OF THE RELATION OF TRUTH AND SCIENCE TO LIFE, AND OF MIND IN ITS
APPLICATION TO REALITY.
The union of profound knowledge with divine faith, and the recognition
and perception of their unity, is the mind’s first step within the
domain of truth and of the consciousness of it; or, rather, the first
step in that gradation by which the mind and consciousness advance
toward verity; and it is even the fundamental principle of truth itself
that constitutes this beginning. The judgment which discriminates and
decides between a simple universal belief in God, and the connection of
such a faith with all natural and sublimely true philosophy on the one
hand, and unbelief, false science, and the various systems of error on
the other, forms the second term or step in the gradual progress of
truth and the spirit of truth in the human consciousness, whether of
individuals, or of the whole human race, or of any particular period of
its development. These two subjects have already occupied our attention
in the two preceding Lectures. The third point which the mind must
attain to as the spirit of truth is more fully expanded, both in the
consciousness and in science, is the profitable application thereof to
actual life, or its real manifestation, and the practical carrying out
of its principles. For it is by this alone that the divine and
fundamental principle of truth, and that important faculty of judgment
which separates and distinguishes truth and true science from ignorance
and error, are realized, and attain to their full end and perfection.
The consideration of this subject will form the basis of the present and
all the following Lectures.
Before, however, I enter upon this new topic, or attempt to solve this
third problem of the actual application of science to life and of its
profitable combination therewith, I would wish to add here a few
historical remarks on the subject-matter of our last discussions, which,
while they serve to complete and to illustrate it, will at the same time
furnish a natural and easy transition to our present speculations. The
struggle and the alternate triumph of belief and unbelief, as they
gained in turn the ascendency over the minds of men, and gave the
dominant tone to different ages, or, rather, the contest of truth and
true science with the different systems of error in the several periods
of the development of mankind and of the history of the human intellect,
is at all times a subject of the highest interest for philosophical
observation. In historical applications like the present, it invariably
proves pre-eminently useful and instructive. I shall, however, confine
myself to a few examples, and select such as are most immediately
connected with our subject, or seem likely to lead to the most important
results.
From the whole history of the ancient world I shall adduce but two
illustrations: first of all, the twofold mental or spiritual state of
the primeval times; and, secondly, the highest reach of thought and
knowledge which Greece attained in her most enlightened days, which are
marked at once with the signs of first maturity and of earliest decline.
From both these instances it will be my object to prove that truth
invariably prevails in the beginning, and that it is always and every
where prior to and antecedent to error.
From the annals of modern history I shall in like manner bring before
you only a few particularly fruitful instances. From such periods of the
world’s history I propose to show that the problem of science, in its
reference to life and its profitable application, admits not of any pure
and complete solution; or that often after an opening of promise it
suddenly takes a wrong direction, and so misses its true aim, and,
consequently, the problem of the age remains unsolved. This examination
of the actual relation subsisting between science and life as it has
been, or still is, historically exhibited in this or that particular
epoch, together with the difficulties and the questions which it
suggests, will serve as an introduction to our entire theme. For this is
nothing less than the satisfactory exposition and correct theory of the
application of true science to life, and of their profitable
combination.
First of all, let us cast our glance back to the infancy of the human
race. In these primeval times, we every where meet with legends and
traditions of man’s divine origin, mixed up and interwoven with the
fables and symbols of heathenism. Now we are accustomed to regard
heathenism, or the religion of the Gentiles, as universally, and,
without exception, false and idolatrous, or at least absurd and
fabulous. But is this consistent with the natural course of things?--is
it not probable, or, rather, necessary, that, in its beginning at least,
this chaotic medley of symbols and legends must have had for its
foundation some very simple form of error, if we must suppose that it
was always, and even from the very first, nothing but error?
No doubt the heathenism of the first races, so far as we can trace it,
and the early legends and rites of the oldest times that we are
acquainted with, appear to be already involved in a perplexing confusion
of the strangest fancies. Nothing better are they than a chaos of
symbolical images of nature, mingled and interwoven with some vague and
shadowy outlines of truly spiritual ideas and thoughtful notes of a
higher strain, and also with ambiguous and enigmatical legends of
historical tradition. The whole medley, moreover, differently developed,
according to the peculiar varieties of national character, or the
hereditary feeling of tribe and family, assumes a particular hue from
the local colorings of these different spheres of life; or, moreover, as
is not unfrequently the case, is remolded and cast into new combinations
by the arbitrary caprices of the poetic fancy. Who can hope to find the
simple clew of such a maze? or who will give us the threads of Ariadne
to guide us out of its intricacies?
It is true, generally speaking, that our historical knowledge and
research do not reach very far back. The Flood, to which the traditions
of all people remount, and which all telluric sciences, whether
geography, or natural history, or geology, or whatever other name they
may bear, directly or indirectly confirm, forms an impassable gulf
between the modern and later family of man, and that first and gigantic
race of the antediluvian world. And yet careful criticism and historical
investigation are still able to distinguish in the chaotic congeries of
different mythologies the several strata and epochs, and can separate
the primary rock of the earlier natural legend from the later mythical
formations. But even this primary rock itself, amid the legends of
primeval times--this first, and oldest, and simplest basis of
heathenism, is itself but a fusion and the _debris_ of some earlier and
precedent convulsion. But now all legends, every mythology, and
universal tradition, agree in this one point. They concur in deriving
the origin of man from God, and assert that the first man, who, while he
proceeded immediately from God, was also the first-born son of earth,
in which he was placed, because it was of a nature nearest akin to his
and ours. Now this same first man, as proceeding and taking his
beginning from God, could not well be without some knowledge of Him. The
concurrent tradition of all nations leads us to the idea of man’s
possessing knowledge, and in truth an immediate and intuitive knowledge
of God in and out of nature, and indeed primarily and principally from
this source, and on the other hand also of his having an immediate and
intuitive knowledge of nature in God. And this exactly is the old and
true Gentilism of the holy patriarchs of the primeval world, if by this
term we understand the original religion of nature, among the earliest
families, and the pious patriarchs of the human race, as it is described
in the language and after the analogy of Holy Writ,[51] and also in the
ancient traditions which have grown out of and attached themselves to
it. Now, according to the simple progression of truth, which is also
that of God, and of the knowledge of Him, this revelation of nature was
the first and earliest that was imparted to man upon earth, and must be
carefully distinguished from that later or second revelation of God,
which is both of a positive nature and is contained in a written law, or
written word and book of the law. And in the written revelation this
distinction is most carefully observed throughout. The divine law, which
although not written on brazen tablets, unquestionably existed in these
primeval ages of a natural revelation, which was read and intuitively
understood in nature herself, or immediately in the hearts and minds of
men, was far simpler, and consequently also easier and less burdensome,
than the later law of the second revelation, which was designed for the
moral regeneration of a degenerate people, and for fitting them to be a
witness of the truth to other nations of the world still more degraded
and benighted than themselves. And in the same way this second
revelation was less stringent and less exalted in its scope than the
last law of later times, promulgated in the third age of the world to
all nations and kindreds of the earth. For the latter was not designed
for the first happy period of the infancy of mankind, but for his last
difficult, but decisive struggle, which is to end in the perfect
triumph of good, and in man’s total emancipation from the hostile and
oppressive yoke of original evil. For the wise and omniscient Father of
all has given to every age of man’s history a peculiar and appropriate
law. For the infancy of the race, He published an easy rule of
life--permitting the full expansion and the blooming development of all
his vital energies; but one of sterner preparation, of promise and of
expectation, for his youth. For his maturity, lastly, He has set forth a
law of determined struggle with evil, and of a predominant love of the
invisible, and even of perfection. And consequently a new application of
the same law, and a new strengthening for the same conflict, is to be
looked for in the last times of the final consummation. But not only was
the divine natural law, as promulgated to man in the earliest ages, far
different from that of later times, and the subsequent stages of a
further development of revealed knowledge. This immediate revelation,
and intuitive knowledge of nature, was likewise very dissimilar to the
artificially elaborate and complicated systems of physical science. For
these have principally to trace out and to revert to the original source
of life, and of the full truth of nature, although even on this right
road of return we are not always nearest to the end, even when we seem
to have made the greatest advance in that direction. But as the first
man recognized God in nature, and not merely understood, but immediately
perceived, and, as it were, saw, that He was there, therefore nature
also was, in a certain measure, transparent to his eye in God. And
although his knowledge of nature was in the highest degree simple, still
did it even on that account penetrate more deeply into its inmost
secrets. It was rendered thereby more thoroughly vital and endued with
power. One might almost call it a natural force within him, similar to
and akin to those without him. For generally in those early ages of the
world, man possessed many higher energies and living powers in and over
nature, which subsequently were entirely withdrawn from him, or which in
later times, as wonderful phenomena, formed singular exceptions to man’s
ordinary endowments.
We are, perhaps, only too much disposed to imagine that the ancient race
before the Flood resembled in every particular a later and even the
present generation. Our conceptions of it, as regards both its virtues
and its vices, are in nowise great and wonderful enough. In the first
place, it is highly probable that the atmosphere of the globe was at
that period totally different from what it is in the present day, and
that consequently both the food and manner of living in those days were
also dissimilar from our own. If any reliance is to be placed on the
best and oldest historical testimonies on these points, we can scarcely
doubt that the primeval race--at least the generations immediately
preceding the Deluge--were of gigantic stature, and that their mental
powers and faculties were on a correspondent scale of magnitude. In
perfect conformity with these other proportions, the Scripture also
assigns to those antediluvian races a duration of existence, which, as
compared with our own standard of the average life of man, is equally
gigantic. And so little of antecedent improbability is there in this
statement, that to get rid of it commentators have been forced to have
recourse to the most far-fetched and arbitrary, and, in fact, most
untenable and groundless hypotheses.
Now, it is manifest that such corporeal advantages and length of life
which the first patriarchs of the human race enjoyed, must have been
highly favorable to the development of their intellectual gifts and
immediate intuition, as founded on a living natural faith, so long as
they were rightly used and directed toward God, as their proper object.
And in the same way their tendency to fearful corruption, under an
impious and sinful employment of their great mental endowments, must be
equally evident. At the same time we must confess our inadequacy to form
a conception of the height to which they attained in either state which
would be in any way proportionate to the truth. It is, however, an
invariable principle of development, confirmed by the observation of
nature, and a careful induction of historical facts, that all that is
greatest and noblest, if it once begins to degenerate and corrupt,
reaches in its corruption and degeneracy the worst and most fearful
extremes. And so it appears to have been with this gigantic and
gigantically endowed race of the antediluvian world.
In modern times, a great German philosopher, who flourished toward the
close of the seventeenth century, and was no less famous for his
historical learning than for his mathematical discoveries, made the
memorable remark, that the last sect in the whole development of
Christian revelation, and toward the close of modern history--the last
sect, and also the most prevalent and most fearful, would be that of
atheism. This dictum, at the time at which it was pronounced, which was
somewhere about the transition from the anxiety and oppression of the
seventeenth century to the enlightenment and self-complaisancy of the
eighteenth, must have appeared a perfect paradox. But now that its
fulfillment seems, both to our eyes and understanding, so close at hand,
we recognize with amazement, not to say with a slight feeling of horror,
its deep oracular truth.
Now, as the beginning and the end often bear a wonderful resemblance to
each other, it is not improbable that the first sect was of the same
kind and nature as it has been predicted that the final heresy will be.
A mere dead unbelief and purely negative atheism, it is true, can as
little have prevailed in those times as a symbolically degraded and
immorally materializing heathenism. For it was only after the higher
magical powers were withdrawn from man, that the fancy became in this
sense, and to such an extreme degree, symbolical and figurative. Or,
perhaps, we may more correctly say, that of all high endowments now lost
forever, a purely figurative fancy was all that remained; whereupon, in
opposition to it, the other erroneous extreme of abstract thought
gradually attained to a greater and undue development. And we may with
good reason assume, that with this fearful catastrophe the very
consciousness of man was essentially altered and changed. Of the wild
and lawless state of the generations before the Flood, we can not,
perhaps, form a juster conception than by regarding it as an open
rebellion and organized revolt of man against his Maker and benefactor,
a complete and visible supremacy of the evil principle and the wicked
spirits on earth, and an intimate union between man and the devil. It
must have resembled the description which we meet with in some old books
of the future reign of antichrist. Such a state of things may justly be
denominated atheism. But, however this may be, and whatever conception
we may form, and whatever historical shape we may give to particulars in
this domain (where, after all, we can not get beyond conjecture and
presumptions, or, it may be, hypothetical history, based on
probabilities), one general point is incontestable. Truly noble, in
those primeval times of a pure natural faith, must have been the
intellectual powers and development of the first ancestors of the world
and those great progenitors of the human race, and fearful, in the same
degree, must have been the fall and corruption which followed the abuse
of those high privileges. For man’s mental powers, still subsisting in
the plenitude of their productive energy, and his lordship over nature
being undisturbed, his corruption must have generated the wildest and
most monstrous excesses. Consequently, amid the universal reign of evil
and wickedness, the only course that remained was the total destruction
of the existing generation, and the complete renovation, or, rather, a
new commencement of mankind.
But the corruption of later times, though, in truth, on a less scale,
has likewise been very great. Rapid, too, has been the passage from good
to evil. Moreover, it is self-evident that in the primeval ages of a
vivid natural faith, and of a life according to nature, that separation
between life and nature that exists in these later times could not well
have taken place--nay, at such a period it is totally inconceivable. On
the contrary, science and life must have been in perfect unison. And
this is true, not only of the virtuous knowledge in the first happy
epoch of the world’s golden age, but also of the wicked ideas and the
demoniac efforts of error in the succeeding periods of gigantic
bewilderment and arrogant enmity to God. It is by reason of this unity
between life and knowledge that this instance belongs to that gradation
in the mutual relations of the two in the different ages of the world.
Quite otherwise, however, was it, in this respect, with Grecian
philosophy. In the most enlightened days of classical antiquity we
behold it either coming forward in direct opposition to life, especially
in its public aspect of politics and religion, or else as absolutely
esoteric, retiring altogether and estranged from active duties. Now, in
adducing the history of Grecian philosophy as my second instance, and as
an eminently important moment in the history of the intellectual
development of the ancient world, my object is to show that in the same
way that, according to all grounds of analogy, a simpler natural faith,
as the simple religion of the first patriarchs of the human race,
preceded the later form of heathenism into which the worship of the
Gentiles so wildly and so fearfully degenerated--so, also, in the
philosophy of Greece, its later systems and sects, which were so
thoroughly false and pernicious, were preceded by, at least, a
comparatively better and higher view--by a purer theory of science and
of truth.
For though the oldest philosophers of the Ionian school held water, or
air, or fire, to be the ground and principle of all things, and built on
such hypotheses their whole theory of nature, nevertheless we should, in
all probability, greatly err, were we, on that account, to charge them
with or to suspect them of materialism. They understood these elements,
not in the ordinary, but in a spiritual and living sense, as the
elements of universal life, and, at the same time, did not fail to
acknowledge a higher spirit operating in and above nature, and God’s
all-disposing intelligence. Of Heraclitus, who made fire the essential
ground and first principle of all things, we know, with historical
certainty, that, notwithstanding, his philosophy and view of the
universe was, in the highest degree, ideal and spiritual. And the same
is true also of Anaxagoras, the teacher of Socrates. Much, too, that
would do great credit to the general spirit of thought and science of
that period, might be adduced from the venerable founder of the valuable
art of medicine, and also from his school, were the present the
appropriate place. The simple fact, too, that Socrates proceeded from
out of this Ionian school, would alone dispose me to form a favorable
opinion of it in its earliest state; and it is greatly to be regretted
that our information concerning the oldest of these great thinkers is so
scanty, and its details so uncertain and so little to be depended on,
that it is impossible to form any settled and definite judgment on the
matter.
When, however, we proceed to examine the religious spirit and value of
Grecian philosophy in general, or any of its special branches, schools,
and epochs, we must adopt as the fundamental rule of our judgment the
universal dogmas of man’s pure and uncorrupted feelings or judgment.
Taking for our standard the natural belief in a living and personal God,
and in an everlasting and all-ruling spirit, in the immortality of the
soul, and in the freedom of the will, together with the immutable
principles and ideas of justice, honor, morality, and virtue, we must,
in this case, carefully exclude all the special doctrines of a positive
faith. We must not look for or require, in so early an age, that which
the further development of later periods brought to light. Far be it
from us to wonder at, or to urge it as a reproach against Pythagoras or
Plato, if among their doctrines we meet with ideas, which, strictly
understood, are not perfectly consistent with Christianity. Rather is it
a matter for surprise and congratulation that they knew and were aware
of, had anticipated and taught, so much that a later date first placed
in a fuller light, and made the common property of all men. This, at
least, was the opinion and conclusion on this subject entertained in the
first century by the greatest and best-informed of the fathers of
Christian doctrine and science.
This highly religious tendency and perception which we recognize in
Pythagoras, for instance, or in Plato--this anticipation by science of
the ideas of Christianity, of principles which, with this exception,
belong to the Christian era of the world’s history, could not have been
without God. We must, in short, recognize therein a higher providence.
We may accordingly justly regard Grecian philosophy, in its better
spirit and elements, as forming on its part a preparation for the
Gospel, and a scientific introduction to Christianity, of a special and
peculiar kind.
Now, among those whose observations, and sciences, and endeavors were
throughout directed Godward, the Pythagoreans stand highest and
foremost. We have already alluded to the fact, that in physical science
they were acquainted with the best and the most important of all that
our history of discoveries, within the last three centuries, is so proud
of. Here and there, perhaps, their knowledge even outran our own, and in
all probability they were not without some insight into those mysteries
of creation, about which our philosophy of nature has within the last
half century excited so much wonder and admiration. It is also probable,
we observed, that by their theory of numbers we are not to understand
the ordinary formulæ of mathematics, nor the usual arbitrary play with
them in which science so often indulges, but rather the development of
the intrinsic and divine law of nature and of life according to its
everlasting structure and immutable foundations, or according to the
vicissitudes of its critical times and seasons. But here it may be
asked--whence had they all this? how, without the telescope, and with,
at best, a very defective system of mathematics, and an imperfect art of
calculation, did they attain to a knowledge of the true astronomical
system of the universe? To start the hypothesis, that they learned and
borrowed it all from the Egyptians, would only be to remove the question
a step farther back, and not really to answer it. But even if we were
to admit the fact, such an assumption would only, as regards the
essential question with respect to the Pythagoreans and the origin of
their science, increase their merits and their glory. For in the same
way as we observed on an earlier occasion, with reference to Moses and
the Hebrews, it must have been by the exercise of a rare wisdom, that
while they selected all that was best and most valuable in Egyptian
science, they rejected so much that was pernicious, and laid aside so
much that was likely to lead them astray, and even the impious magical
superstitions that were to be found there.
In much later times, and even down to our own days, the name of the
Pythagorean school and science has been forced to serve as a cloak for
every noxious farrago of mysticism, as also that of the Neo-Platonists
has been made the symbol of every visionary extravagance. But even if
(what, however, I greatly doubt) an historical connection can be shown
to subsist between the so-called Pythagoreans of later times and the
earlier and genuine school, nothing further would follow from such a
fact, than a confirmation of my general position. It would but furnish
an additional proof that all that is greatest, noblest, and most
beautiful, when it once begins to degenerate and corrupt, invariably
reaches a proportionate depth of corruption and degeneracy, and assumes
the worst and wildest aspect of deformity.
As concerns the influence of this school of life, and its political aims
and tendencies, which were unquestionably part of the general design of
the Pythagorean doctrine: all this must be judged of in conformity with
Greek notions and habits, and with reference to the unsettled and
disordered state of the several Grecian communities. This being granted,
it will appear that a simple but lofty object was the basis of their
fraternity. By forming an enlightened aristocracy of highly cultivated
minds, of men of scientific attainments, and of pure and noble morals,
they hoped to establish a new and better polity, such as might check the
reigning anarchy and revolutionary spirit of democracy, which distracted
all the republics, whether smaller or greater, into which Greece was at
that time divided. But the evil had become too great, and its power was
irresistible. But the whole enterprise failed, and its failure entailed
the dissolution of the Pythagorean society.
Many similar views and political designs, which Plato subsequently
ingrafted on his own philosophy, in like manner remained nothing more
than ideas, and led to no practical result. A far more considerable
influence on life and its relations was exercised by the Sophists.
Considered in a political point of view, they were truly and properly
pernicious demagogues, and, in the fullest sense of the term, the
flatterers of the populace. Not only did they undermine the outward
national worship, with its poetical and hereditary associations, but
also overthrew the inward religion of good principles and of moral
sentiments. In short, they practically taught a true moral atheism, and
succeeded in making it the prevailing and ruling principle in the
conduct of life.
At this stage of Grecian philosophy, we witness, for the first time, a
remarkable phenomenon. The true and good science which directs itself to
the Godlike and divine, is unable to attain to any lasting or pervading
influence on the lives of men: on the other hand, we see a false and
evil sophistic gradually gaining a complete ascendency amid the general
demoralization of society, and the growing anarchy of the political
community, which, thoroughly corrupt and degenerate, only rose out of
one revolution to fall immediately into another. Or, rather, this false
sophistic, and this moral and political anarchy, were perfectly one
together, so far at least as two destructive principles can ever be or
be brought in unison.
The complete alienation which now existed between the better science and
life, and especially public life, is most distinctly manifested in the
case of the greatest among the Grecian philosophers of later times--in
Aristotle, and the position he occupied in his own age and nation. This
acute thinker, with the utmost care and diligence, collected together
all the most eminent results of the science, and the most remarkable
thoughts of earlier times. Examining and analyzing them with great
critical acumen, and with a comprehensive survey, he formed them into a
new whole, and arranged them into a system of his own, completer and
fuller than had ever before been attempted or accomplished.
We can not, perhaps, estimate too highly or admire too much this great
master of human subtilty, whether for his intellectual powers and extent
of learning, or even as a writer. Still we must not forget that in his
system were contained the germ and evident tendency to the two chief
forms of philosophical error--naturalism on the one side, and
rationalism on the other. And so we find that in the later times of the
following centuries, each of these false systems, according as the
occasion favored the one or the other, were drawn out from the
Aristotelian doctrine, to receive a further and a distincter
development. In his doctrine on the Godhead, he can least of all stand a
severe and rigorous criticism. And in many points, as, for instance, in
his notion of the absolute self-sufficiency of the reason, he
approximates but too closely to the idealistic view which we have
already designated as the transition to scientific atheism.
It was only in a very remote and distant age that Aristotle attained to
a very great importance and authority. In his own day he did but form a
very inconsiderable school, which exercised far less influence on public
life than two other sects, in whose history the development of Grecian
philosophy finds its close.
The system of the Stoics, with its stern and, consequently,
impracticable theory of morals, its doctrine of absolute necessity and
blind fatalism, announces itself at once as identical with an austere
rationalism. At the same time, under the teaching of the Epicureans, a
soft and effeminate naturalism became almost universally prevalent. And
while, in another and newer form, it gradually assumed the place of the
old mythical heathenism, which daily fell more and more into neglect and
disrepute, it still retained the old heathen sentiment, and a careless
and undisturbed indifference in inactive bliss and self-enjoyment, as it
was even ascribed and imputed to the gods, was introduced into life, and
extolled as the true wisdom. Thus, then, while on the one hand the
foundation was laid for that insensibility with which the wide-spreading
and growing corruption and the approach of the general ruin were
contemplated, so, on the other hand, the apathy of the Stoics was not
exactly the right kind of sentiment to furnish a check or counteractive
to this sybaritic indifference.
As concerns the relations of public life, the social community, and the
state, the Stoical doctrine appears, no doubt, in a worthier and a
better light. On this account it numbered among its adherents almost all
the great statesmen that lived from the last times of the Republic down
to the later centuries of the Empire. Considered, however, in
themselves, and scientifically regarded, both systems must be looked
upon simply as the last chemical decomposing process, or the initiatory
putrifying state of all higher science and philosophical reflection
among the Greeks. On the whole, then, we conclude that Grecian science
and philosophy have exercised no influence at all on life, or at least,
either a very inadequate, or such as has proved radically baneful and
pernicious.
But now, in the very center of man’s history--in the transition-point
between the ancient and the modern world--science and life were again at
unison, as at the beginning. And this was effected by the appearance of
a new science in another form. For most assuredly we shall not err in
giving this name to a new living and spiritual power, which, totally
changing and giving an entirely new direction to the arbitrary views,
sentiments, and principles of public and private life, and also to the
modes of thinking prevalent in the age and in the world, was strong
enough to triumph, not only over heathenism itself, but also over the
science and philosophy of its most enlightened nations. Now this new
mode of thinking, which came forward in the full certainty of the most
undoubting faith and the highest internal illumination, had, so far as
it is right and allowable to call it a science, a very different form
and scope from all that has previously and usually been so called. For
it issued out of the very depths of life, and received from love--a
divine love, that is--its first diffusion and establishment.
Consequently, it was a thoroughly living science, or, as being perfectly
clear and certain in itself, a new scientific life, which, moreover,
proceeded from this its first starting-point, was able to penetrate into
all the other forms of public life and of the anterior systems of
science, and by adopting or remodeling them, give to itself therein a
further and more universal development.
But here, also, the divine impulse from above encountered the usual
partial or entire resistance from below. Accordingly, this new living
wisdom, which, in its essence, is one with life, and which, therefore,
the more it is developed only unfolds this unity the more universally
and the more immutably, was not, at the first, universally adopted, or
did not become every where predominant. Moreover, even where it was
received, and its authority acknowledged, its reception was often little
more than external. It was not admitted as a living principle into all
the depths of the soul, or impressed on all the habits and tendencies
of the mind [_geist_]. And even where, in some degree at least, it was
adopted in the inner man with full and sincere love, it was often
nothing more than an undeveloped germ of the future and of a higher
life. Isolated by itself, and standing apart, it remained shut up within
the inmost bosom, without at the same time penetrating, reanimating, and
giving a new life and shape to all the other life-elements of the
consciousness and the productions of human science.
Thus, then, it was only too possible for error to find its entrance even
here also. And it is remarkable that both its principal forms, such as
in varying shapes the history of philosophy is constantly presenting to
us in the different epochs of its progress, here again most distinctly
present themselves with all the features of their intellectual
physiognomy plainly marked, and with the still more obvious contrast of
their intrinsic diversity. A philosophy of nature more or less visionary
and fanciful was the common basis of the various Gnostic sects. With
their long series of imaginary emanations from the Deity, resembling in
no slight degree the old heathen genealogies of the gods, they would,
had they triumphed, have converted Christianity into a similar
mythology, though of a more philosophical character. In the Arians, on
the contrary, and other kindred sects before and after them, we
recognize rather the spirit of rationalism, which, dwelling on some
point of life, or theory, with a show of rigor and accuracy, while,
apparently, it disputes only about words, is, in fact, undermining the
foundation of the most essential ideas.
All these parties, however, as they originated, so they also
disappeared, within the first five or eight centuries of our era. It
was, therefore, impossible for their pernicious influence to gain a deep
hold of life. At least it was neither universal nor permanent. Yet by
them the ardor of a first love was cooled. And sad, indeed, has been the
loss as regards the fullness of living energy, and even in respect of
profounder wisdom.
The history of the middle ages again presents a rare and singular
phenomenon. One great mind and writer of antiquity, whose influence in
his own day was far from extensive, became at this date, in a most
remarkable manner, the problem and center of scientific inquiry. For
several centuries the human mind was laboriously engaged in disputing
about the philosophy of Aristotle. And although men did not understand
it--not, at least, its deeper meaning, for they lacked the first and
most essential qualifications, and also the requisite means for such a
purpose--this apparently aimless disputation, and this unsolved problem,
was, nevertheless, not without great and manifold influence on their own
and the following ages. It has had a permanent effect on the whole frame
of man’s life and being.
Of the two wholly different aspects which, as we have already so often
remarked, the philosophy of Aristotle presents, it was probably not its
fruits of rationalism (for, at this period, such were generally regarded
as forbidden) that throughout the great part of the then civilized world
excited so incredible a fondness for this all-absorbing and
all-understanding system. Its attraction lay rather in some great and
mysterious knowledge of nature. And the desire for these intellectual
treasures was not a little heightened by the fact, that, in general,
they were inaccessible.
In the little intercourse subsisting, at this period, between distant
nations and lands, and the almost total separation of the East from the
West, it was only through the Arabic versions, or Latin translations
molded again upon these, that any knowledge of this philosophy could be
drawn. This must have led, it is obvious, to a wide deviation from the
true sense and critical spirit of the author. Its original aim must have
been generally missed. For, however highly we may be disposed to
estimate the intellectual merits of the Arabians, as writers of their
native history, or in poetry, or in any other science, they are
notoriously deficient in the true critical spirit. Their total and
universal want, in this respect, is especially evident when they are
compared with the Greeks, among whom this critical acuteness, whether
false or true, sprung up and reached its greatest height.
Strange, no doubt, and singular is it at first sight, to view this old
master of philosophical thought and science, who, on the whole, is so
perfectly heathen, suddenly received among the medieval theologians, and
taking, as it were, his seat, and giving his voice among them. Still, if
men of great mental powers and authority sought to make themselves
masters of the whole matter--both of the much-disputed works of this
writer, this Aristotle, so strangely disguised in his new motley dress
of Arabic Latin, and also of the voluminous labors bestowed upon
him--we must look upon this procedure as analogous to that of the
thoughtful physician, who, in the midst of a wide-spread pestilence and
inevitable contagion, prefers to inoculate it himself, in order the more
safely to treat and to cure it. In short, as the case really stands, we
must look on these illustrious men in two distinct lights. On the one
hand we must see in them the Church’s venerable teachers, and the
sagacious and discriminating theologians of the day; on the other, the
scholastic interpreters of Aristotle, who had now become a necessary
evil for the Christian middle ages.
This, however, and whatever else was the matter and object of such
subtile disputes, was too soon forgotten. In these scholastic contests,
after the fashion of the day, the combatants, horse and man, were armed
_cap-a-piè_, incased and disguised in logical coats of mail, composed of
countless rings of thought and chains of ideas. With this heavy panoply,
the great object was to heave their antagonist out of the saddle. Often
they recoiled from the shock without advantage on either side--so
equally matched were they in their good lances and the weight of their
armor--and often they swerved from the charge. Mostly, however, both of
the philosophical knights found themselves, at the end of the strife, at
their old station in the lists, or driven back, perhaps, to their
original entry. This scholastic philosophy, in the form it now took, of
a highly elaborate art of logical tourney in the philosophical schools,
was, undoubtedly, an abiding evil in the age that immediately followed,
and furnished an important element to the party disputes of later, and
to the rationalism of these latest times.
The overthrow of the Grecian empire and the discovery of the new world,
suddenly and at once introduced into Western Europe vast and varied
treasures of historical, physical, and philosophical knowledge. In this
brilliant epoch of the fifteenth century, a new world of thought was, as
it were, laid open. A new era of science would have been founded, and a
veritable reformation of the whole Christian life must have ensued, had
not the moral corruption and the political disorders of the period been
gross beyond description. But for all this, how much is there to admire
in the Platonic writers of the fifteenth century, among whom Germany,
after Italy, produced the most famous and the greatest number? When we
take up, even now, any one of their works, and contemplate therein
their comprehensive liberal pursuit of science, their mild, antique
spirit, their noble form, and their quick recognition of the beautiful,
we can not turn from them without regret to that new state of barbarism
into which, during the sixteenth and part also of the seventeenth
century, science was plunged by the rampant spirit of party and
controversy.
At last, however, peace and quiet returned again to Christian lands and
states, and slowly, and by degrees, to the minds also of men. And now
was it, in the eighteenth century, and especially toward the middle of
it, that out of this apparent and superficial peace, a new science, or a
new light, or at least a new diffusion of it, seemed ready to arise.
Simply regarded in a scientific point of view, this philosophical
endeavor of the eighteenth century, and the most memorable of the
systems to which it gave rise, occupied our attention in the very
opening of these Lectures. Here the immediate object of our
consideration is not this new science itself, whether true or false, but
rather the influence on the age, and on life in general, of this modern
mode of thinking, as generally diffused and prevalent.
Much, undoubtedly, has been discovered or newly learned in the natural
sciences and in the domain of history; many too have been the bold
ventures, at least, and novel essays in philosophy. This new wisdom,
moreover, was taught and disseminated far more universally than ever
before had been the case; while even the agreeable feeling produced by
the moderation of the intellectual spirit now prevalent, greatly
promoted its wide and rapid diffusion. But at a later period this
enlightenment, so rapidly and so widely diffused, which, moreover, was
taken only in a negative sense, was soon recognized to be unsatisfactory
and superficial, while also the theory of popular liberty and
independence which was grafted thereon, and claimed, or at least wished
to be rational, bore the bitterest and worst of fruits.
In short, to speak most leniently of it, the whole was nothing less than
the undigested scheme of an immature and imperfect knowledge, brought
into the world before its time. Accordingly, its rash and precipitate
course in the last age, whose history is unparalleled in the annals of
the whole world, together with the fearful catastrophe which it has
brought about, opened the eyes of men to the fearful abyss to which such
a precipitate abuse of science had hurried them. And, in consequence,
thinking men of the highest endowments and the richest intellectual
gifts among different nations, have in many ways nobly devoted
themselves to the work of restoration in sentiment, in thought, and in
science.
But on the one hand, the first elements of the former destructive
principle appear to be still existing, even though it be in less obvious
and more pliable and disguised forms. On the other hand again, the
corrected mode of thinking, and the better tone of sentiment and
science, is for the most part confined merely to a more chastened
outward form. Scarcely any where as yet is it carried far enough back,
up to the profoundest sources of spiritual life, up to the primal origin
and veritable foundation of the divine and of the eternally good.
And yet this is exactly the problem of our age, and herein alone shall
we find the solution of the great enigma of the times. For from this
hasty review of the whole course of the intellectual development of
humanity, from its beginning to its close, the result, for the sake of
and with a view to which alone I ventured so cursorily and in such faint
outline to sketch all the leading epochs of the history of philosophy,
must at least be evident. As in the beginning, and in the center
thereof, science and life lovingly co-operated together and were fully
in unison; and as in the intermediate epochs and intervals among the
Greeks in civilized antiquity, and in the middle ages among ourselves,
they became more and more estranged, so at the end will they be at one
again. And already, even in our own days, every thing is tending to
bring about such a consummation. But who shall say whether it shall be
in a good or an evil sense? Ere long, life shall either, under the
influence of the true and good and divine knowledge, be again restored,
permanently regulated, and receive a new shape and fresh vigor, or, by a
false and delusive science, be completely destroyed, and involved in
eternal ruin.
Having, in this hasty review, considered, under its historical aspect,
the problem of the relation of science--the true and divine, as well as
the false and delusive--to both private and public life, it now remains
for us to examine and to answer this same question from the side of
theory. Regarded from this point of view, it would appear that whenever
science fails to exercise an influence on life, or when they withdraw
and are estranged one from the other, the fact may be always accounted
for and explained by accidental causes and purely local influences, such
as have their origin in the several periods of the world’s history, or
flow from certain imperfections on one side or the other. For,
considered in itself, science in general is nothing but this unity of
thought and life, and consequently its living operation and influence
are involved in the very idea of a higher science, provided only it be
true and properly regulated. Either, therefore, science is life elevated
into a thought, and consequently transformed into a thinking, or else it
is a thought carried into reality, that has passed and been transmuted
into life, and therein fully attested and certified by life
itself--consequently a thinking become life.
Now, according to this view, that science consists in the mutual
approximation to, and the final attainment of, a perfect unity between
thought and life, there are three degrees of it, according to that
triple gradation and threefold principle which exists in the human
consciousness. The first of these, then, is reflection. And this,
understood in a somewhat profounder acceptation than ordinarily, is an
internal feeling, hearing, or seeing of one’s own thinking. Consequently
it is a perception similar to that of the senses, by means of which the
unseen thought is in some degree projected and introduced into external
reality. But this act of reflection is nothing more than a passive state
of the soul in its internal observation of itself. So long as it remains
confined to this narrow sphere, it perpetually revolves in the same
orbit, and, properly speaking, produces no ulterior results of a
knowledge fruitful and applicable to actual and outward life.
The second degree or moment of science is abstraction, by virtue of
which, from the complete sum of all the criteria and characteristics of
an object, or, rather, of a thought, some one is prominently set forth
as the most essential, and for the sake of communication designated by a
name. For all communication and language is based on this faculty of
abstraction, which is itself an arbitrary act of the free will. But
although by this naming, generalization, and communication, the internal
thought is advanced a step farther into the external world and the
living reality among and with others, still the reality of the thought
is by no means satisfactorily established thereby. For this very liberty
in the choice of name, of combination, and of general classification,
opens a wide field for caprice. This is evident enough from the
countless multitude of terminologies, so needlessly invented and so
rapidly thrown into oblivion, which form so many remote and mutually
unintelligible philosophical dialects, in the ever-repeated attempt to
build methodically the Babel tower of philosophical system. For these
designations of abstract thoughts, even when they are most felicitous,
fail to win the concurrence of others, and do but open a door to endless
dialectical disputation.
Thus, then, neither reflection, which is eternally revolving within the
narrow orbit of our inward self, nor empty abstraction, though it strays
at pleasure over the spacious realm of the possible, can lead us to the
desired end of perfect certainty or veritable science. It is alone the
practical carrying out into real life of a speculative thought, that can
bring it to the conclusion of perfection of certainty, and to a complete
and true science. Now I should prefer to designate this its highest
grade by the notion and name of _consequence_. But by this term, I must
be understood as meaning not merely a correct logical enchainment of
ideas, but pre-eminently a faithfully-worked-out _consequence_ or
consistency of sentiment and life, _i.e._, a perseverance in good. At
the same time, it must ever be remembered, that the evil principle,
although it often makes a boast of possessing this quality, does so only
in appearance, and never in this true sense. On the contrary, torn to
pieces by conflicting passions in its inmost being, it is really in the
highest degree inconsequent, as acting in direct opposition to its
beginning and origin, which, like all other created beings, it took and
received from God.
Truly consequent or consistent a man can not be except in the truth,
_i.e._, in Him out of whom all truth, and from whom all existence is
derived and flows--in other words, in God. Science, therefore, is an
_applied_ thinking, _i.e._, one that has passed into life, and thereby
become real and certain; and it is only on the road of practice, by its
actual carrying out or _real_ manifestation, that it can attain to its
highest degree, and that the truth of an idea or speculative thought can
be satisfactorily attested.
The ideas, according to the original sense of the term, are even the
self-existing thoughts of a higher life, as distinct both from the
simple facts of the consciousness in the domain of reflection, and from
the arbitrary forms of thought set up by empty abstraction. And though
even here as elsewhere, a false, sickly, or a null and illusory life,
may be substituted for that which is true, still this applies only to
the form of the living idea, as contrasted with the sensuous semblance
or the dead notion. For, that an idea is truly divine, can only be
proved by this quality of consequence--by its divine influence and
effect on life.
On the other hand, many philosophical thinkers have somewhat erroneously
indicated the intrinsic certainty of philosophical thought by the name
and under the form of an intellectual intuition, and thereby given
occasion to manifold misconceptions. But if in all the fullness of the
conception already advanced of the eternal truth, and of Him who is its
sum and source, we were really able to be sentinent of and to feel the
divine life--to hear and audibly to perceive the eternal Word and
actually to see the holy Light, such a spiritual intuition of God’s
glory and majesty would be far more appropriate for the future than for
the present world. And even though we may and can admit it to be
conceivable, as given from above, still a communication of it would be
impossible, and, consequently, could not be available for the ordinary
purpose of giving a philosophical foundation to any human system. Under
this form, then, of a so-called intellectual intuition, if it be really
such, and not rather a mere form of abstract thought under another and
an assumed name, speculative science would consequently assume the
character of a questionable vision, and a possible mental delusion. For
a full internal satisfaction and certainty--so far at least as these are
attainable by man--even in the case that they are the sign and the proof
that this intuition, or perception of the divine light actually took
place, can only be furnished by that quality of consequence already
described as belonging to every thought and cognition which is founded
in God. And to this character of consequence or consistency, the
condition of agreement with every other idea or revelation already
acknowledged to be divine, belongs naturally as the irrefragable law of
judgment and of life.
That full and correct conception of eternal truth which has been
developed by us in the ninth Lecture as the living _idea_ of the Supreme
Being is unquestionably the fundamental speculative notion and the
internal spiritual basis on which every other higher science, that has
any pretensions to the qualities of permanence and consequence which
belong to right-thinking and to immutable truth, is subsequently
raised, or, in other words, it is the source from which it abidingly
flows. In the three subsequent Lectures, however, the subject has been
mostly scientific, speculative, and metaphysical, though throughout
accompanied with historical illustrations drawn from the development of
the human mind. And here, accordingly, a reference to the science or
discipline of logic is every where supposed.
Now, in the form in which this science or discipline has come down to us
from the Greeks, there is much that is rather an accident than a part of
its essence, and whose presence must be accounted for by some special
and local necessity. With no people before or since has rhetoric enjoyed
so commanding an influence as with the Greeks, and with none also has
the sophistic art produced such great and such pernicious effects.
Accordingly, they found it necessary to devote to the analysis of all
its arts, delusions, and tortuous windings, and also to the development
of the dialectical means for their detection and refutation, a
disproportionate degree of attention, which is neither necessary for us
nor practically useful.
The Hindoos, likewise, have from the most ancient times possessed a
scientific system of logic. Indeed it has even been said, that
Aristotle, having received from Alexander the Great some of their
logical treatises, borrowed from them his own system, or, at least,
molded it after them. But from the reasons just adduced, I am disposed
to think that, in all probability, the Hindoo logic was much simpler
than the Grecian, where the simple end of truth, and the great
desideratum of a correct standard thereof, was lost sight of amid an
overminute analysis, and the mazes of an endless subdivision of notions.
In the routine of our school education logic might, perhaps, be made a
highly profitable study if only it were combined with and made to bear
upon the history of the gradual development of human thought, and
especially the theory of language. And then, since thought and speech
are so intimately allied to and dependent on each other, it would be
advisable to go a step farther, and extend our logical studies to the
theory of imagination, symbolical language and its fundamental rules.
In a scientific education, too, a logic of the memory (if we may be
allowed the expression) would in all probability be highly useful. For
an established law and disposition of our thoughts would greatly
facilitate the exercise of memory, and as furnishing rules for the
practice, or generally as an exercise of that faculty, would form an
excellent basis for scientific education. For the conduct of life,
indeed, there is nothing so important or so desirable as a right logic
of the conscience, which should detect all the internal delusions of
egoism and the still more subtile sophistry of selfishness in every
point where the question lies between the righteous truth and a latent
falsehood. And this is intimately connected with, or at least leads
directly to, the notion of the sound reason which requires before all
things a conscientious susceptibility of the truth.
But a logic applicable to this higher science must be understood in a
far more comprehensive sense than is ordinarily done. And this is even
what we have here attempted to furnish. Logic in general is conversant
about three objects: the notion, the judgment, and the conclusion. But
it ought also to possess a general fundamental rule and regulative
standard of truth, so far as this is attainable. But inasmuch as in this
domain the eternal is simply one, so also for this higher science one
notion properly is sufficient; as also one judgment which comprises all
others, and one conclusion which completes the whole, is sufficient. The
act of understanding has been explained to be the completion of the
notion; and the full and complete apprehension of the eternal truth, or
of Him who is the sum of all verities, was the subject-matter of our
ninth treatise. The act of discerning was explained to be the completion
of the judgment; and this perfect judgment, which decides and
distinguishes between truth and error, was the theme of our tenth
disquisition. Science, however, is the perfection of all thinking, and
in its actual operation, as applied to life, and in itself carried to a
conclusion, is one with it. Now this was the end to which the present
discussion and development was intended to lead; while the further
prosecution of it and its reference to the several spheres and domains
of existence must be reserved to the following discourses.