Among the widely-diversified forms and ever new applications under which
the rational system of absolute knowledge and necessary connection is
wont to exhibit itself, from time to time, some are occasionally found
in which the first foundation is not established in that mathematical
form and that rigor of demonstration which marks all the subsequent
steps of the systematic edifice. In a few systems, at least, reason, as
the faculty of the subjective Ego, is expressly assumed to be an
intrinsic fact of the consciousness. And this is done, apparently, in
the very same way that in the philosophy which sets out from life
itself, the theory of the consciousness, or the development of the
notion thereof, commences with some such fact of the inward cogitation,
as a first principle given and established by internal experience. But
the question, whether in any rationalistic system this assumption be
really meant--in which case the whole system would be to be regarded as
purely a science of experience--or is only apparent, being adopted for
some secondary object, will be quickly determined as the development of
the entire system proceeds. A few characteristic remarks, both simple
and easy to be understood, will soon enable us to decide. If, as regards
the form, with a pretended mathematical form of demonstration, it
immediately introduces the old ontological confusion of unintelligible
abstractions, we may assume it as highly probable, nay, set it down as
certain, that, in spite of its different form and bearing, it is
essentially the same invariable error of identical thought and
unconditional being that is set forth in such a system. But the token by
which such scientific fatalism most surely and infallibly reveals
itself, is the subject-matter of the system. We can have no doubt of its
presence wherever the present state of life and consciousness, which is
merely accidental, and by no means its original one, is proved, or,
rather, by a pretended demonstration, is set forth as its necessary
condition.
On the contrary, that incessant alternation between life and death, such
as the latter exists at present in nature, and which, in all its
various forms, coming and going like night and day, sleeping and waking,
ebb and flood, affects not the individual only but the whole human race,
must, according to truth, be ever regarded as a perpetually changing
event, assuming manifold different shapes, and being variously modified
by the influence of human freedom. And not even for the purposes of
science is it allowable to see, in what is but a transitory state of the
present constitution of things, an eternal and immutable law; nor in its
application to the individual cases of actual life, to assume a
necessary predetermination resulting from some indissoluble chain of
destiny.
Moreover, this illusory phantom of the unconditional--that peculiar
error of the reason whenever it is unduly applied and left wholly to
itself--and the semblance of rationality which arises thereout in a
predetermined and indissoluble enchainment of all events and phenomena,
is not confined to the domain of science and its inner world of thought.
In poetry, under the notion of destiny, it holds a prominent and
remarkable position. In the tragedy of the ancients especially, it comes
before us in peculiar splendor and majesty, as the blind fate of an iron
necessity. Since, then, this notion, though in itself and originally
nothing but a mere delusion, has yet, through an almost universal belief
in its reality, acquired and exercised for centuries a fearful power
over the minds of men, it can not, of course, be omitted or refused a
place in a truly artistic view and portraiture of life. This view of the
general constitution of things, thoroughly and deeply tragic as it is,
must ever remain intrinsically and essentially heathen. But even the
most perfect creations of tragic art stand a full degree below, or, at
least, hold a somewhat subordinate position to, the epic songs and lays
of the oldest foretime. For this rich and copious stream of primal and
eternal recollections is the source from which every other form of poesy
branches off and derives its inspired waters; the living play of its
billows, as they sweep along with full and undivided flood, bears with
them all the magic treasures of fancy; and like the world-encircling
ocean, with its ever-changing undulations, it flows around all the ages
and epochs of nature and humanity. The epos, in short, is poesy itself.
In it pre-eminently the very essence of poetry is present, and there,
also, are its truest manifestations. Every other form of poetic art
constitutes but a special kind, and, as compared with this pure
original, is, so to speak, a mixed or applied poetry. For in the same
way that music is an art of longing, while the arts of figure are the
channels in which the highest enthusiasm for visible beauty expresses
itself; so poesy is the bright reflection of the world as it is mirrored
on the ever-flowing love-stream of eternal recollection. But enthusiasm
invariably attaches itself to something positive. On this account it is
that the plastic arts are intrinsically of two kinds essentially
different in character. While a heathen beauty predominates in the
statuary and buildings of ancient times, a spirit of Christian
inspiration is no less decidedly and visibly apparent in modern painting
and architecture. And, in some degree, this remark applies, to dramatic
poetry; for, in its inner spirit and character, encroaching, as it were,
into the domain of the plastic art, it forms a peculiar species of mixed
poetry. But in epic poetry, in the same way that all streams flow into
and commingle in the ocean, all contrasts are softened off and
dissolved, and, in a true and genuine epic poem, the ancient mythology
must not impress us as heathen--or, at least, this character must not
there be so decidedly apparent as it is in Grecian tragedy. Every age
that enjoys a high civilization, and a rare degree of intellectual
enlightenment, even though it has not lost all relish for noble and
original poetry, applies itself, first and preferably, to those mixed
forms which allow the freest development of art, and in which it
frequently attains to the height of excellence. When, however, during
the reign of the cold poetry of the head, the tragic view of the world
and things manifests itself no longer in the grand style of free
invention, but interweaves and works itself up with some artificial and
elaborate picture of prosaic reality, the impression it leaves is doubly
painful, conveying but the closing reflections of a destructive
skepticism. And in the place of that genuine poetical truth which marked
the deep and pregnant feelings of ancient poesy, of which scarce a trace
is here to be found, we have, on the whole, nothing but the scientific
illusion of some empty notion in the deep but bitter feeling of
universal negation.
In the whole series of the essential errors of science--of which some
one form or other is peculiar to each of the four great faculties of the
mind, and which, though not as an inevitable and irremediable limitation
of it, yet still, as a defective tendency and an hereditary germ of
deviation, is there indigenous and domesticated--among all these
various forms of error, the deceptive phantom of the unconditional, the
seeming identity of necessary being and absolute thinking and knowing,
has been shown to belong especially to the reason whenever, quitting the
right road, it refuses to confine its operations within their due
limits. In consequence, however, of that close concatenation and mutual
influence which pervades all the different forms and species of man’s
intellectual development, I deemed it any thing but superfluous to call
your attention to the fact, that this system of necessity, or, in other
words, this scientific fatalism, plays a very essential part in the
poetical view of things, and to notice the shapes it there assumes. And
just as this delusion of the reason, which has given rise to so many
false systems (which, however, are but one, since they do but repeat, in
different forms, one and the same error of the absolute), has had a
powerful effect even on poetry, having exercised a great and decided
influence on the internal constitution of the tragic drama, so, in a
similar manner, there is a peculiar species of scientific error which
owes its origin to the faculty of imagination. Now, as might well be
expected, wherever this inventive and productive faculty directs itself
exclusively to the side of prosaic reality and to palpable corporeal
phenomena, this error, and the erroneous scientific system to which it
gives rise, have, above all others, a dry, meager, and grossly material
character. Those lovely illusions of a fancy innocently sporting with
emblems and figures, which most immediately occur to our mind while
speaking of an error peculiar to that province of the imagination,
although purely scientific--I am alluding to the fabulous world and
imaginary deities of ancient mythology--these furnish but little, if
any, obstacle in the way of science and of the acquisition of physical
truth. Considered, therefore, in this light alone, they would scarcely
demand a place in our present disquisitions. For, for us, the whole of
them possesses only a certain poetical truth--or, at most, perhaps, a
deeper and most penetrating search may discover in them a symbolical
signification, which is, undoubtedly, full of deep meaning, and
therefore is, in so far, also true. But the case was very different with
the ancients themselves. And, on this account, when heathenism was the
prevailing faith, a lively opposition was raised against them. A stern
law of morals and philosophy, with indiscriminating censure, would have
swept away the whole of the national mythology. Right and just as this
censure may appear to us, so far as it was directed against the
arbitrary fictions, or grossly sensual features of these fables, still
it is impossible to concur with it totally and entirely. Occasionally,
the point of view is taken too narrowly and too exclusively. Moreover,
it is undeniable, that these ancient objectors did not sufficiently
recognize the symbolical meaning of their own mythology. And, in fact,
they were far from being in a position to take a survey of the whole
cycle of legends among different nations, and so to trace the historical
connection of them all; and even if, in some single points, they
understood and gave due weight to this symbolical significancy,
occasionally making use of it themselves, it was only as a mere
intellectual amusement, or with the narrow object of illustrating some
occasional ethical discussion of limited interest.
But a far wider and more extensive view of antiquity lies before our
eyes, and history in its comprehensive survey now takes in almost the
whole of the ancient world. Modern inquiry, therefore, with its vast
erudition, its patient observation and quickness of apprehension, has
succeeded in establishing more completely than heretofore the general
truth of this symbolical basis of ancient mythology. And by this means
it has been able to trace the inner threads of a higher truth which lay
concealed within those fictions, and were the source of their vitality;
for it was from such a beginning of truth they originally set out,
however widely in their subsequent course and growth they may have
deviated therefrom. Indeed, if it is allowable, on the ground that the
true religion must, from the very first, have been one and the same, to
give the name of Christianity to the simple religion of the first men
and great saints of the primeval world, then may we well venture to
assert that a vein of Christianity and of the knowledge of the true God
runs through and ever and anon manifests itself on the very surface of
heathenism and in its several mysteries. And, in truth, it would be any
thing but an unprofitable task to trace, through this variety of
symbolical expressions, the sinuous and intricate course of the human
mind in its manifold development, as it pursued every direction, and
took up the most opposite positions in order to view and contemplate the
truth. However, this Christianity of the primeval world, even where it
kept itself free and pure from all admixture of fiction and distortion,
can only be regarded as a Christianity in anticipation. Or, perhaps, we
may look upon it as an ascending progression (though not uniformly
advancing, but marked with many an apparent check and recession, or even
many a void interval of expectation), up to the last term of
consummation in the visible and actual manifestation; just as, on the
other hand, Christianity, since that epoch, may appear to the historical
inquirer in a descending series, if not in its definite form and shape
or intellectual development, yet certainly in the inward moral
sentiment, and the power of a living faith.
It is now a matter pretty generally admitted, and which is, moreover,
daily gaining a wider concurrence, that in these fables, which, at the
first glance, appear the mere sportive creations of fancy, there is even
contained many a beautiful hieroglyphic of nature and of natural truth.
A brief allusion to the fact, therefore, will suffice for our general
view, which calls upon us to notice it just so far only as is necessary
to make our survey of the human mind and its development complete.
Now, if it should be demanded of us psychologically to treat of and to
discuss at length all the delusions of the fancy, we should, indeed,
open for ourselves a wide field of labor. It would rival that of the
ancients in their treatises on the possible fallacies of logic, and the
illegitimate forms of its syllogisms, with the different rules for
avoiding and detecting them. But in truth, the psychological illusions
of the fancy in actual life are no less numerous nor less diversified in
their manifestation than the differences of individual characters, which
are incalculable. And as to those logical errors, on the other hand,
which relate solely to the form of argumentation, the consideration of
them will be most profitably attached to those branches of science which
concern the particular province of life in which they severally occur.
However useful for the purposes of practice a detailed analysis and
dissection of them may be, it, nevertheless, lies wholly without the
limits of our present speculations. By scientific errors, which, as
arising from a natural disposition and exciting cause in the fundamental
faculties of the human consciousness, deserve to be called innate, must
be understood none but such essentially false views of the whole
constitution of things, or such scientific systems as result from some
one-sided tendency or perverted application of the principal powers of
man’s mind. We are not, therefore, concerned at present with the poetic
fancy and the psychological delusions of this faculty. It can only be
with an imagination that has exclusively given itself up to a scientific
direction that we can have to do in discussing the question, What false
system, and what error in science generally, or in physical science
especially, can have proceeded from a perverted use of this faculty of
fancy? This, it appears to me, can be no other than the well-known
materialism--the atomistic view of nature, and, what is so closely
connected with it, that atomistic thinking whose deadening character is
far more dangerous and fatal to philosophy than that much-decried
“system of nature,”[74] which, for the most part, has outlived its day,
and, in its former shape, at least, is obsolete and out of fashion. This
atomistic view of nature can not, for one moment, be regarded as or
explained by an error of the reason. For the reason seeks every where
for an absolute unity. But these imaginary atoms, out of which all is
composed and compounded, are infinite in multiplicity. Among them there
is nothing like unity. All there is ever dissolving itself, and falling
asunder into an innumerable multitude of separate individuals. Neither
can it be termed an error of the understanding; for the latter does not
merely and universally, or every where and principally, employ itself
with such anatomical dissections and mutilations. It labors rather
before all things to understand, to comprehend the whole, to seize the
inner meaning, to fathom the true significance, and to gain a knowledge
of the very essence, in its true spirit and meaning. But all this, as it
implies a living principle, is also applicable to such alone. Where
there is neither life nor spirit, there is nothing to understand. These
simple, minute corpuscles of nature, or these indivisible particles of
the universe, as the foundation and principle of the collective world of
nature and of sense, would form an inexplicable and unintelligible
aggregate. But, in fact, the dissection and anatomy of the visible
objects of matter has never yet succeeded in reaching these infinitely
minute primal particles of existence. On the contrary, the chemical
analysis of bodies terminates in certain living elements of a wholly
volatile nature, which defy and elude all such gross and material
manipulations. The whole hypothesis, therefore, must be held to be
perfectly arbitrary; it is altogether an unfounded fiction. It is, no
doubt, highly unpoetical, and any thing but fanciful; nay, rather, it is
fatal both to life and fancy, but a fiction it nevertheless is. And on
this account its origin must be ascribed to the imagination. It was,
therefore, in this sense, and relatively to this fact, that I formerly
asserted that when once the imagination--that is, the scientific
imagination--applied itself to palpable corporeal phenomena, then the
error that it would give rise to would be a dry and meager production of
a grossly material nature. I might almost call it an imagination of
death, inasmuch as the whole of it is founded on the dreary hypothesis
that all is dead and lifeless, and, as such, contrasts so directly with
that ancient and once universally diffused creed of nature which we so
lately spoke of as teaching that in the visible universe, and even in
the external and corporeal world, notwithstanding its appearance of
death, every thing is animated, living, and ensouled. Further to combat,
or totally to refute, the atomistic theory, would be inconsistent with
our present object; that, too, is a duty which belongs rather to what is
properly natural philosophy. Moreover, it would be a superfluous task;
for a truly living philosophy of nature, based on a very different
position, and taking far higher views, has long since and almost every
where taken the place of this hypothesis, which, as it kills the spirit,
so it dishonors nature. One historical fact connected with the theory
is, however, deserving our notice. Leibnitz, we know, opposed to these
atoms of Epicurus, as the constituents of all things, his own monads, as
so many living and ensouled unities. While, however, by this expedient,
this great thinker, and in his way, truly exalted spirit, retained the
same idea of universal and atomistic decomposition, he did but reveal in
it, as in so many other instances, that feature of his character which
enabled him, by a sort of half rejection of, half connivance at, error,
to put it aside with the skill of a diplomatist, rather than to get rid
of it altogether.
But in science there is another erroneous tendency, which is still more
deeply rooted, and which is far more pernicious and dangerous to true
living philosophy than these ancient atoms and all these false,
materializing systems of nature, which in some degree carry with them
their own refutation, and that is an atomistic mode of thinking, which
has its natural source in the present defective and disorganized state
of man’s cognitive faculty. True physical anatomy is a most valuable
science, and has already led to most important results. In this respect
its merits can not be rated too high, so long as it does not dream of
detecting with its scalpel the long-departed principle of life, but
contents itself with endeavoring to point out and decipher in the dead
husk, the still remaining traces of its general constitution, or of
certain morbid states of the life that once lived and moved within it.
But the dead and barren anatomy of thought leads not to any similarly
pregnant results. Beneath its dissecting hand, the life that is still
present is extinguished forever; and from the history of every science,
instances innumerable may be adduced to prove that before this baneful
spirit of analysis all high and noble truth disappears.
There are, then, two principal sources of philosophical error. On the
one hand comes the illusory phantom of unconditional entity and of
identical thought, with all that follows therefrom in the most
diversified forms either of scientific fatalism, or a poetical
pantheism, or some false or perverted tragic view of the world and
things. On the other stands the atomistic theory, with its kindred
errors of a materialistic cast of thought, and the atomistic thinking
itself, and the dead analysis of general notions, with that imagination
of death so deeply rooted in the human mind on which they all rest. And
these two delusions form that curse of mental blindness which from the
very first has invariably rested on such usurped absolutism and
omnipotence of reason when it sets itself up as supreme. Or they are,
perhaps, the now hereditary diseased symptoms of mental poverty and
numbness which mark and distinguish the faculty of thought whenever it
is caught and tied with the fetters of materialism.
The above are errors of a general kind, whether faults of objective
thinking or perverted directions of thought, on which the personal
character exercises little influence. It has, however, a far greater
effect on those forms and species of scientific error which have their
seat in the human will and understanding; for in the latter all become
more or less individual, and in them character, sentiment, passion, and
the free resolve, exercise the greatest influence. Consequently it is
extremely difficult in the case of those errors which flow from a
common, or, at least, kindred source, and which are so intimately
interwoven together, to separate and determine what portion belongs to
the mere cognitive faculty, and what to that which wills, works, and
acts. However, I shall venture to speak simply and plainly of the
prejudice of egoism, as having its root principally in the will, even
though it often springs up quite involuntarily. Its existence extends
widely over the pursuits and thoughts of man, and is even apparent in
the spiritual domain, where the pure pursuit of the highest truth is not
altogether free from it. It is very seldom, however, that this error
shapes itself into a decidedly and completely idealistic view of the
world, and a similar perfect system of science. For such a view finds on
all sides so much opposition, and becomes itself so involved with
difficulties, that it never can be carried out into a universally
consistent system. At any rate, such a system is very seldom of long
duration. It is so decidedly in opposition to man’s inmost feelings,
that when it is first propounded, its startling strangeness often gives
rise to the doubt whether it be really to be understood literally, and
were ever meant seriously. It frequently happens, therefore, that the
first author and founder of such a system of egoism makes in his second
revision of it many and essential modifications; or, rather, he may be
more correctly said to take quite a different position, and to give a
wholly new turn to his ideas. Of this many an example might, if this
were the appropriate place, be easily adduced from the history of the
human mind in general, while our own times furnish some striking and
remarkable instances of it. A lengthy analysis and refutation of a real
and decided system of idealism would, therefore, be scarcely necessary,
inasmuch as, properly, it furnishes its own refutation; at any rate, it
would not fall within the scope of our present disquisition, whose
principal object is to give a full exposition of the inner and higher
life. For this purpose, all that was required was to notice this
scientific aberration as a peculiar and remarkable form in the whole
system of human errors, and with this view to sketch, in a few prominent
features, its general character.
What I have said of the system of idealism, I would not, however, by any
means wish to be applied to idealistic doubt. For this, like doubt in
general, may perhaps form a salutary and highly beneficial crisis, out
of which a well-established and enlightened system of knowledge is to
arise. Indeed, I am disposed to believe, however paradoxical it may
seem (and perhaps it is a profound inward feeling of its paradoxical
character that carries with it my conviction), that this idealistic
doubt is more likely to lead to a welcome change in the prevailing views
of science, than that doubt which assails life itself, and which, as
directing itself against the freedom of the will, I would call a moral
skepticism; for the latter is diffused very widely indeed, and without
any scientific pretension, as the mere fatalism of ordinary reflection.
What, however, we are principally concerned with at present, is the
prejudice accruing to the cause of science from the fundamental errors
which cling to the human mind in its present form. Now in this respect
the evil influence of the prejudice of egoism is perhaps the most
extensive of all. Even when it does not manifest itself openly in its
most extreme and revolting form, it secretly insinuates itself into all
men’s thoughts and actions, and pervades more or less every region of
truth. Indeed, we may say, or, rather, must confess, that even in the
most able, pure, and perfect expositions of well-established
truths--whatever may be the form they take, whether scientific,
historical, artistic, or rhetorical, or perhaps be designed for the
practical illustration and guidance of life--a certain subjective bone
and coloring is more or less perceptible. Over all human compositions
and not merely art and poetry (where, though not absolutely and
universally, yet still to a certain degree it is allowable), a peculiar
light is thrown from the personal Me of the author, as reflected through
the immediate sphere of his associates and the circle of ideas in which
his mind has been accustomed to revolve. Against such an influence,
whether proceeding from ourselves or others, we can not be too
diligently on our guard. In all our judgments and conclusions we ought
carefully to put it aside. And this is the only true and legitimate
abstraction which holds good both for science and for life. But thus to
abstract our own Me and subjective peculiarities is a duty which is far
from being commonly observed, and is, in truth, extremely difficult,
even with the greatest honesty of purpose, perfectly to accomplish.
As we have so often spoken of an unintelligible medley of barren
abstractions as so many empty forms of thought, this truer notion of
abstraction may well be allowed a brief passing consideration. It seems
not improbable that in an older form of science, and a more religious
way of thinking, this notion did possess this higher and more correct
signification. At least, it is evident that if we would meditate upon
God and divine things, and give up ourselves fully and entirely to these
contemplations, we must first forget the whole outer world and withdraw
our thoughts from it, and at the same time rise above ourselves and go
out of ourselves and our own narrow and finite _Me_. Almost all the
notions of science possessed originally a grand and exalted import. It
was only in course of time that, deteriorated by common usage, they sunk
into empty formulas of error. In life, indeed, the subjective prejudices
of man, under the influence of a will carried away and narrowed by them,
has had so wide a range of action as to be co-extensive with the whole
field of human action. The willfulness of children forms the principle
obstacle that education has to deal with; and the inflexible obstinacy
and passionateness of party spirit is the ruling power in public life,
the cause of most of its catastrophes, and the source of its greatest
perils. In short, were we to attempt to extend our survey to all the
prejudices which spring out of narrow subjective views, and the great
and extensive authority which long-cherished opinions exercise both over
the inner man and the outer world, the chapter devoted to them in a
system or manual of a practical knowledge of humanity would be as long
as that which should enumerate the false syllogisms and all the
violations that were possible, either in thought or practice, of the
logical form of right reasoning, or even as that other which should
comprise all the psychological delusions of the fancy. We must,
therefore, confine ourselves to a brief, but still complete sketch. And
to insure such completeness there is one remark to be made, which is far
from unimportant, or at least not superfluous. And that refers first of
all to the relation which subsists between the aberrations of the
understanding and those of the will, and in the next place to that
between the fancy and the reason, and to the contrariety usually arising
from an undue predominance of either of these two faculties.
Understanding and will stand in a very close connection together, their
reciprocal influence being very considerable. In many an error, or at
least in many a perverse and erroneous direction of thought and opinion,
we are scarcely able to decide whether the will and sentiments, or the
understanding and special modes of thinking, have the greater part. How
difficult, for instance, is it to determine this point in the case of
the predominant spirit of contradiction, whether it reveal itself as a
reaction, having indeed an external exciting cause, but still thoroughly
passionate, or appear in the shape of a mere delight in opposition, such
as is found in many, and often highly distinguished individuals. For
both these motives have great influence, not only in life but also in
the domain of science, developing themselves therein as a fruitful
source of error.
As to doubt: it is even that state, or that tendency of the mind
[_geist_] peculiar to the understanding, which though in itself not
absolutely culpable or faulty, is certainly erroneous, and one which in
its extreme manifestation becomes a negative error of the very worst and
most pernicious kind in science. I have already several times mentioned,
in passing, and by way of anticipation, that doubt appears to form one
of the most characteristic and peculiar of man’s fundamental properties.
As sleep forms for man, as compared with the pure and ever-wakeful
spirits, an essential and peculiar state of his organic life in the
body, and as that eternal hope which is innate in the human soul is
acknowledged to be its higher stamp and Godlike signature, just so and
in a similar way must doubt be regarded as the inborn character of the
human mind, or at least as one of its most indelible features. And
indeed this struggle of doubt and hope (which even after the full
attainment of internal certainty and peace, still survives in a degree,
showing itself when we come to the special points of practical
application, and in truth will never wholly cease in this lower world),
this conflict between hope and doubt holds no less important nor less
extensive a place in the inner spiritual world than the reciprocation of
sleeping and waking does in the external and organic, maintaining the
due equilibrium of the bodily powers and their healthy state. Now, doubt
takes its rise pre-eminently and originally in the understanding. The
latter is its appropriate place in the whole human consciousness, though
from thence it quickly spreads over its whole sphere and extends to its
utmost limits. The delusion so peculiar to the reason, of an absolute
unity or identity and necessity, leads rather to a false and perfectly
imaginary science, which for the most part aims at possessing or dreams
of having attained to a mathematical certainty. And though the intrinsic
contradiction and inconsistency which reigns in this absolute view of
the world and things, notwithstanding the denial of all contrariety with
which it sets out, and which, apparently at least, it does get rid of at
the beginning, is well calculated to provoke and occasion doubt; still
it is not the seat where doubt is originally engendered and first takes
its rise. The act of understanding, on the contrary, supposes an
antecedent state of its absence. The object or thought which is now
understood for the first time, must have already existed as a given
matter, standing before us as a problem for our previous ignorance up to
the time that we succeeded in solving it. In truth, the act of
understanding is nothing more than the passing from ignorance into
intelligence. And this passage is not always effected at one step, but
for the most part by slow degrees, and often very slowly and gradually
indeed. Now, doubt, as the intermediate state between the original
ignorance and the inward yearning after certainty, forms the crisis of
this passage or transition. Primarily, therefore, and as stripped of all
perverted applications and unlimited extension, it is not in its essence
an impediment to knowledge, but rather an indispensable aid and useful
instrument for the attainment and perfection of sciences. Wonder,
according to the sense in which it is employed in some passages of the
Platonic philosophy, as the inner amazement of the spirit, or the
astonished rapture of the soul at the happy discovery--the first opening
out of the truth--wonder, we might say, is the mother of knowledge,
which bears in its womb and gives to the light the first germ of it; but
doubt is the father, by whom the internal basis, and also the external
form of science, is and can alone be perfected. And inasmuch as science,
although relatively and for any precise and given form it may appear
complete, yet in itself, and generally, and with regard both to its
eternal diffusion and intrinsic advance, can never reach to full
perfection in this lower world; therefore doubt can never properly cease
altogether. But still, if doubt is to remain a wholesome co-operative
power of knowledge, one requisition and demand, and one only, must be
made upon it. It must never question the hope and the end of truth
itself, and must not give up that inward search after knowledge, of
which it is really designed to serve as the organ. In the form of a
universal skepticism, however, it falls into a tone of unconditional
decision, which involves an assumption of complete certainty, and,
consequently, of a perfect, though negative knowledge, totally
inconsistent with its true character. It thereby undermines its own
foundation.
Absolute doubt, therefore, alone constitutes scientific error. As such
it must invariably be looked upon whenever, rising to the height of
despair, it pronounces science to be unattainable. It is such unlimited
extension that constitutes a fault or error. But even in this respect it
is extremely difficult to determine for individuals, nations, and eras,
this utmost limit, beyond which doubt becomes culpable. It is a shifting
line of demarkation, according as the perplexity of infinite doubt,
remaining nothing more than a passive state of internal conflict, is not
raised into an abiding principle and unchangeable maxim of life.
Besides, it is extremely difficult to determine, as a general law, how
far doubt can and may go before hope is entirely lost. Nay, it is not
easy to say whether, even in this pernicious extravagance, it may not
transform itself into good, and bring about a salutary crisis of
transition, and, being set free from its own exaggerations, discover the
true road to the goal of truth, and to a thorough understanding of it.
It is only when absolute doubt, in its full energy, is set up purposely
and forever as the final conclusion of all thought and reflection, as
the supreme science itself, being developed with cool, calm
self-possession, and applied to all things without exception, that this
spirit of absolute negation becomes totally erroneous. In this case,
indeed, it is irredeemably bad; as the hostile antagonist of all that is
good and precious, it overturns truth itself together with science.
And who, then, is the author of all evil in man himself, and in all his
thoughts, knowledge, and volitions, as well as in all the rest of
creation? It is the dark spirit of negation who so well knows how to
veil himself in the false light of apparently brightest clearness. And
since we have reached up to the height, or, rather, down to the depths,
of this primary source of all error, it may perhaps be necessary to add
a further remark or two on this prime author of untruth, with a view of
guarding against the misconceptions that otherwise might arise only too
naturally. In Holy Writ he is called the Spirit and the Prince of this
world. In ancient times, this description has been greatly
misunderstood. It was taken to mean that he is properly the demiurge and
subordinate creator of this sensible world, in which there are so many
traces of fearful dissension, profound corruption, and disorder. The
intrinsic state of nature in its present condition appeared to many
thinkers so inexpressibly miserable and so full of deadly evil, that
they could not bring themselves to ascribe its origination to the true
God. But even though nature be in fact ever so heavily laden with woes
and intrinsically miserable--(and indeed it is spoken of in the Book of
Truth as the creature “groaning and travailing in pain”)--though the
world were even far more fearfully rent with disorder and corruption,
and chained and fettered to a shape stranger to goodness and truth than
seems at the first glance to be the case, still there would be no ground
for adopting the oriental view of two principles. And indeed the wonder
is how it could ever have found adherents; since this world, already
sufficiently distracted, is thereby but involved in still deeper
dissension, and actually rent into two distinct parts, so that it
becomes no longer possible to think or conceive of such a thing as
truth, or to hope for any veritable and satisfactory scheme of
knowledge. This strange religious error, into which the primal world of
Asia, with its deep and profound emotions, fell, is so remote and
foreign to the more moderate, not to say colder, sentiments of the West,
that it is extremely difficult to set it forth and understand it in all
its actual awfulness. It would, therefore, be as idle as it would be
inappropriate for me to enter further into this false, but ancient
system of dualism. Still there is one remark which essentially belongs
to our present subject, and is also closely connected with what has gone
before. The first author of untruth, we have seen, can not for a moment
be regarded as the true demiurge and creator of the world, as the
oriental view would represent him. Nevertheless, inasmuch as evil,
universally and individually, in great and in little, is a deceptive
image and imitation of good, this spirit of everlasting negation has
unquestionably a world of his own, which is his production, and in a
certain degree called forth and created by him. And that is the null and
seeing world of void naught, which, however, through a fatal delusion
and belief in its reality, and through its opposition to the good as
well as the true, has become a _real_ naught, and must be considered as
such. The actual world of the beneficent Creator was created out of
nothing, since, besides Himself, all is nothing but a mirror of His
perfection, a mere reflection of His infinite power and glory. But
though it was made out of nothing, it was yet created for something, or,
rather, for very much, even for an ever-advancing approximation to, and
a finally complete identity with, its Maker. This good and noble
something, as the supreme end of the true creation, is, however, opposed
by the naught of the dark world of shadows, which has now become real,
and, consequently, evil. Thus created, however, or at least shaped and
produced out of something, it exists for nothing, even for that naught
which constitutes the proper world, the field of action and vital
atmosphere of the evil principle. In the case of an individual whose
delusions have been carried to the height of passion, and whose soul is
torn and distracted by a perfect despair of all truth, it is sometimes
said that he has hell itself in his heart; such a mode of speaking (as
is usually the case with such images and metaphors, which we use without
associating with them any very clear or definite ideas), is perfectly
and in sober earnestness quite true. In a metaphysical sense even, it is
perfectly precise and correct.
If this absolute doubt, which is so often set up for the supreme
principle of all thought and knowledge, were always to show and exhibit
itself such as it really is, and in its inmost nature, and if what it
ultimately leads to, and from what source it originally springs, were
fully known, then would this skeptical view of things, with its wild
exaggerations, which go beyond all the analogy of human nature, prove
far less baneful than it does at present. In general it would less
easily gain assent and make a far weaker impression. But inasmuch as
this fatally pernicious and most absurd paradox does not stand out here
so sharply and clearly as it does in the genuine idealistic theory, but
is mostly veiled and hidden beneath the manifold beauties of an
exquisite skill of exposition, which very often drops the rigor of
scientific form, it consequently numbers far more adherents than could
have been believed to be possible. Indeed, they are almost as numerous
as the admirers of a poetical pantheism, with which it contrives
occasionally to form a half compact and seemingly identifies itself. And
this fact alone furnishes a sufficient reason why we should not pass it
over altogether unnoticed in these Lectures. However, it must be borne
in mind that all our objections and exceptions are directed exclusively
against an absolute skepticism, as exercising by its perverted
application and undue extension, a fatally destructive influence on
science and on life.
The true doubt, which keeps within its proper limits and on the road to
its appointed goal of a constantly advancing but never perfect
knowledge, deserves to be regarded as an ever active and co-operative
power for the development of truth and science. It must therefore be
confessed that the appointed guardians of the publicly acknowledged
truth (which, as such, ought to possess universal authority, both in the
state and the spiritual domain) do not always exhibit the greatest
wisdom and discretion. Too often do they violently suppress every
movement of doubt without distinction, and allow no opening to it in any
shape. For by this course they do but exaggerate the spiritual and
intellectual evil that already exists. At least this purely negative
method can never totally eradicate it.
We have now, then, completely depicted, in their leading features at
least, the principal errors to which science is exposed. And if we have
enabled you to regard them as errors both in their origin and their
subsequent character, we must at the same time, by means of the
contrast, have thrown additional light and distinctness on the idea of
science, not only as regards its different elements and constituents,
but also the whole periphery and center of internal certainty. If, now,
it should be required of us to give a common characteristic of all the
fundamental errors which, potentially at least, exist in the human
consciousness--if it be wished that we should comprise under one general
designation the false phantom of absolute unity and necessity in
science--the imaginary fiction of death brought into nature by a dead
and atomistic mode of thinking--the prejudices of the Ego or Me, and the
spirit of eternal negation, which is utterly fatal to truth--then, for
this purpose, nothing else would remain but an empty formula or
unsubstantial notion, viz., the dead absolute. At least this would be
thoroughly appropriate to convey that intrinsic indifference of all
forms of scientific untruth.
Opposed thereto, and forming the center of a true and valid knowledge,
is that source of eternal love within the feeling to which we have
already so often alluded, designating it by either similar or somewhat
different expressions. To defend and securely to settle this living
center of all higher truth and true science against the attacks of
absolute skepticism, was even the task which we proposed to ourselves
from the outset. It was however far from our intention, while
discharging this duty, wholly to put doubt itself under a ban. On the
contrary, we look upon the latter as an essential means of improvement,
and as an almost indispensable organ of development in a living
progression of knowledge.
Now in these definite limits, both for the exclusion of absolute
skepticism and for the recognition and correct application at all times
of a genuine and salutary doubt, we have, we think, found a satisfactory
answer to the great question of truth and of the possibility of man’s
attaining to a knowledge of it. And if so, we have at the same time
shown completely that doubt forms a decisive crisis in the human mind,
and thereby happily solved the problem which at an earlier period we
propounded with regard to it. And moreover, as was then declared to be
necessary, the instinctive feeling of truth within the very center of
love has been raised to and established in the dignity of an intelligent
feeling or a solid judgment of inward certainty, and of an immediate
perception thereof. And this immediate perception of inward certainty
must serve as the transition from the first developed notion of the
consciousness to our now more enlightened idea of science, and also form
the connecting link between them. Before, however, we can close our
present development with this notion of judgment or intelligent feeling
of inward certainty, one question remains to be answered, or perhaps one
remark to be added. And this relates to truth itself, as the inmost
center of such an immediate perception, while the question that occurs
is, what is it, _per se_, to know, and what is it that in the act of
knowing really takes place in the human mind?
Now it has been long admitted that true knowing consists in this: that a
man discerns things, not merely as they outwardly appear, but as they
are really and truly in themselves. But this true intrinsic essence of
things is seized or understood by him only who perceives them such as
they proceeded from the Deity, have their being in Him, and such as they
stand before His omniscient eye and are seen by him. What, then, is true
knowledge, if such be possible for man? Now, supposing the existence of
a living God--and how, without this universal primary and imperishable
hypothesis, could there be either talk or question about truth or
knowledge in general?--this supposition then involves the idea of an
omnipresent Deity, in whom all existing things “live and move, and have
their being,” even though He does not visibly appear, and is hidden to
the outward eye of sense. Truly to know, therefore, would be, if we may
so express it, to feel and draw out the latent presence of God in
objects, and thereby to seize and perceive their true intrinsic essence.
Now, if it is necessary to distinguish the several grades of development
of this spiritual or intellectual feeling which draws out the inner
truth of things, its first step must be described as a perception,
which, however, is both from without and remote. The second would be a
_sensation_, _i.e._, the full certain _finding_ the truth in one’s
self.[75] As to the last step of consummation, that would amount to an
intellectual intuition, even though, by reason of human finiteness, it
must ever remain indirect. Still it would not, on that account, be less
profoundly searching and penetrating, while, in it, that of which we
have now first become certain comes forth externally perfect, and admits
of being imparted to others. And unquestionably for that philosophy
which pretends to open and unveil a true and right understanding of the
inner and higher life, after the first grade, which took for its basis
the full and complete notion of the consciousness; and after the second,
in which the idea of science is unfolded, this intuition of truth forms
the third degree, and also the final close and completion, of the whole.
In order, however, to understand how such an intuitive knowledge is
possible, we must bear in mind that it is not we who raise ourselves to
the divine idea; but that, on the contrary, it is it that takes hold of
our minds, being imparted to and working within us.
The deadly attacks of skepticism may, no doubt, be directed successfully
enough against an unconditional science of reason, where its action or
reaction, which brings out the intrinsic contradiction of such a system,
is both salutary and desirable, in order to destroy the false semblance
of a spurious necessity. All its blows, however, glance off from a real
and solid experience, and soon cease entirely. And just so, also, the
limit of an assumed or credited impossibility, which is too hastily and
too nearly set up, is quickly overstepped by facts themselves. Very
often, before now, has it happened, in experimental science, that what
man once not merely questioned, but actually declared to be incredible,
nay, even impossible, has unexpectedly proved, afterward, to be an
actual fact, and gained general credence as undeniably certain. How much
is there not in nature that deserves to be called marvelous, and borders
close upon the miraculous, and which makes, at least, some such
impression on our minds and understandings as they have been hitherto
developed? To one, indeed, who takes his stand on revelation, it becomes
extremely difficult to draw a strict line of demarkation, and to raise
an impassable boundary between that which is called natural and that
which is termed supernatural, in the usual sense of these words. And, if
all higher truth is imparted, and can not but be such, who will presume
to set a limit or a measure here? Who will set bounds to the Author of
revelation which He shall not pass? If, then, even in philosophy, all
science and truth is really a revelation, and if it were recognized and
understood in this light, then should we be able to put this matter to
the test of experience, provided, only, that we be careful to draw from
the right source, and to treat philosophy really and truly as a science
of an experience higher than any internal or external one.
But man must not expect, even according to this point of view, to
penetrate at once into the fullness of the divine mysteries, and
arbitrarily to play with and mold them at his pleasure. The development
of truth in the human mind always proceeds slowly, and step by step.
Even when the whole beginning and sure foundation is already found, or,
rather, given, the inner evolution and external application of true
science unfolds itself with extreme tardiness. At each point of progress
much still remains to be overcome, much to be improved, and even to be
thought upon once more, and reconsidered over and over again. Often,
too, at the very last moment, an unexpected obstacle presents itself, or
some new procrastination of a conscientious doubt or care. To show that
all this is to be expected, even according to the theory which makes
science to be a divine communication, and that all higher knowledge is
and must be such, I have a remark or two more to add. And here I shall
not follow the same course that I took in my exposition of the possible
forms of error, tracing the origin of each to some predisposing cause in
the several faculties of the mind. It will suffice to take for granted
the keenest susceptibility in the truth-loving soul, the greatest
activity and energy of the spirit in its search after and cognition of
science, and a perfectly pure will co-existing and having a common
foundation in a purified, newly-invigorated, and enhanced state of the
human consciousness.
Very often, even in the noblest minds, a lively, open sense and profound
sensibility of the soul for the higher truth is found associated with a
secret dread and profound apprehension before it. At this, however, we
need not to feel surprised. It is not so much a lasting illusion, as
rather a slight partition-wall between the first new impression and our
habitual self; for each fresh influence of higher truth draws us
noticeably away from our usual circle of ideas, and often painfully
eradicates some favorite notion and cherished opinion. This fact, then,
will serve to explain this slight feeling of resistance which precedes a
complete adhesion and identification, and as such requires to be treated
with the utmost delicacy and tenderness. Or let us take the case of a
great mind in possession of a higher and comprehensive knowledge, and
most assuredly he could never have attained to it without many a bold
venture in living thought; for without boldness nothing good or
beautiful, much less great, is ever reached or attainable. And this is
true also of language, for the bold thought demands a correspondent
boldness of expression. Where, then, is such a one to look for the
limits and the standard of a legitimate venture--the guide and safeguard
against temerity--when his boldness of speculation springs really from a
profound love of truth, and a pure enthusiasm for science? The risk of
error and mistake, and even a sense of solemn accountability, meets him
on all sides, and fills him with anxiety and reserve. The hypothesis has
been deemed allowable, at least it has been advanced, invented by way of
simile, of a man being intrusted with and holding in his hand the full
truth--or, rather, let me say all truth in heaven and in earth--since,
if we suppose science to be imparted and a gift, there can be no limits
set or predetermined to its extent. Now, it has been asserted that such
a person would be seized with hesitation, fear, and doubt, whether he
ought to open his hand all at once, or only half open it at first, or
whether he ought not even to keep it a long time closed. But to turn
away from this fiction, which, in reality, transcends altogether the
measure of human capacity, then, as regards the necessary gradation and
salutary slowness that marks, and even the hesitation that must take
place in all human learning and development, and even in philosophy, no
less than in the internal region of the consciousness, what rule or
guide has man? For such a standard nothing, apparently, remains to us
but to assume the notion of a logical conscience as a quality in the
true thinker necessary to preserve him from every false step, either
within or without. That there is such a logical conscience, wholly
independent of all moral relation, is perfectly obvious. By it we must
understand not only a careful measuring and weighing of all thoughts,
but even of every word and expression; and we have chosen this term as
well fitted to enforce the great importance of this sensibility in
matters of scientific truth, and to indicate the place in the
consciousness where it properly has its seat, and the principle from
which it must take its rise. The genius-gifted boldness of a great
thinker would be little likely to convey confidence, if it were not at
the same time associated and harmoniously united with the essential
element of a cautious and gradual procedure. In its essential features,
though in a somewhat different form and relation, the Greeks, in their
philosophy, were acquainted with and possessed this notion of a logical
conscience; for, in some measure, it is even implied in this very word
philosophy, which was intended to indicate, and intrinsically means, an
unselfish and pure pursuit of truth. But the fact becomes still more
evident by the contrast with, or, rather, by the notion of, the sophist,
as opposed to that of the philosopher. By the former they understood a
common and vulgar traffic with wisdom, or even an interested and wholly
unconscientious abuse of scientific truth to personal interest, or the
gratification of selfish humors and passions, and even of vain glory.
All this the Greeks regarded as absolutely worthless and despicable. And
much is it to be wished that we, in our days, remembered a little
better, and strove to imitate this stern morality of the old Athenians
in their notion of the high dignity of truth, and of the respect due to
this sanctuary of science, which, at the distance that they were allowed
to approach to it, they reverently worshiped and honored.