The  world  is  only  becoming,  never  is.  The  Soul
would  apprehend  only  the  becoming,  had  it  not
some  recollection  of  its  anterior  state — had  it  not
the  power  in  some  sort  of  tracing  in  the  varying
phenomena  the  unvarying  Idea.  When,  for  ex
ample,  we  see  a  stone,  all  that  our  senses  tell  us  is
the  appearance  of  that  stone :  but,  as  it  is  large  or
small,  the  soul  apprehends  the  Idea  of  Greatness  :
and  this  apprehension  is  a  reminiscence  of  the  world
of  Ideas,  awakened  by  a  sensation.  So  when  we  see
or  hear  of  a  benevolent  action,  besides  the  fact,  our
Soul  apprehends  the  Idea  of  Goodness.  And  all
our  recollection  of  Ideas  is  performed  in  the  same
way.  It  is  as  if  in  our  youth  we  had  listened  to
some  mighty  orator,  whose  printed  speech  we  are
reading  in  old  age.  That  printed  page,  how  poor
and  faint  a  copy  of  that  thrilling  eloquence  !  how
greatly  do  we  miss  the  speaker's  piercing  vibrating
tones,  his  flashing  eye,  his  flashing  face  !  And  yet
that  printed  page  in  some  dim  way  recalls  those
tones,  recalls  that  face,  and  stirs  us  somewhat  as  we
then  were  stirred.  Long  years  and  many  avocations
have  somewhat  effaced  the  impression  he  made,  but
the  printed  words  serve  faintly  to  recall  it.  Thus
it  is  with  our  immortal  Souls.  They  have  so
journed  in  that  celestial  region  where  the  voice  of
Truth  rings  clearly,  where  the  aspect  of  Truth  is
unveiled,  undimmed.  They  are  now  sojourning  in


PLATO'S  PSYCHOLOGY.  77

this  fleeting  flowing  river  of  life,  stung  with  resist
less  longings  for  the  skies,  and  solaced  only  by  the
reminiscences  of  that  former  state  which  these
fleeting,  broken,  incoherent  images  of  Ideas  awaken
in  them.
