something somewhere, and a point is nothing somewhere; every thing has some characteristic, a point has none. A point is visible or invisible. Is it visible? Then we can see that which is without parts or magnitude. What is it we see when we do not see any part, do not see any magnitude? Is it substantial or ideal? If substantial, how do we detect its substantial existence? If ideal, how can an idea have motion, and by simple motion become a substantial existence? Are we not reduced to this? Ideals produce substantial, or invisible substantials, upon motion, produce visible substantials; or that which is necessary to matter—namely, form—owes its existence to that which is neither substantial nor ideal—to nothing, in fact. The entire and sublime science of geometry, at one time the only instrument of culture among the Greeks, and so esteemed by Plato that he is said to have written over his door, "Let no one enter here who does not know geometry," in all its conceptions, propositions, and demonstrations, rests upon the conception of that which has no parts, no magnitude. The old saw of the school-men was, "Ex nihilo nihil fit." If each visible solid owes its form to superficies, and each superficies its form to lines, and each line its form to a point—and a point has no form, because it has no parts—then, who shall stone the man that cries out, "Ex nihilo geometria fit?"
But lay the first three definitions of geometry side by side: 1. "A point is that which has no parts, or which has no magnitude." 2. "A line is length without breadth." 3. "The extremities of a line are points." Study these, and you will probably get the following results: That which has no parts produces all the parts of that which occupies space without occupying space, and which, although it occupies no space, has extremities, to the existence of which it owes its own existence; and those extremities determine the existence of that which has parts made up of multiplications of its extremities which have no parts. Now, you must know at least that much, or else stay out of Plato's house.
This useful science, without which men could not measure their little plantations, or construct their little roads on earth, much less traverse and triangulate the ample fields of the skies, lays for its necessary foundation thirty-five definitions, three postulates, and twelve axioms, the last being propositions which no man has ever proved; and these fifty sentences contain as much that is incomprehensible, as much that must be granted without being proved, as much that must be believed, although it cannot be proved, as can be found in all the theological and religious writings from those of John Scotus Erigina down to those of Richard Watson, of England, or Charles Hodge, of Princeton.
Does any man charge that this is a mere logical juggle? Then he shall be called upon to point out wherein it differs from the methods of those who strive to show that there is a real conflict between real
