Alexandria and Her Schools Four Lectures Delivered at the Philosophical Institution, Edinburgh — Text and Context

A Lecturer's Apology and Method

Kingsley's preface is unusually candid about the limitations of his own work. He acknowledges that the lectures are 'crude and fragmentary' and that they 'cannot but fear' contain inaccuracies. This is not false modesty but a deliberate rhetorical stance: he presents himself as a humble disciple of Bacon, wary of the 'conceit and haste' that kept him from fully benefiting from Cambridge training.

The preface also reveals Kingsley's intellectual lineage. He praises Thomas Carlyle for vindicating German Realists like Kant and Fichte, and he acknowledges a translator of Fichte present in the audience. Yet he distances himself from their method, which he sees as sharing a defect with Neoplatonism. This careful positioning shows Kingsley navigating between German idealism and Baconian empiricism.

He describes his lectures as 'a collection of hints' for those who wish to work out the subject themselves, emphasizing that he aims to give 'glimpses of a central idea' rather than a finished argument. This modesty is a key feature of the work's tone.

Philo the Jew and the Search for a Person

In the excerpt on Philo, Kingsley argues that Philo did not need to distort Jewish scripture to make it agree with Plato. Instead, he claims that both traditions sought 'that which truly exists,' but that Jewish thought added a crucial element: the search for a person, not just a thing. Kingsley writes that the Jewish sages could not conceive of absolute truth except 'in an absolutely true person,' and he declares this view 'right, on all grounds of Baconian induction.'

This is a striking move: Kingsley uses Baconian induction to defend a personalist metaphysics. He argues that qualities like love are only known as exhibited in persons, so if they have absolute existence, they must exist in some absolute person. This line of reasoning ties together his empiricist commitments with his theological interests.

Kingsley also notes that Philo's name was 'laughed out of sight' in the previous century but that the present age is more inclined to find 'some germ of eternal truth' in old wisdom. This reflects Kingsley's own project: rehabilitating thinkers like Philo by separating their truth from their errors.

The Contemporary Relevance of Alexandria

Kingsley explicitly connects the Alexandrian schools to his own time. He observes a 'revulsion' in British thought on metaphysical subjects, with Scotland taking the lead. He names Carlyle and the translator of Fichte as key figures in this movement. This situates the lectures not as antiquarian exercises but as interventions in a living intellectual debate.

He warns that the method of Kant and Fichte may have 'the same inherent defect as the method of the Neoplatonist school,' yet he expresses deep obligations to them. This balanced assessment is typical of Kingsley's approach: he is willing to learn from thinkers he ultimately criticizes.

The lectures thus serve a dual purpose: they explain Alexandria's history, and they model how to engage with past philosophy critically. Kingsley advises his audience to study Kant and Fichte carefully if they wish to understand either the old Alexandrian schools or 'the intellectual movements which are agitating the modern mind.'

Readers should approach these lectures as occasional pieces shaped by their original audience and Kingsley's own intellectual journey. The preface's frankness about the work's limitations is itself instructive: it models a humility that Kingsley sees as essential to genuine learning. The lectures reward attention not only for their content about Alexandria but for the way they enact a particular method of intellectual engagement—one that combines Baconian empiricism with a willingness to find truth in unfashionable sources.

The rain blurred the window that afternoon, and Kingsley’s lectures felt like company. His urgent hope that faith and reason might somehow share a room stayed with me long after closing the book. Fumbling for a bookmark, I knocked loose another volume from the shelf instead—A New Philosophy — Background and Themes—which asked quieter, stranger questions. The rain kept falling, and the two books seemed to talk to each other.