folly of which Mrs. Eddy is the presiding genius. She is much
indebted to the Concord philosophers for lending their respectability
to her labyrinth of self-contradictions.

One quotation more, to give the essence of this Concord philosophy.
"The Divine Being exists for himself as one object. This gives us the
Logos, or the only-begotten. The Logos _knows himself_ as personal
perfection, and also as _generated_, though in an infinite past time.
This is its recognition of its first principle and its unbegotten
'Father.' But whatever it knows in self-consciousness, it creates or
makes to exist," and more of the same sort.

We are overwhelmed with such a flood of wisdom! How the professor
attained so intimate, familiar, and perfect a knowledge of the
infinite power, to which the fathomless depths of starry infinity are
as nothing, is a great mystery. Was it by _Kabbala_ or by
_Thaumaturgy_, or did he follow the sublime instructions of his great
brother Plato, and thrust his head through the revolving dome of the
universe, where the infinite truth is seen in materialized forms.

The "Divine" Plato (of whom Emerson said, "Plato is philosophy, and
philosophy is Plato") described the immortal Gods as driving up in
chariots through the dome of the heavens to _get upon the roof_, and
look abroad at infinite truth, as they stand or drive upon the
revolving dome, followed by _ambitious souls who barely get their
heads through the roof_ with difficulty, and catch a hasty glimpse of
infinite truth, before they tumble back, or lame their wings, or
perhaps drop into the body of some brute. The revolving dome and the
ambitious souls peeping through the roof, would be a good subject for
the next symposium. They might tell us whether these ambitious souls
that peep through the roof are Concordian philosophers, or belong to
the schools of Aquinas and _Duns Scotus_.

The philosophy of the Greeks is worth no more to-day than their
chemistry or their physiology. The lingering superstition of believing
because they had famous warriors, orators, statesmen, historians,
poets, and sculptors, while entirely ignorant of science and
philosophy, that their philosophic puerilities are worthy of adoration
in the 19th century, a superstition which makes a fetish of the
writings of Plato and Aristotle, has been tolerated long enough, and
as no one has attempted to give a critical estimate of this effete
literature since Lord Bacon did something in