into whose head no notion of the comfort or utility of a house ever entered; if that be your supposition, then, however active and powerful you may conceive the author of all things to be, you cannot conceive him to be intelligent; while on the other hand, if you suppose that the universe exists for some good purpose, that it answers in all its parts and arrangements some great and beneficent end, however dim and limited your knowledge of that end may be; then, if that be your theory, you are compelled by the necessities of reason to suppose that thought and intelligence are the attributes of Him who has ordered all things for the best, whether He binds the sweet influences of the Pleiades or loosens the bands of Orion.
17. To return to Anaxagoras, and to sum up his philosophy in a very few words. First, there are ends in nature, that is to say, purpose and order pervade the universe; purpose and order are only other names for the good; but purpose, order, good, imply forethought and intelligence; therefore, the first cause and principle of all things is all-wise and intelligent; in other words, is mind or understanding, νοῦς. Secondly, this mind is not mixed up with the ὁμοιομερῆ. It is totally different from them. Were it mixed up with their substance it could not be capable of moving and controlling them. Another principle would be required to account for the operations of nature. But it is not mixed up with them; hence it can order and direct them. Under its control, combinations and separations take place among the ὁμοιομερῆ, by which their original constitution is altered. Like draws to like, and unlike separates itself from unlike. The ὁμοιομερῆ, however, so far preserve their original constitution, that each of them, or each thing which an aggregate of them composes, takes its character from the preponderance of certain kinds of matter, without losing entirely all, or perhaps any of the other kinds of matter which went to the composition of the primitive ὁμοιομερῆ. Thus bread, although it apparently excludes bone, and flesh, and blood from its composition, does not really exclude them, because a man can be nourished upon bread; that is to say, in the human system bread is converted into bone, flesh, and blood, and therefore these existed in the bread before it was taken into the human system. I give you this illustration, not as physiologically or chemically correct, but for the purpose of illustrating Anaxagoras's doctrine, which is, that the properties, and indeed we may say the contents, of the various articles in nature are very different from what they appear to us to be. The doctrine proceeds on the principle that no kind of matter can be changed into any other kind, that no quality of matter can be changed into any other quality. Hence, when we find that bread gives rise to bone and flesh, we must either suppose that the bone and flesh are still bread, or else we must suppose that the bread was, or at any rate contained, bone and flesh. To argue otherwise would, in the estimation of Anaxagoras, be equivalent to maintaining that something could spring out of nothing.
18. There are two interesting questions connected with the philosophy of Anaxagoras, which I shall merely broach at present, without discussing them. These are, first, the consideration of the extent to which Anaxagoras may have been influenced in the construction of his system by the study of his own consciousness, and by the reflection that he himself, his own mind, was the universal in all the objects that came before him, the rallying point in which they were reduced to unity. That reflection generalised would have yielded him his doctrine of νοῦς or intelligence as the principle and foundation of all things; and, secondly, we might ask whether Anaxagoras has not reached a truer universal, a principle which is more a truth for all intellect, than any philosopher who preceded him. You will observe that with all these philosophers it was the thought of something, and not pure thought itself, which was the principle. Thus, with the Pythagoreans, it was the thought of number, that is, it was number rather than thought, which was the principle; with the Eleatics, it was the thought of Being, that is, it was Being rather than the thought of Being, which was the principle.
19. So in regard to Heraclitus, and the other philosophers whom we have considered. It was always the thought of something, rather than thought itself which was laid down as the principle. But Anaxagoras laid down thought itself—not the thought of this or of that, but thought itself—as the universal in all things, and this universal being intellect itself, must necessarily be more a truth for all intellect than any that we have yet come across.
20. Significant and suggestive as the philosophy of Anaxagoras is, Socrates complains that it fell short of its promise,—'Phædo,' p. 98.