Man has his existence and being either _with_ his will, _i.e._, his
consent, or _without_ this; in the latter case an existence so embittered
by manifold and insupportable sufferings would be a flagrant injustice.
The ancients, especially the Stoics, also the Peripatetics and Academics,
strove in vain to prove that virtue sufficed to make life happy.
Experience cried out loudly against it. What really lay at the foundation
of the efforts of these philosophers, although they were not distinctly
conscious of it, was the assumed _justice_ of the thing; whoever was
without guilt ought to be free from suffering, thus happy. But the serious
and profound solution of the problem lies in the Christian doctrine that
works do not justify. Accordingly a man, even if he has practised all
justice and benevolence, consequently the αγαθον, _honestum_, is yet not,
as Cicero imagines, _culpa omni carens_ (_Tusc._, v. i.); but _el delito
mayor del hombre es haber nacido_ (the greatest guilt of man is that he
was born), as Calderon, illuminated by Christianity, has expressed it with
far profounder knowledge than these wise men. Therefore that man comes
into the world already tainted with guilt can appear absurd only to him
who regards him as just then having arisen out of nothing and as the work
of another. In consequence of _this_ guilt, then, which must therefore
have proceeded from his will, man remains rightly exposed to physical and
mental suffering, even if he has practised all those virtues, thus is not
happy. This follows from the _eternal justice_ of which I have spoken in §
63 of the first volume. That, however, as St. Paul (Rom. iii. 21),
Augustine, and Luther teach, works cannot justify, inasmuch as we all are
and remain essentially sinners, ultimately rests upon the fact that,
because _operari sequitur esse_, if we acted as we ought, we would
necessarily be as we ought. But then we would require no _salvation_ from
our present condition, which not only Christianity but also Brahmanism and
Buddhism (under the name which is expressed in English by _final
emancipation_) present as the highest goal, _i.e._, we would not need to
become something quite different from, nay, the very opposite of what we
are. Since, however, we are what we ought not to be, we also necessarily
do what we ought not to do. Therefore we need a complete transformation of
our mind and nature; _i.e._, the new birth, as the result of which
salvation appears. Although the guilt lies in action, _operari_, yet the
root of the guilt lies in our _essentia et existentia_, for out of these
the _operari_ necessarily proceeds, as I have shown in the prize essay on
the freedom of the will. Accordingly our one true sin is really original
sin. Now the Christian myth makes original sin first arise after man came
into existence, and for this purpose ascribes to him, _per impossibile_, a
free will. It does this, however, simply as myth. The inmost kernel and
spirit of Christianity is identical with that of Brahmanism and Buddhism;
they all teach a great guilt of the human race through its existence
itself, only that Christianity does not proceed directly and frankly like
these more ancient religions: thus does not make the guilt simply the
result of existence itself, but makes it arise through the act of the
first human pair. This was only possible under the fiction of a _liberum
arbitrium indifferentiæ_, and only necessary on account of the Jewish
fundamental dogma, in which that doctrine had here to be implanted.
Because, according to the truth, the coming into existence of man himself
is the act of his free will, and accordingly one with the fall, and
therefore the original sin, of which all other sins are the result,
appeared already with the _essentia_ and _existentia_ of man; but the
fundamental dogma of Judaism did not admit of such an explanation. Thus
Augustine taught, in his books _De libero arbitrio_, that only as Adam
before the fall was man guiltless and possessed of a free will, but for
ever after is involved in the necessity of sin. The law, ὁ νομος, in the
Biblical sense, always demands that we shall change our doing, while our
being remains unchanged. But because this is impossible, Paul says that no
man is justified by the law; only the new birth in Jesus Christ, in
consequence of the work of grace, on account of which a new man arises and
the old man is abolished (_i.e._, a fundamental change of mind or
conversion), can transfer us from the state of sinfulness into that of
freedom and salvation. This is the Christian myth with reference to
ethics. But certainly the Jewish theism, upon which it was grafted, must
have received wonderful additions to adapt itself to that myth. In it the
fable of the fall presented the only place for the graft of the old Indian
stem. It is to be attributed just to that forcibly surmounted difficulty
that the Christian mysteries have received such an extraordinary
appearance, conflicting with the ordinary understanding, which makes
proselytising more difficult, and on account of which, from incapacity to
comprehend their profound meaning, Pelagianism, or at the present day
Rationalism, rises against them, and seeks to explain them away, but
thereby reduces Christianity to Judaism.
But to speak without myth: so long as our will is the same, our world can
be no other than it is. It is true all wish to be delivered from the state
of suffering and death; they would like, as it is expressed, to attain to
eternal blessedness, to enter the kingdom of heaven, only not upon their
own feet; they would like to be carried there by the course of nature.
That, however, is impossible. Therefore nature will never let us fall and
become nothing; but yet it can lead us nowhere but always again into
nature. Yet how questionable a thing it is to exist as a part of nature
every one experiences in his own life and death. Accordingly existence is
certainly to be regarded as an erring, to return from which is salvation:
it also bears this character throughout. It is therefore conceived in this
manner by the ancient Samana religions, and also, although indirectly, by
real and original Christianity. Even Judaism itself contains at least in
the fall (this its redeeming feature) the germ of such a view. Only Greek
paganism and Islamism are entirely optimistic: therefore in the former the
opposite tendency had to find expression at least in tragedy; but in
Islamism, which is the worst, as it is the most modern, of all religions,
it appeared as Sufism, that very beautiful phenomenon, which is completely
of Indian spirit and origin, and has now continued for upwards of a
thousand years. Nothing can, in fact, be given as the end of our existence
but the knowledge that we had better not be. This, however, is the most
important of all truths, which must therefore be expressed, however great
the contrast in which it stands with the European manner of thought of the
present day. On the other hand, in the whole of non‐Mohammedan Asia it is
the most universally recognised fundamental truth, to‐day as much as three
thousand years ago.
If now we consider the will to live as a whole and objectively, we have,
in accordance with what has been said, to think of it as involved in an
illusion, to escape from which, thus to deny its whole existing endeavour,
is what all religions denote by self‐renunciation, _abnegatio sui ipsius_;
for the true self is the will to live. The moral virtues, thus justice and
benevolence, since if they are pure they spring, as I have shown, from the
fact that the will to live, seeing through the _principium
individuationis_, recognises itself in all its manifestations, are
accordingly primarily a sign, a symptom, that the self‐manifesting will is
no longer firmly held in that illusion, but the disillusion already begins
to take place; so that one might metaphorically say it already flaps its
wings to fly away from it. Conversely, injustice, wickedness, cruelty are
signs of the opposite, thus of the deep entanglement in that illusion.
Secondly, however, these virtues are a means of advancing self‐
renunciation, and accordingly the denial of the will to live. For true
integrity, inviolable justice, this first and most important of cardinal
virtues, is so hard a task that whoever professes it unconditionally and
from the bottom of his heart has to make sacrifices that soon deprive life
of the sweetness which is demanded to make it enjoyable, and thereby turn
away the will from it, thus lead to resignation. Yet just what makes
integrity honourable is the sacrifices which it costs; in trifles it is
not admired. Its nature really consists in this, that the just man does
not throw upon others, by craft or force, the burdens and sorrows which
life brings with it, as the unjust man does, but bears himself what falls
to his lot; and thus he has to bear the full burden of the evil imposed
upon human life, undiminished. Justice thereby becomes a means of
advancing the denial of the will to live, for want and suffering, those
true conditions of human life, are its consequence, and these lead to
resignation. Still more quickly does the virtue of benevolence, _caritas_,
which goes further, lead to the same result; for on account of it one
takes over even the sufferings which originally fell to the lot of others,
therefore appropriates to oneself a larger share of these than in the
course of things would come to the particular individual. He who is
inspired with this virtue has recognised his own being in all others. And
thereby he identifies his own lot with that of humanity in general; but
this is a hard lot, that of care, suffering, and death. Whoever, then, by
renouncing every accidental advantage, desires for himself no other lot
than that of humanity in general cannot desire even this long. The
clinging to life and its pleasures must now soon yield, and give place to
a universal renunciation; consequently the denial of the will will take
place. Since now, in accordance with this, poverty, privation, and special
sufferings of many kinds are introduced simply by the perfect exercise of
the moral virtues, asceticism in the narrowest sense, thus the surrender
of all possessions, the intentional seeking out of what is disagreeable
and repulsive, self‐mortification, fasts, the hair shirt, and the
scourge—all this is rejected by many, and perhaps rightly, as superfluous.
Justice itself is the hair shirt that constantly harasses its owner and
the charity that gives away what is needed, provides constant fasts.(45)
Just on this account Buddhism is free from all strict and excessive
asceticism, which plays a large part in Brahmanism, thus from intentional
self‐mortification. It rests satisfied with the celibacy, voluntary
poverty, humility, and obedience of the monks, with abstention from animal
food, as also from all worldliness. Since, further, the goal to which the
moral virtues lead is that which is here pointed out, the Vedanta
philosophy(46) rightly says that after the entrance of true knowledge,
with entire resignation in its train, thus the new birth, then the
morality or immorality of the past life is a matter of indifference, and
uses here also the saying so often quoted by the Brahmans: “_Finditur
nodus cordis, dissolvuntur omnes dubitationes, ejusque opera evanescunt,
viso supremo illo_” (_Sancara, sloca 32_).
Now, however objectionable this view may be to many, to whom a reward in
heaven or a punishment in hell is a much more satisfactory explanation of
the ethical significance of human action, just as the good Windischmann
rejects that doctrine, while he expounds it, yet whoever is able to go to
the bottom of the matter will find that in the end it agrees with that
Christian doctrine especially urged by Luther, that it is not works but
only the faith which enters through the work of grace, that saves us, and
that therefore we can never be justified by our deeds, but can only obtain
the forgiveness of our sins through the merits of the Mediator. It is
indeed easy to see that without such assumptions Christianity would have
to teach infinite punishment for all, and Brahmanism endless re‐births for
all, thus no salvation would be reached by either. The sinful works and
their consequences must be annulled and annihilated, whether by extraneous
pardon or by the entrance of a better knowledge; otherwise the world could
hope for no salvation; afterwards, however, they become a matter of
indifference. This is also the μετανοια και αφεσις ἁμαρτιων, the
announcement of which the risen Christ exclusively imposes upon His
Apostles as the sum of their mission (Luke xxiv. 47). The moral virtues
are really not the ultimate end, but only a step towards it. This step is
signified in the Christian myth by the eating of the tree of the knowledge
of good and evil, with which moral responsibility enters, together with
original sin. The latter itself is in truth the assertion of the will to
live: the denial of the will to live, in consequence of the appearance of
a better knowledge, is, on the other hand, salvation. Between these two,
then, lies the sphere of morality; it accompanies man as a light upon his
path from the assertion to the denial of the will, or, mythically, from
original sin to salvation through faith in the mediation of the incarnate
God (Avatar); or, according to the teaching of the Vedas, through all re‐
births, which are the consequence of the works in each case, until right
knowledge appears, and with it salvation (final emancipation), Mokscha,
_i.e._, reunion with Brahma. The Buddhists, however, with perfect honesty,
only indicate the matter negatively, by Nirvana, which is the negation of
this world, or of Sansara. If Nirvana is defined as nothing, this only
means that the Sansara contains no single element which could assist the
definition or construction of Nirvana. Just on this account the Jainas,
who differ from the Buddhists only in name, call the Brahmans who believe
in the Vedas Sabdapramans, a nickname which is meant to signify that they
believe upon hearsay what cannot be known or proved (“Asiat. Researches,”
vol. vi. P. 474).
When certain ancient philosophers, such as Orpheus, the Pythagoreans, and
Plato (_e.g._, in the “Phædo,” pp. 151, 183 _seq._, Bip.; and see _Clem.
Alex. strom._, iii. p. 400 _seq._), just like the Apostle Paul, lament the
union of soul and body, and desire to be freed from it, we understand the
real and true meaning of this complaint, since we have recognised, in the
second book, that the body is the will itself, objectively perceived as a
phenomenon in space.
In the hour of death it is decided whether the man returns into the womb
of nature or belongs no more to nature at all, but —— —— ——: for this
opposite we lack image, conception, and word, just because these are all
taken from the objectification of the will, therefore belong to this, and
consequently can in no way express the absolute opposite of it, which
accordingly remains for us a mere negation. However, the death of the
individual is in each case the unweariedly repeated question of nature to
the will to live, “Hast thou enough? Wilt thou escape from me?” In order
that it may occur often enough, the individual life is so short. In this
spirit are conceived the ceremonies, prayers, and exhortations of the
Brahmans at the time of death, as we find them preserved in the Upanischad
in several places; and so also are the Christian provisions for the
suitable employment of the hour of death by means of exhortation,
confession, communion, and extreme unction: hence also the Christian
prayers for deliverance from sudden death. That at the present day it is
just this that many desire only proves that they no longer stand at the
Christian point of view, which is that of the denial of the will to live,
but at that of its assertion, which is the heathen point of view.
But he will fear least to become nothing in death who has recognised that
he is already nothing now, and who consequently no longer takes any share
in his individual phenomenon, because in him knowledge has, as it were,
burnt up and consumed the will, so that no will, thus no desire for
individual existence, remains in him any more.
Individuality inheres indeed primarily in the intellect; and the
intellect, reflecting the phenomenon, belongs to the phenomenon, which has
the _principium individuationis_ as its form. But it inheres also in the
will, inasmuch as the character is individual: yet the character itself is
abolished in the denial of the will. Thus individuality inheres in the
will only in its assertion, not in its denial. Even the holiness which is
connected with every purely moral action depends upon the fact that such
an action ultimately springs from the immediate knowledge of the numerical
identity of the inner nature of all living things.(47) But this identity
only really exists in the condition of the denial of the will (Nirvana),
for the assertion of the will (Sansara) has for its form the phenomenal
appearance of it in multiplicity. Assertion of the will to live, the
phenomenal world, the diversity of all beings, individuality, egoism,
hatred, wickedness, all spring from _one_ root; and so also, on the other
hand, do the world as thing in itself, the identity of all beings,
justice, benevolence, the denial of the will to live. If now, as I have
sufficiently proved, even the moral virtues spring from the consciousness
of that identity of all beings, but this lies, not in the phenomenon, but
only in the thing in itself, in the root of all beings, the moral action
is a momentary passing through the point, the permanent return to which is
the denial of the will to live.
It follows, as a deduction from what has been said, that we have no ground
to assume that there are more perfect intelligences than that of human
beings. For we see that even this degree of intelligence is sufficient to
impart to the will that knowledge in consequence of which it denies and
abolishes itself, upon which the individuality, and consequently the
intelligence, which is merely a tool of individual, and therefore animal
nature, perish. This will appear to us less open to objection if we
consider that we cannot conceive even the most perfect intelligences
possible, which for this end we may experimentally assume, existing
through an endless time, which would be much too poor to afford them
constantly new objects worthy of them. Because the nature of all things is
at bottom one, all knowledge of them is necessarily tautological. If now
this nature once becomes comprehended, as by those most perfect
intelligences it soon would be comprehended, what would then remain but
the wearisomeness of mere repetition through an infinite time? Thus from
this side also we are pointed to the fact that the end of all intelligence
can only be reaction upon the will; since, however, all willing is an
error, it remains the last work of intelligence to abolish the willing,
whose ends it had hitherto served. Accordingly even the most perfect
intelligence possible can only be a transition step to that to which no
knowledge can ever extend: indeed such an intelligence can, in the nature
of things, only assume the position of the moment of the attainment of
perfect insight.
In agreement with all these considerations, and also with what is proved
in the second book as to the origin of knowledge in the will, the
_assertion_ of which it reflects in fulfilling the sole function of
knowledge, that of being serviceable to the ends of the will, while true
salvation lies in its _denial_, we see all religions at their highest
point pass over into mysticism and mysteries, _i.e._, into darkness and
veiled obscurity, which for knowledge signify merely an empty spot, the
point where knowledge necessarily ceases; therefore for thought this can
only be expressed by negations, but for sense perception it is indicated
by symbolical signs; in temples by dim light and silence; in Brahmanism
indeed by the required suspension of all thought and perception for the
sake of sinking oneself profoundly in the grounds of one’s own being,
mentally pronouncing the mysterious Oum.(48) Mysticism in the widest sense
is every guidance to the immediate consciousness of that to which neither
perception nor conception, thus in general no knowledge extends. The
mystic is thus opposed to the philosopher by the fact that he begins from
within, while the philosopher begins from without. The mystic starts from
his inner, positive, individual experience, in which he finds himself to
be the eternal and only being, &c. But nothing of this is communicable
except the assertions which one has to accept upon his word; consequently
he cannot convince. The philosopher, on the other hand, starts from what
is common to all, from the objective phenomenon which lies before all, and
from the facts of consciousness as they are present in all. His method is
therefore reflection upon all this, and combination of the data given in
it: accordingly he can convince. He ought therefore to beware of falling
into the way of the mystics, and, for example, by the assertion of
intellectual intuitions or pretended immediate apprehensions of the
reason, to seek to make a vain show of positive knowledge of that which is
for ever inaccessible to all knowledge, or at the most can be indicated by
means of a negation. The value and worth of philosophy lies in the fact
that it rejects all assumptions which cannot be established, and takes as
its data only what can be certainly proved in the world given in external
perception, in the forms of apprehension of this world, which are
constitutive of our intellect, and in the consciousness of one’s own self
which is common to all. Therefore it must remain cosmology, and cannot
become theology. Its theme must limit itself to the world; to express in
all aspects what this _is_, what it is in its inmost nature, is all that
it can honestly achieve. Now it answers to this that my system when it
reaches its highest point assumes a _negative_ character, thus ends with a
negation. It can here speak only of what is denied, given up: but what is
thereby won, what is laid hold of, it is obliged (at the conclusion of the
fourth book) to denote as nothing, and can only add the consolation that
it is merely a relative, not an absolute nothing. For if something is none
of all the things which we know, it is certainly for us, speaking
generally, nothing. But it does not yet follow from this that it is
absolutely nothing, that from every possible point of view and in every
possible sense it must be nothing, but only that we are limited to a
completely negative knowledge of it, which may very well lie in the
limitation of our point of view. Now it is just here that the mystic
proceeds positively, and therefore it is just from this point that nothing
but mysticism remains. However, any one who wishes this kind of supplement
to the negative knowledge to which alone philosophy can guide him will
find it in its most beautiful and richest form in the Oupnekhat, then also
in the Enneads of Plotinus, in Scotus Erigena, in passages of Jakob Böhm,
but especially in the marvellous work of Madame de Guion, _Les Torrens_,
and in Angelus Silesius; finally also in the poems of the Sufis, of which
Tholuk has given us a collection translated into Latin, and another
translated into German, and in many other works. The Sufis are the
Gnostics of Islam. Hence Sadi denotes them by a word which may be
translated “full of insight.” Theism, calculated with reference to the
capacity of the multitude, places the source of existence without us, as
an object. All mysticism, and so also Sufism, according to the various
degrees of its initiation, draws it gradually back within us, as the
subject, and the adept recognises at last with wonder and delight that he
is it himself. This procedure, common to all mysticism, we find not only
expressed by Meister Eckhard, the father of German mysticism, in the form
of a precept for the perfect ascetic, “that he seek not God outside
himself” (Eckhard’s works, edited by Pfeiffer, vol. i. p. 626), but also
very naïvely exhibited by Eckhard’s spiritual daughter, who sought him
out, when she had experienced that conversion in herself, to cry out
joyfully to him, “Sir, rejoice with me, I have become God” (_loc. cit._,
p. 465). The mysticism of the Sufis also expresses itself throughout
precisely in accordance with this spirit, principally as a revelling in
the consciousness that one is oneself the kernel of the world and the
source of all existence, to which all returns. Certainly there also often
appears the call to surrender all volition as the only way in which
deliverance from individual existence and its suffering is possible, yet
subordinated and required as something easy. In the mysticism of the
Hindus, on the other hand, the latter side comes out much more strongly,
and in Christian mysticism it is quite predominant, so that pantheistic
consciousness, which is essential to all mysticism, here only appears in a
secondary manner, in consequence of the surrender of all volition, as
union with God. Corresponding to this difference of the conception,
Mohammedan mysticism has a very serene character, Christian mysticism a
gloomy and melancholy character, while that of the Hindus, standing above
both, in this respect also holds the mean.
Quietism, _i.e._, surrender of all volition, asceticism, _i.e._,
intentional mortification of one’s own will, and mysticism, _i.e._,
consciousness of the identity of one’s own nature with that of all things
or with the kernel of the world, stand in the closest connection; so that
whoever professes one of them is gradually led to accept the others, even
against his intention. Nothing can be more surprising than the agreement
with each other of the writers who present these doctrines,
notwithstanding the greatest difference of their age, country, and
religion, accompanied by the firm certainty and inward confidence with
which they set forth the permanence of their inner experience. They do not
constitute a _sect_, which adheres to, defends, and propagates a favourite
dogma once laid hold of; indeed the Indian, Christian, and Mohammedan
mystics, quietists, and ascetics are different in every respect, except
the inner significance and spirit of their teaching. A very striking
example of this is afforded by the comparison of the _Torrens_ of Madame
de Guion with the teaching of the Vedas, especially with the passage in
the Oupnekhat, vol. i. p. 63, which contains the content of that French
work in the briefest form, but accurately and even with the same images,
and yet could not possibly have been known to Madame de Guion in 1680. In
the “_Deutschen Theologie_” (the only unmutilated edition, Stuttgart,
1851) it is said in chapters 2 and 3 that both the fall of the devil and
that of Adam consisted in the fact that the one as the other ascribed to
himself the I and me, the mine and to me, and on p. 89 it is said: “In
true love there remains neither I nor me, mine, to me, thou, thine, and
the like.” Now, corresponding to this, it is said in the “Kural,” from the
Tamilian by Graul, p. 8: “The passion of the mine directed outwardly, and
that of the I directed inwardly, cease” (_cf._ ver. 346). And in the
“Manual of Buddhism” by Spence Hardy, p. 258, Buddha says: “My disciples
reject the thoughts I am this, or this is mine.” In general, if we look
away from the forms which are introduced by external circumstances and go
to the bottom of the matter, we will find that Sakya Muni and Meister
Eckhard teach the same; only that the former dared to express his thoughts
directly, while the latter is obliged to clothe them in the garments of
the Christian myth and adapt his expressions to this. He carries this,
however, so far that with him the Christian myth has become little more
than a symbolical language, just as the Hellenic myth became for the Neo‐
Platonists: he takes it throughout allegorically. In the same respect it
is worth noticing that the transition of St. Francis from prosperity to
the mendicant life is similar to the still greater step of Buddha Sakya
Muni from prince to beggar, and that, corresponding to this, the life of
St. Francis, and also the order he founded, was just a kind of
Sannyasiism. Indeed it deserves to be mentioned that his relationship with
the Indian spirit appears also in his great love for the brutes and
frequent intercourse with them, when he always calls them his sisters and
brothers; and his beautiful Cantico also bears witness to his inborn
Indian spirit by the praise of the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind, the
water, the fire, and the earth.(49)
Even the Christian quietists must often have had little or no knowledge of
each other; for example, Molinos and Madame de Guion of Tauler and the
“_Deutsche Theologie_,” or Gichtel of the former. In any case, the great
difference of their culture, in that some of them, like Molinos, were
learned, others, like Gichtel and many more, were the reverse, has no
essential influence upon their teaching. Their great internal agreement,
along with the firmness and certainty of their utterances, proves all the
more that they speak from real inward experience, from an experience which
certainly is not accessible to all, but is possessed only by a few
favoured individuals, and therefore has received the name of the work of
grace, the reality of which, however, for the above reasons, is not to be
doubted. But in order to understand all this one must read the mystics
themselves, and not be contented with second‐hand reports of them; for
every one must himself be comprehended before one judges concerning him.
Thus to become acquainted with quietism I specially recommend Meister
Eckhard, the “_Deutsche Theologie_,” Tauler, Madame de Guion, Antoinette
Bourignon, the English Bunyan, Molinos(50) and Gichtel. In the same way,
as practical proofs and examples of the profound seriousness of
asceticism, the life of Pascal, edited by Reuchlin, together with his
history of the Port‐Royal, and also the _Histoire de Sainte Elisabeth, par
le comte de Montalembert_, and _La vie de Rancé, par Chateaubriand_, are
very well worth reading, but yet by no means exhaust all that is important
in this class. Whoever has read such writings, and compared their spirit
with that of ascetism and quietism as it runs through all works of
Brahmanism and Buddhism, and speaks in every page, will admit that every
philosophy, which must in consistency reject that whole mode of thought,
which it can only do by explaining the representatives of it to be either
impostors or mad‐men, must just on this account necessarily be false. But
all European systems, with the exception of mine, find themselves in this
position. Truly it must be an extraordinary madness which, under the most
widely different circumstances and persons possible, spoke with such
agreement, and, moreover, was raised to the position of a chief doctrine
of their religion, by the most ancient and numerous peoples of the earth,
something like three‐fourths of all the inhabitants of Asia. But no
philosophy can leave the theme of quietism and asceticism undecided if the
question is proposed to it; because this theme is, in its matter,
identical with that of all metaphysics and ethics. Here then is a point
upon which I expect and desire that every philosophy, with its optimism,
should declare itself. And if, in the judgment of contemporaries, the
paradoxical and unexampled agreement of my philosophy with quietism and
asceticism appears as an open stumbling‐block, I, on the contrary, see
just in that agreement a proof of its sole correctness and truth, and also
a ground of explanation of why it is ignored and kept secret by the
_Protestant_ universities.
For not only the religions of the East, but also true Christianity, has
throughout that ascetic fundamental character which my philosophy explains
as the denial of the will to live; although Protestantism, especially in
its present form, seeks to conceal this. Yet even the open enemies of
Christianity who have appeared in the most recent times have ascribed to
it the doctrines of renunciation, self‐denial, perfect chastity, and, in
general, mortification of the will, which they quite correctly denote by
the name of the “_anti‐cosmic tendency_,” and have fully proved that such
doctrines are essentially proper to original and genuine Christianity. In
this they are undeniably right. But that they set up this as an evident
and patent reproach to Christianity, while just here lies its profoundest
truth, its high value, and its sublime character,—this shows an obscuring
of the mind, which can only be explained by the fact that these men’s
minds, unfortunately like thousands more at the present day in Germany,
are completely spoiled and distorted by the miserable Hegelism, that
school of dulness, that centre of misunderstanding and ignorance, that
mind‐destroying, spurious wisdom, which now at last begins to be
recognised as such, and the veneration of which will soon be left to the
Danish Academy, in whose eyes even that gross charlatan is a _summus
philosophus_, for whom it takes the field:—
“_Car ils suivront la créance et estude,_
_De l’ignorante et sotte multitude,_
_Dont le plus lourd sera reça pour juge._”
—RABELAIS.
In any case, the ascetic tendency is unmistakable in the genuine and
original Christianity as it developed in the writings of the Church
Fathers from its kernel in the New Testament; it is the summit towards
which all strives upwards. As its chief doctrine we find the
recommendation of genuine and pure celibacy (this first and most important
step in the denial of the will to live), which is already expressed in the
New Testament.(51) Strauss also, in his “Life of Jesus” (vol i. p. 618 of
the first edition), says, with reference to the recommendation of celibacy
given in Matt. xix. 11 _seq._, “That the doctrine of Jesus may not run
counter to the ideas of the present day, men have hastened to introduce
surreptitiously the thought that Jesus only praised celibacy with
reference to the circumstances of the time, and in order to leave the
activity of the Apostles unfettered; but there is even less indication of
this in the context than in the kindred passage, 1 Cor. vii. 25 _seq._;
but we have here again one of the places where _ascetic principles_, such
as prevailed among the Essenes, and probably still more widely among the
Jews, appear in the teaching of Jesus also.” This ascetic tendency appears
more decidedly later than at the beginning, when Christianity, still
seeking adherents, dared not pitch its demands too high; and by the
beginning of the third century it is expressly urged. Marriage, in genuine
Christianity, is merely a compromise with the sinful nature of man, as a
concession, something allowed to those who lack strength to aspire to the
highest, an expedient to avoid greater evil: in this sense it receives the
sanction of the Church in order that the bond may be indissoluble. But
celibacy and virginity are set up as the higher consecration of
Christianity through which one enters the ranks of the elect. Through
these alone does one attain the victor’s crown, which even at the present
day is signified by the wreath upon the coffin of the unmarried, and also
by that which the bride lays aside on the day of her marriage.
A piece of evidence upon this point, which certainly comes to us from the
primitive times of Christianity, is the pregnant answer of the Lord,
quoted by Clemens Alexandrinus (_Strom._ iii. 6 _et_ 9) from the Gospel of
the Egyptians: “Τῃ Σαλωμῃ ὁ κυριος πυνθανομενῃ, μεχρι ποτε θανατος
ισχυσει; μεχρις αν ειπεν, ὑμεις, αἱ γυναικες, τικτετε” (_Salomæ
interroganti ____quousque vigebit mors?____ Dominus ____guoadlusque____
inguit ____vos, mulieres, paritis___). “Τουτ᾽ εστι, μεχρις αν αἱ επιθυμιαι
ενεργωσι” (_Hoc est, quamdiu operabuntur cupiditates_), adds Clement, c.
9, with which he at once connects the famous passage, Rom. v. 12. Further
on, c. 13, he quotes the words of Cassianus: “Πυνθανομενης της Σαλωμης,
ποτε γνωσθησεται τα περι ὡν ηρετο, εφη ὁ κυριος, ᾽Οταν της αισχυνς ενδυμα
πατησετε, και ὁταν γενηται τα δυο ἑν, και το αρρεν μετα της θηλειας ουτε
αρρεν, ουτε θηλυ” (_Cum interrogaret Salome, quando cognoscentur ea, de
quibus interrogabat, ait Dominus: ____quando pudoris indumentum
conculcaveritis, et quando duo facto fuerint unum, et masculum cum fæmina
nec masculum, nec fæminium___), _i.e._, when she no longer needs the veil
of modesty, since all distinction of sex will have disappeared.
With regard to this point the heretics have certainly gone furthest: even
in the second century the Tatianites or Encratites, the Gnostics, the
Marcionites, the Montanists, Valentinians, and Cassians; yet only because
with reckless consistency they gave honour to the truth, and therefore, in
accordance with the spirit of Christianity, they taught perfect
continence; while the Church prudently declared to be heresy all that ran
counter to its far‐seeing policy. Augustine says of the Tatianites:
“_Nuptias damnant, atque omnino pares eas fornicationibus aliisque
corruptionibus faciunt: nec recipiunt in suum numerum conjugio utentem,
sive marem, sive fœminam. Non vescunlur carnibus, easque abominantur._”
(_De hœresi ad quod vult Deum. hœr._, 25.) But even the orthodox Fathers
look upon marriage in the light indicated above, and zealously preach
entire continence, the ἁγνεια. Athanasius gives as the cause of marriage:
“Ὁτι υποπιπτοντες εσμεν τῃ του προπατορος καταδικῃ ... επειδη ὁ
προηγουμενος σκοπος του θεου ην, το μη δια γαμου γενεσθαι ἡμας και φθορας;
ἡ δε παραβασις της εντολης του γαμον εισηγαγεν δια το ανομησαι τον Αδαμ.”
(_Quia subjacemus condemnationi propatoris nostri; ... nam finis, a Deo
prœlatus, erat, nos non per nuptias et corruptionem fieri: sed
transgressio mandati nuptias introduxit, propter legis violationem
Adœ._—_Exposit. in psalm._ 50). Tertullian calls marriage _genus mali
inferioris, ex indulgentia ortum_ (_De pudicitia_, c. 16) and says:
“_Matrimonium et stuprum est commixtio carnis; scilicet cujus
concupiscentiam dominus stupro adœquavit. Ergo, inguis, jam et primas, id
est unas nuptias destruis? Nec immerito: quoniam et ipsœ ex eo constant,
quod est stuprum_” (_De exhort. castit._, c. 9). Indeed, Augustine himself
commits himself entirely to this doctrine and all its results, for he
says: “_Novi quosdam, qui murmurent: quid, si, inquiunt, omnes velint ab
omni concubitu abstinere, unde subsistet genus humanum? Utinam omnes hoc
vellent! dumtaxat in caritate, de corde puro et conscientia bona, et fide
non ficta: multo citius Dei civitas compleretur, ut acceleraretur terminus
mundi_” (_De bono conjugali_, c. 10). And again: “_Non vos ab hoc studio,
quo multos ad imitandum vos excitatis, frangat querela vanorum, qui
dicunt: quomodo subsistet genus humanum, si omnes fuerint continentes?
Quasi propter aliud retardetur hoc seculum, nisi ut impleatur
prœdestinatus numerus ille sanctorum, quo citius impleto, profecto nec
terminus seculi differetur_” (_De bono individuitatis_, c. 23). One sees
at once that he identifies salvation with the end of the world. The other
passages in the works of Augustine which bear on this point will be found
collected in the “_Confessio Augustiniana e D. Augustini operibus
compilata a Hieronymo Torrense_,” 1610, under the headings _De
matrimonio_, _De cœlibatu_, &c., and any one may convince himself from
these that in ancient, genuine Christianity marriage was only a
concession, which besides this was supposed to have only the begetting of
children as its end, that, on the other hand, perfect continence was the
true virtue far to be preferred to this. To those, however, who do not
wish to go back to the authorities themselves I recommend two works for
the purpose of removing any kind of doubt as to the tendency of
Christianity we are speaking about: Carové, “_Ueber das Cölibatgesetz_,”
1832, and Lind, “_De cœlibatu Christianorum per tria priora secula_,”
_Havniœ_, 1839. It is, however, by no means the views of these writers
themselves to which I refer, for these are opposed to mine, but solely to
their carefully collected accounts and quotations, which deserve full
acceptance as quite trustworthy, just because both these writers are
opponents of celibacy, the former a rationalistic Catholic, and the other
a Protestant candidate in theology, who speaks exactly like one. In the
first‐named work we find, vol. i. p. 166, in that reference, the following
result expressed: “In accordance with the Church view, as it may be read
in canonical Church Fathers, in the Synodal and Papal instructions, and in
innumerable writings of orthodox Catholics, perpetual chastity is called a
divine, heavenly, angelic virtue, and the obtaining of the assistance of
divine grace for this end is made dependent upon earnest prayer. We have
already shown that this Augustinian doctrine is by Canisius and in the
decrees of the Council of Trent expressed as an unchanging belief of the
Church. That, however, it has been retained as a dogma till the present
day is sufficiently established by the June number, 1831, of the magazine
‘_Der Katholik_.’ It is said there, p. 263: ‘In Catholicism the observance
of a perpetual chastity, for the sake of God, appears as in itself the
highest merit of man. The view that the observance of continual chastity
as an end in itself sanctifies and exalts the man is, as every instructed
Catholic is convinced, deeply rooted in Christianity, both as regards its
spirit and its express precepts. The decrees of the Council of Trent have
abolished all possible doubt on this point....’ It must at any rate be
confessed by every unprejudiced person, not only that the doctrine
expressed by ‘_Der Katholik_’ is really Catholic, but also that the proofs
adduced may be quite irrefutable for a Catholic reason, because they are
drawn so directly from the ecclesiastical view, taken by the Church, of
life and its destiny.” It is further said in the same work, p. 270:
“Although both Paul calls the forbidding to marry a false doctrine, and
the still Judaistic author of the Epistle to the Hebrews enjoins that
marriage shall be held in honour by all, and the bed kept undefiled (Heb.
xiii 4), yet the main tendency of these two sacred writers is not on that
account to be mistaken. Virginity is for both the perfect state, marriage
only a make‐shift for the weak, and only as such to be held inviolable.
The highest effort, on the other hand, was directed to complete, material
putting off of self. The self must turn and refrain from all that tends
only to its own pleasure, and that only temporarily.” Lastly, p. 288: “We
agree with the Abbé Zaccaria, who asserts that celibacy (not the law of
celibacy) is before everything to be deduced from the teaching of Christ
and the Apostle Paul.”
What is opposed to this specially Christian view is everywhere and always
merely the Old Testament, with its παντα καλα λιαν. This appears with
peculiar distinctness from that important third book of the Stromata of
Clement, where, arguing against the encratistic heretics mentioned above,
he constantly opposes to them only Judaism, with its optimistic history of
creation, with which the world‐denying tendency of the New Testament is
certainly in contradiction. But the connection of the New Testament with
the Old is at bottom only external, accidental, and forced; and the one
point at which Christian doctrine can link itself on to the latter is only
to be found, as has been said, in the story of the fall, which, moreover,
stands quite isolated in the Old Testament, and is made no further use of.
But, in accordance with the account in the Gospels, it is just the
orthodox adherents of the Old Testament who bring about the crucifixion of
the founder of Christianity, because they find his teaching in conflict
with their own. In the said third book of the Stromata of Clement the
antagonism between optimism with theism on the one hand, and pessimism
with ascetic morality on the other, comes out with surprising
distinctness. This book is directed against the Gnostics, who just taught
pessimism and asceticism, that is, εγκρατεια (abstinence of every kind,
but especially from all sexual satisfaction); on account of which Clement
censures them vigorously. But, at the same time, it becomes apparent that
even the spirit of the Old Testament stands in this antagonism with that
of the New Testament. For, apart from the fall, which appears in the Old
Testament like a _hors d’œuvre_, the spirit of the Old Testament is
diametrically opposed to that of the New Testament—the former optimistic,
the latter pessimistic. Clement himself brings this contradiction out
prominently at the end of the eleventh chapter (προσαποτεινομενον τον
Παυλον τῳ Κριστῃ κ.τ.λ.), although he will not allow that it is a real
contradiction, but explains it as only apparent,—like a good Jew, as he
is. In general it is interesting to see how with Clement the New and the
Old Testament get mixed up together; and he strives to reconcile them, yet
for the most part drives out the New Testament with the Old. Just at the
beginning of the third chapter he objects to the Marcionites that they
find fault with the creation, after the example of Plato and Pythagoras;
for Marcion teaches that nature is bad, made out of bad materials (φυσις
κακη, εκ τε ὑλης κακης); therefore one ought not to people this world, but
to abstain from marriage (μη βουλομενοι τον κοσμον συμπληρουν, απεχεσθαι
γαμου). Now Clement, to whom in general the Old Testament is much more
congenial and convincing than the New, takes this very much amiss. He sees
in it their flagrant ingratitude to and enmity and rebellion against him
who has made the world, the just demiurgus, whose work they themselves
are, and yet despise the use of his creatures, in impious rebellion
“forsaking the natural opinion” (αντιτασσομενοι τῳ ποιητῃ τῳ σφων, ...
εγκρατεις τῃ προς τον πεποιηκοτα εχθρᾳ, μη βουλομενοι χρησθαι τοις ὑπ᾽
αυτου κτισθεισιν, ... ασεβει θεομαχιᾳ των κατα φυσιν εκσταντες λογισμωι).
At the same time, in his holy zeal, he will not allow the Marcionites even
the honour of originality, but, armed with his well‐known erudition, he
brings it against them, and supports his case with the most beautiful
quotations, that even the ancient philosophers, that Heraclitus and
Empedocles, Pythagoras and Plato, Orpheus and Pindar, Herodotus and
Euripides, and also the Sibyls, lamented deeply the wretched nature of the
world, thus taught pessimism. Now in this learned enthusiasm he does not
observe that in this way he is just giving the Marcionites water for their
mill, for he shows that
“All the wisest of all the ages”
have taught and sung what they do, but confidently and boldly he quotes
the most decided and energetic utterances of the ancients in this sense.
Certainly they cannot lead him astray. Wise men may mourn the sadness of
existence, poets may pour out the most affecting lamentations about it,
nature and experience may cry out as loudly as they will against
optimism,—all this does not touch our Church Father: he holds his Jewish
revelation in his hand, and remains confident. The demiurgus made the
world. From this it is _a priori_ certain that it is excellent, and it may
look as it likes. The same thing then takes place with regard to the
second point, the εγκρατεια, through which, according to his view, the
Marcionites show their ingratitude towards the demiurgus (αχαρισειν τῳ
δημιουργῳ) and the perversity with which they put from them all his gifts
(δἰ αντιταξιν προς τον δημιουργον, την χρησιν των κοσμικων παραιτουμενοι).
Here now the tragic poets have preceded the Encratites (to the prejudice
of their originality) and have said the same things. For since they also
lament the infinite misery of existence, they have added that it is better
to bring no children into such a world; which he now again supports with
the most beautiful passages, and, at the same time, accuses the
Pythagoreans of having renounced sexual pleasure on this ground. But all
this touches him not; he sticks to his principle that all these sin
against the demiurgus, in that they teach that one ought not to marry,
ought not to beget children, ought not to bring new miserable beings into
the world, ought not to provide new food for death (δἰ εγκρατειας ασεβουσι
εις τε την κτισιν και τον ἁγιον δημιουργον, τον παντοκρατορα μονον θεον,
και διδασκουσι, μη δειν παραδεχεσθαι γαμον και παιδοποιϊαν, μηδε
αντεισαγειν τῳ κοσμῳ δυστυχησοντας ἑτερους, μηδε επιχορηγειν θανατῳ
τροφην—c. 6). Since the learned Church Father thus denounces εγκρατεια, he
seems to have had no presentiment that just after his time the celibacy of
the Christian priesthood would be more and more introduced, and finally,
in the eleventh century, raised to the position of a law, because it is in
keeping with the spirit of the New Testament. It is just this spirit which
the Gnostics have grasped more profoundly and understood better than our
Church Father, who is more Jew than Christian. The conception of the
Gnostics comes out very clearly at the beginning of the ninth chapter,
where the following passage is quoted from the Gospel of the Egyptians:
Αυτος ειπεν ὁ Σωτηρ, “ηλθον καταλυσαι τα εργα της θηλειας;” θηλειας μεν,
της επιθυμιας; εργα δε, γενεσιν και φθοραν (_Ajunt enim dixisse
Servatorem: ____veni ad dissolvendum opera feminæ;____ feminæ quidem,
cupiditatis; opera autem, generationem et interitum_); but quite specially
at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth chapter.
The Church certainly was obliged to consider how to set a religion upon
its legs that could also walk and stand in the world as it is, and among
men; therefore it declared these persons to be heretics. At the conclusion
of the seventh chapter our Church Father opposes Indian asceticism, as
bad, to Christian Judaism; whereby the fundamental difference of the
spirit of the two religions is clearly brought out. In Judaism and
Christianity everything runs back to obedience or disobedience to the
command of God: ὑπακοη και παρακοη; as befits us creatures, ἡμιν, τοις
πεπλασμενοις ὑπο της του Παντοκρατορος βουλησεως (_nobis, qui Omnipotentis
voluntate efficti sumus_), chap. 14. Then comes, as a second duty,
λατρευειν θεῳ ζωντι, to serve God, extol His works, and overflow with
thankfulness. Certainly the matter has a very different aspect in
Brahmanism and Buddhism, for in the latter all improvement and conversion,
and the only deliverance we can hope for from this world of suffering,
this Sansara, proceeds from the knowledge of the four fundamental truths:
(1) _dolor_; (2) _doloris ortus_; (3) _doloris interitus_; (4)
_octopartita via ad doloris sedationem_ (_Dammapadam_, ed. Fausböll, p. 35
_et_ 347). The explanation of these four truths will be found in Bournouf,
“_Introduct. à l’hist. du Buddhisme_,” p. 629, and in all expositions of
Buddhism.
In truth, Judaism, with its παντα καλα λιαν, is not related to
Christianity as regards its spirit and ethical tendency, but Brahmanism
and Buddhism are. But the spirit and ethical tendency are what is
essential in a religion, not the myths in which these are clothed. I
therefore cannot give up the belief that the doctrines of Christianity can
in some way be derived from these primitive religions. I have pointed out
some traces of this in the second volume of the Parerga, § 179 (second
edition, § 180). I have to add to these that Epiphanias (_Hæretic_.
xviii.) relates that the first Jewish Christians of Jerusalem, who called
themselves Nazarenes, refrained from all animal food. On account of this
origin (or, at least, this agreement) Christianity belongs to the ancient,
true and sublime faith of mankind, which is opposed to the false, shallow,
and injurious optimism which exhibits itself in Greek paganism, Judaism,
and Islamism. The Zend religion holds to a certain extent the mean,
because it has opposed to Ormuzd a pessimistic counterpoise in Ahriman.
From this Zend religion the Jewish religion proceeded, as J.G. Rhode has
thoroughly proved in his book, “_Die heilige Sage des Zendvolks_;” from
Ormuzd has come Jehovah, and from Ahriman, Satan, who, however, plays only
a very subordinate rôle in Judaism, indeed almost entirely disappears,
whereby then optimism gains the upper hand, and there only remains the
myth of the fall as a pessimistic element, which certainly (as the fable
of Meschia and Meschiane) is derived from the Zend‐Avesta. Yet even this
falls into oblivion, till it is again taken up by Christianity along with
Satan. Ormuzd himself, however, is derived from Brahmanism, although from
a lower region of it; he is no other than Indra, that subordinate god of
the firmament and the atmosphere, who is represented as frequently in
rivalry with men. This has been very clearly shown by J.J. Schmidt in his
work on the relation of the Gnostic‐theosophic doctrines to the religions
of the East. This Indra‐Ormuzd‐Jehovah had afterwards to pass over into
Christianity, because this religion arose in Judæa. But on account of the
cosmopolitan character of Christianity he laid aside his own name to be
denoted in the language of each converted nation by the appellation of the
superhuman beings he supplanted, as, Δεος, _Deus_, which comes from the
Sanscrit _Deva_ (from which also devil comes), or among the Gothico‐
Germanic peoples by the word God, _Gott_, which comes from _Odin_,
_Wodan_, _Guodan_, _Godan_. In the same way he assumed in Islamism, which
also sprang from Judaism, the name of Allah, which also existed earlier in
Arabia. Analogous to this, the gods of the Greek Olympus, when in
prehistoric times they were transplanted to Italy, also assumed the names
of the previously reigning gods: hence among the Romans Zeus is called
Jupiter, Hera Juno, Hermes Mercury, &c. In China the first difficulty of
the missionaries arose from the fact that the Chinese language has no
appellation of the kind and also no word for creating; for the three
religions of China know no gods either in the plural or in the
singular.(52)
However the rest may be, that παντα καλα λιαν of the Old Testament is
really foreign to true Christianity; for in the New Testament the world is
always spoken of as something to which one does not belong, which one does
not love, nay, whose lord is the devil.(53) This agrees with the ascetic
spirit of the denial of one’s self and the overcoming of the world which,
just like the boundless love of one’s neighbour, even of one’s enemy, is
the fundamental characteristic which Christianity has in common with
Brahmanism and Buddhism, and which proves their relationship. There is
nothing in which one has to distinguish the kernel so carefully from the
shell as in Christianity. Just because I prize this kernel highly I
sometimes treat the shell with little ceremony; it is, however, thicker
than is generally supposed. Protestantism, since it has eliminated
asceticism and its central point, the meritoriousness of celibacy, has
already given up the inmost kernel of Christianity, and so far is to be
regarded as a falling away from it. This has become apparent in our own
day by the gradual transition of Protestantism into shallow rationalism,
this modern Pelagianism, which ultimately degenerates into the doctrine of
a loving father, who has made the world, in order that things may go on
very pleasantly in it (in which case, then, he must certainly have
failed), and who, if one only conforms to his will in certain respects,
will also afterwards provide a still more beautiful world (with regard to
which it is only a pity that it has such a fatal entrance). That may be a
good religion for comfortable, married, and enlightened Protestant
pastors; but it is no Christianity. Christianity is the doctrine of the
deep guilt of the human race through its existence alone, and the longing
of the heart for deliverance from it, which, however, can only be attained
by the greatest sacrifices and by the denial of one’s own self, thus by an
entire reversal of human nature. Luther may have been perfectly right from
the practical point of view, _i.e._, with reference to the Church scandal
of his time, which he wished to remove, but not so from the theoretical
point of view. The more sublime a doctrine is, the more it is exposed to
abuse at the hands of human nature, which, on the whole, is of a low and
evil disposition: hence the abuses of Catholicism are so much more
numerous and so much greater than those of Protestantism. Thus, for
example, monasticism, that methodical denial of the will practised in
common for the sake of mutual encouragement, is an institution of a
sublime description, which, however, for this very reason is for the most
part untrue to its spirit. The shocking abuses of the Church excited in
the honest mind of Luther a lofty indignation. But in consequence of this
he was led to desire to limit as much as possible the claims of
Christianity itself, and for this end he first confined it to the words of
the Bible; but then, in his well‐meant zeal, he went too far, for he
attacked the very heart of Christianity in the ascetic principle. For
after the withdrawal of the ascetic principle, the optimistic principle
soon necessarily took its place. But in religions, as in philosophy,
optimism is a fundamental error which obstructs the path of all truth.
From all this it seems to me that Catholicism is a shamefully abused, but
Protestantism a degenerate Christianity; thus, that Christianity in
general has met the fate which befalls all that is noble, sublime, and
great whenever it has to dwell among men.
However, even in the very lap of Protestantism, the essentially ascetic
and encratistic spirit of Christianity has made way for itself; and in
this case it has appeared in a phenomenon which perhaps has never before
been equalled in magnitude and definiteness, the highly remarkable sect of
the Shakers, in North America, founded by an Englishwoman, Anne Lee, in
1774. The adherents of this sect have already increased to 6000, who are
divided into fifteen communities, and inhabit a number of villages in the
states of New York and Kentucky, especially in the district of New
Lebanon, near Nassau village. The fundamental characteristic of their
religious rule of life is celibacy and entire abstention from all sexual
satisfaction. It is unanimously admitted, even by the English and
Americans who visit them, and who laugh and jeer at them in every other
respect, that this rule is strictly and with perfect honesty observed;
although brothers and sisters sometimes even occupy the same house, eat at
the same table, nay, _dance_ together in the religious services in church.
For whoever has made that hardest of all sacrifices may _dance_ before the
Lord; he is a victor, he has overcome. Their singing in church consists in
general of cheerful, and partly even of merry, songs. The church‐dance,
also, which follows the sermon is accompanied by the singing of the rest.
It is a lively dance, performed in measured time, and concludes with a
galop, which is carried on till the dancers are exhausted. Between each
dance one of their teachers cries aloud, “Think, that ye rejoice before
the Lord for having slain your flesh; for this is here the only use we
make of our refractory limbs.” To celibacy most of the other conditions
link themselves on of themselves. There are no families, and therefore
there is no private property, but community of goods. All are clothed
alike, in Quaker fashion, and with great neatness. They are industrious
and diligent: idleness is not endured. They have also the enviable rule
that they are to avoid all unnecessary noise, such as shouting, door‐
slamming, whip‐cracking, loud knocking, &c. Their rule of life has been
thus expressed by one of them: “Lead a life of innocence and purity, love
your neighbours as yourself, live at peace with all men, and refrain from
war, blood‐shed, and all violence against others, as well as from all
striving after worldly honour and distinction. Give to each his own, and
follow after holiness, without which no man can see the Lord. Do good to
all so far as your opportunity and your power extends.” They persuade no
one to join them, but test those who present themselves by a novitiate of
several years. Moreover, every one is free to leave them; very rarely is
any one expelled for misconduct. Adopted children are carefully educated,
and only when they are grown up do they voluntarily join the sect. It is
said that in the controversies of their ministers with Anglican clergy the
latter generally come off the worse, for the arguments consist of passages
from the New Testament. Fuller accounts of them will be found particularly
in Maxwell’s “Run through the United States,” 1841; also in Benedict’s
“History of all Religions,” 1830; also in the _Times_, November 4, 1837,
and in the German magazine _Columbus_, May number, 1831. A German sect in
America, very similar to them, who also live in strict celibacy and
continence, are the Rappists. An account of them is given in F. Loher’s
“_Geschichte und Zustande der Deutschen in Amerika_,” 1853. In Russia also
the Raskolniks are a similar sect. The Gichtelians live also in strict
chastity. But among the ancient Jews we already find a prototype of all
these sects, the Essenes, of whom even Pliny gives an account (_Hist.
Nat._, v. 15), and who resembled the Shakers very much, not only in
celibacy, but also in other respects; for example, in dancing during
divine service, which leads to the opinion that the founder of the Shakers
took the Essenes as a pattern. In the presence of such facts as these how
does Luther’s assertion look: “_Ubi natura, quemadmodum a Deo nobis insita
est, fertur ac rapitur_, FIERI NULLO MODO POTEST, _ut extra matrimonium
caste vivatur_”? (_Catech. maj._)
Although Christianity, in essential respects, taught only what all Asia
knew long before, and even better, yet for Europe it was a new and great
revelation, in consequence of which the spiritual tendency of the European
nations was therefore entirely transformed. For it disclosed to them the
metaphysical significance of existence, and therefore taught them to look
away from the narrow, paltry, ephemeral life of earth, and to regard it no
longer as an end in itself, but as a condition of suffering, guilt, trial,
conflict, and purification, out of which, by means of moral achievements,
difficult renunciation, and denial of oneself, one may rise to a better
existence, which is inconceivable by us. It taught the great truth of the
assertion and denial of the will to live in the clothing of allegory by
saying that through Adam’s fall the curse has come upon all, sin has come
into the world, and guilt is inherited by all; but that, on the other
hand, through the sacrificial death of Jesus all are reconciled, the world
saved, guilt abolished, and justice satisfied. In order, however, to
understand the truth itself that is contained in this myth one must not
regard men simply in time, as beings independent of each other, but must
comprehend the (Platonic) Idea of man, which is related to the series of
men, as eternity in itself is related to eternity drawn out as time; hence
the eternal Idea _man_ extended in time to the series of men through the
connecting bond of generation appears again in time as a whole. If now we
keep the Idea of man in view, we see that Adam’s fall represents the
finite, animal, sinful nature of man, in respect of which he is a finite
being, exposed to sin, suffering, and death. On the other hand, the life,
teaching, and death of Jesus Christ represent the eternal, supernatural
side, the freedom, the salvation of man. Now every man, as such and
_potentiâ_, is both Adam and Jesus, according as he comprehends himself,
and his will thereupon determines him; in consequence of which he is then
condemned and given over to death, or saved and attains to eternal life.
Now these truths, both in their allegorical and in their real acceptation,
were completely new as far as Greeks and Romans were concerned, who were
still entirely absorbed in life, and did not seriously look beyond it. Let
whoever doubts this see how Cicero (_Pro Cluentio_, c. 61) and Sallust
(_Catil._, c. 47) speak of the state after death. The ancients, although
far advanced in almost everything else, remained children with regard to
the chief concern, and were surpassed in this even by the Druids, who at
least taught metempsychosis. That one or two philosophers, like Pythagoras
and Plato, thought otherwise alters nothing as regards the whole.
That great fundamental truth, then, which is contained in Christianity, as
in Brahmanism and Buddhism, the need of deliverance from an existence
which is given up to suffering and death, and the attainableness of this
by the denial of the will, thus by a decided opposition to nature, is
beyond all comparison the most important truth there can be; but, at the
same time, it is entirely opposed to the natural tendency of the human
race, and in its true grounds it is difficult to comprehend; as indeed all
that can only be thought generally and in the abstract is inaccessible to
the great majority of men. Therefore for these men there was everywhere
required, in order to bring that great truth within the sphere of its
practical application, _a mythical vehicle_ for it, as it were a
receptacle, without which it would be lost and dissipated. The truth had
therefore everywhere to borrow the garb of the fable, and also constantly
to endeavour to connect itself with what in each case was historically
given, already familiar, and already revered. What _sensu proprio_
remained inaccessible to the great mass of mankind of all ages and lands,
with their low tone of mind, their intellectual stupidity and general
brutality, had, for practical purposes, to be brought home to them _sensu
allegorico_, in order to become their guiding star. So, then, the
religions mentioned above are to be regarded as the sacred vessels in
which the great truth, known and expressed for several thousand years,
indeed perhaps since the beginning of the human race, which yet in itself,
for the great mass of mankind always remains a mystery, is, according to
the measure of their powers, made accessible to them, preserved and
transmitted through the centuries. Yet, because all that does not through
and through consist of the imperishable material of pure truth is subject
to destruction, whenever this fate befalls such a vessel, through contact
with a heterogeneous age, its sacred content must in some way be saved and
preserved for mankind by another. But it is the task of philosophy, since
it is one with pure truth, to present that content pure and unmixed, thus
merely in abstract conceptions, and consequently without that vehicle, for
those who are capable of thinking, who are always an exceedingly small
number. It is therefore related to religions as a straight line to several
curves running near it: for it expresses _sensu proprio_, thus reaches
directly, what they show in veiled forms and reach by circuitous routes.
If now, in order to illustrate what has just been said by an example, and
also to follow a philosophical fashion of my time, I should wish perhaps
to attempt to solve the profoundest mystery of Christianity, that of the
Trinity, in the fundamental conception of my philosophy, this could be
done, with the licence permitted in such interpretations, in the following
manner. The Holy Ghost is the distinct denial of the will to live: the man
in whom this exhibits itself _in concreto_ is the Son; He is identical
with the will which asserts life, and thereby produces the phenomenon of
this perceptible world, _i.e._, with the Father, because the assertion and
denial are opposite acts of the same will whose capability for both is the
only true freedom. However, this is to be regarded as a mere _lusus
ingenii_.
Before I close this chapter I wish to adduce a few proofs in support of
what in § 68 of the first volume I denoted by the expression Δευτυρος
πλους, the bringing about of the denial of the will by one’s own deeply
felt suffering, thus not merely by the appropriation of the suffering of
others, and the knowledge of the vanity and wretchedness of our existence
introduced by this. We can arrive at a comprehension of what goes on in
the heart of a man, in the case of an elevation of this kind and the
accompanying purifying process, by considering what every emotional man
experiences on beholding a tragedy, which is of kindred nature to this. In
the third and fourth acts perhaps such a man is distressed and disturbed
by the ever more clouded and threatened happiness of the hero; but when,
in the fifth act, this happiness is entirely wrecked and shattered, he
experiences a certain elevation of the soul, which affords him an
infinitely higher kind of pleasure than the sight of the happiness of the
hero, however great it might be, could ever have given. Now this is the
same thing, in the weak water‐colours of sympathy which is able to raise a
well‐known illusion, as that which takes place with the energy of reality
in the feeling of our own fate when it is heavy misfortune that drives the
man at last into the haven of entire resignation. Upon this occurrence
depend all those conversions which completely transform men such as are
described in the text. I may give here in a few words the story of the
conversion of the Abbé Rancé, as it is strikingly similar to that of
Raymond Lully, which is told in the text, and besides this is memorable on
account of its result. His youth was devoted to enjoyment and pleasure;
finally, he lived in a relation of passion with a Madame de Montbazon. One
evening, when he visited her, he found her room empty, in disorder and
darkness. He struck something with his foot; it was her head, which had
been severed from the trunk, because after her sudden death her corpse
could not otherwise be got into the lead coffin that stood beside it.
After overcoming an immense sorrow, Rancé now became, in 1663, the
reformer of the order of the Trappists, which at that time had entirely
relaxed the strictness of its rules. He joined this order, and through him
it was led back to that terrible degree of renunciation which is still
maintained at the present day at La Trappe, and, as the methodically
carried out denial of the will, aided by the severest renunciation and an
incredibly hard and painful manner of life, fills the visitor with sacred
awe, after he has been touched at his reception by the humility of these
genuine monks, who, emaciated by fasting, by cold, by night watches,
prayers and penances, kneel before him, the worldling and the sinner, to
implore his blessing. Of all orders of monks, this one alone has
maintained itself in perfection in France, through all changes; which is
to be attributed to the profound earnestness which in it is unmistakable,
and excludes all secondary ends. It has remained untouched even by the
decline of religion, because its root lies deeper in human nature than any
positive system of belief.
I have mentioned in the text that this great and rapid change of the
inmost being of man which we are here considering, and which has hitherto
been entirely neglected by philosophers, appears most frequently when,
with full consciousness, he stands in the presence of a violent and
certain death, thus in the case of executions. But, in order to bring this
process much more distinctly before our eyes, I regard it as by no means
unbecoming to the dignity of philosophy to quote what has been said by
some criminals before their execution, even at the risk of incurring the
sneer that I encourage gallows’ sermons. I certainly rather believe that
the gallows is a place of quite peculiar revelations, and a watch‐tower
from which the man who even then retains his presence of mind obtains a
wider, clearer outlook into eternity than most philosophers over the
paragraphs of their rational psychology and theology. The following speech
on the gallows was made on the 15th April, 1837, at Gloucester, by a man
called Bartlett, who had murdered his mother‐in‐law: “Englishmen and
fellow countrymen,—I have a few words to say to you, and they shall be but
very few. Yet let me entreat you, one and all, that these few words that I
shall utter may strike deep into your hearts. Bear them in your mind, not
only now while you are witnessing this sad scene, but take them to your
homes, take them, and repeat them to your children and friends. I implore
you as a dying man—one for whom the instrument of death is even now
prepared—and these words are that you may loose yourselves from the love
of this dying world and its vain pleasures. Think less of it and more of
your God. Do this: repent, repent, for be assured that without deep and
true repentance, without turning to your heavenly Father, you will never
attain, nor can hold the slightest hope of ever reaching those bowers of
bliss to which I trust I am now fast advancing” (_Times_, 18th April
1837).
Still more remarkable are the last words of the well‐known murderer,
Greenacre, who was executed in London on the 1st of May 1837. The English
newspaper the _Post_ gives the following account, which is also reprinted
in _Galignani’s Messenger_ of the 6th of May 1837: “On the morning of his
execution a gentleman advised him to put his trust in God, and pray for
forgiveness through the mediation of Jesus Christ. Greenacre replied that
forgiveness through the mediation of Christ was a matter of opinion; for
his part, he believed that in the sight of the highest Being, a Mohammedan
was as good as a Christian and had just as much claim to salvation. Since
his imprisonment he had had his attention directed to theological
subjects, and he had become convinced that the gallows is a passport to
heaven.” The indifference displayed here towards positive religions is
just what gives this utterance greater weight, for it shows that it is no
fanatical delusion, but individual immediate knowledge that lies at its
foundation. The following incident may also be mentioned which is given by
_Galignani’s Messenger_ of the 15th August 1837, from the _Limerick
Chronicle_: “Last Monday Maria Cooney was executed for the revolting
murder of Mrs. Anderson. So deeply was this wretched woman impressed with
the greatness of her crime that she kissed the rope which was put round
her neck, while she humbly implored the mercy of God.” Lastly this: the
_Times_, of the 29th April 1845 gives several letters which Hocker, who
was condemned for the murder of Delarue, wrote the day before his
execution. In one of these he says: “I am persuaded that unless the
natural heart be broken, and renewed by divine mercy, however noble and
amiable it may be deemed by the world, it can never think of eternity
without inwardly shuddering.” These are the outlooks into eternity
referred to above which are obtained from that watch‐tower; and I have had
the less hesitation in giving them here since Shakspeare also says—
“Out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learned.”
—_As You Like it_, last scene.
Strauss, in his “Life of Jesus,” has proved that Christianity also
ascribes to suffering as such the purifying and sanctifying power here set
forth (_Leben Jesu_, vol. i. ch. 6, §§ 72 and 74). He says that the
beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount have a different sense in Luke (vi.
21) from that which they have in Matt. (v. 3), for only the latter adds τῳ
πνευματι to μακαριοι οἱ πτωχοι, and την δικαιοσυνην to πεινωντες. Thus by
him alone are the simple‐minded, the humble, &c., meant, while by Luke are
meant the literally poor; so that here the contrast is that between
present suffering and future happiness. With the Ebionites it is a capital
principle that whoever takes his portion in this age gets nothing in the
future, and conversely. Accordingly in Luke the blessings are followed by
as many ουαι, woes, which are addressed to the rich, οἱ πλουσιοι, the
full, οἱ εμπεπλησμενοι, and to them that laugh, οἱ γελωντες, in the
Ebionite spirit. In the same spirit, he says, p. 604, is the parable (Luke
xvi. 19) of the rich man and Lazarus given, which nowhere mentions any
fault of the former or any merit of the latter, and takes as the standard
of the future recompense, not the good done or the wickedness practised,
but the evil suffered here and the good things enjoyed, in the Ebionite
spirit. “A like estimation of outward poverty,” Strauss goes on, “is also
attributed to Jesus by the other synoptists (Matt. xix. 16; Mark x. 17;
Luke xviii. 18), in the story of the rich young man and the saying about
the camel and the eye of a needle.”
If we go to the bottom of the matter we will recognise that even in the
most famous passages of the Sermon on the Mount there is contained an
indirect injunction to voluntary poverty, and thereby to the denial of the
will to live. For the precept (Matt. v. 40 _seq._) to consent
unconditionally to all demands made upon us, to give our cloak also to him
who will take away our coat, &c., similarly (Matt. vi. 25‐34) the precept
to cast aside all care for the future, even for the morrow, and so to live
simply in the present, are rules of life the observance of which
inevitably leads to absolute poverty, and which therefore just say in an
indirect manner what Buddha directly commands his disciples and has
confirmed by his own example: throw everything away and become bhikkhu,
_i.e._, beggars. This appears still more decidedly in the passage Matt. x.
9‐15, where all possessions, even shoes and a staff, are forbidden to the
Apostles, and they are directed to beg. These commands afterwards became
the foundation of the mendicant order of St. Francis (_Bonaventuræ vita S.
Francisci_, c. 3). Hence, then, I say that the spirit of Christian ethics
is identical with that of Brahmanism and Buddhism. In conformity with the
whole view expounded here Meister Eckhard also says (Works, vol. i. p.
492): “The swiftest animal that bears thee to perfection is suffering.”