S 7.--The Metho.
The surest way, perhaps, to throw some light upon this matter is the
following: Let us detach from man all idea of what can be called
organization,--that is, let the body be separated from the spirit,
without, however, depriving the latter of the power to attain to
representations of, and to produce actions in, the corporeal world; and
let us then inquire how the spirit would set to work, would develop its
powers, what steps it would take towards its perfection: the result of
this investigation must be founded upon facts. The actual culture of the
individual man is thus surveyed, while we at the same time obtain a view
of the development of the whole race. In the first place, then, we have
this abstract case: the power of representation and will are present, a
sphere of action is present, and a free way opened from the soul to the
world, from the world to the soul. The question then is, How will the
spirit act?
S 8.-The Soul viewed as out of connection with the Body.
We can form no conception without the antecedent will to form it; no
will, unless by experience of a better condition thereby induced, without
[some] sensation; no sensation without an antecedent idea (for along with
the body we excluded bodily sensations), therefore no idea without an
idea.
Let us consider now the case of a child; that is, according to our
hypothesis, a spirit conscious in itself of the power to form ideas, but
which for the first time is about to exercise this power. What will
determine him to think, unless it be the pleasant sensation thereby
arising, and what can have procured for him the experience of this
pleasurable sensation? We have just seen that this, again, could be
nothing but thinking, and he is now for the first time to think.
Further, what shall invite him to a consideration of the [external]
world? Nothing but the experience of its perfection in so far as it
satisfies his instinct of activity, and as this satisfaction affords him
pleasure. What, then, can determine him to an exercise of his powers?
Nothing but the experience of their existence; and all these experiences
are now to be made for the first time. He must therefore have been
active from all eternity--which is contrary to the case as stated--or he
will to all eternity be inactive, just as the machine without a touch
from without remains idle and motionless.
S 9.--The Soul viewed in connection with the Body.
Now let the animal be added to the spirit. Weave these two natures so
closely together as they really are closely woven, and cause an unknown
something, born of the economy of the animal body, to be assailed by the
power of sensation,--let the soul be placed in the condition of physical
pain. That was the first touch, the first ray to light up the night of
slumbering powers, a touch as from a golden finger upon nature's lute.
Now is sensation there, and sensation only was it that before we missed.
This kind of sensation seems to have been made on purpose to remove all
these difficulties. In the first case none could be produced because we
were not allowed to presuppose an idea; here a modification of the bodily
organs becomes a substitute for the ideas that were lacking, and thus
does animal sensation come to the help of the spirits inward mechanism,
if I may so call it, and puts the same in motion. The will is active,
and the action of a single power is sufficient to set all the rest to
work. The following operations are self-developed and do not belong to
this chapter.
S 10.-Out of the History of the Individual.
Let us follow now the growth of the soul in the individual man in
relation to what I am trying to demonstrate, and let us observe how all
his spiritual capacities grow out of motive powers of sense.
a. The child. Still quite animal; or, rather more and at the same time
less than animal--human animal (for that being which at some time shall
be called man can at no time have been only animal). More wretched than
an animal, because he has not even instinct--the animal-mother may with
less danger leave her young than the mother abandon her child. Pain may
force from him a cry, but will never direct him to the source from which
it comes. The milk may give him pleasure, but he does not seek it. He
is altogether passive.
His thinking rises only to sensation.
His knowledge is but pain, hunger--and what binds these together.
b. The boy. Here we have already reflection, but only in so far as it
bears upon the satisfaction of the animal impulse. "He learns to value,"
says Garve [Observations on Ferguson's "Moral Philosophy," p. 319], "the
things of others, and his actions in respect of others, first of all
through the fact of their affording him [sensuous] pleasure."
A love of work, the love to his parents, to friends, yea even love to
God, must go along the pathway of physical sense [Sinnlichkeit] to reach
his soul. "That only is the sun," as Garve elsewhere observes, "which in
itself enlightens and warms: all other objects are dark and cold; but
they too can be warmed and illumined when they enter into such a
connection with the same as to become partakers of its rays."
[Observations on Ferguson's "Moral Philosophy," p. 393.] The good things
of the spirit possess a value with the boy only by transferrence--they
are the spiritual means to an animal end.
c. Youth and man. The frequent repetition of this process of induction
at last brings about a readiness, and the transferrence begins to
discover a beauty in what at first was regarded simply as a means. The
youth begins to linger in the process without knowing why. Without
observing it, he is often attracted to think about this means. Now is
the time when the beams of spiritual beauty in itself begin to fall upon
his open soul; the feeling of exercising his powers delights him, and
infuses an inclination to the object which, up to this time, was a means
only: the first end is forgotten. His enlightened mind and the richer
store of his ideas at last reveal to him the whole worth of spiritual
pleasures--the means has become the highest end.
Such is the teaching more or less of the history of each individual man--
whose means of education have been fairly good; and wisdom could hardly
choose a better road along which to lead mankind. Is not the mass of the
people even to this day in leading-strings?--much like our boy. And has
not the prophet from Medina left us an example of striking plainness how
to bridle the rude nature of the Saracens?
On this subject nothing more excellent can be said than what Garve
remarked in his translation of Ferguson's "Moral Philosophy," in the
chapter upon the Natural Impulses, and has developed as follows: "The
impulse of self-preservation and the attraction of sensual pleasure first
bring both man and beast to the point of action: he first comes to value
the things of others and his own actions in reference to them according
as they procure him pleasure. In proportion as the number of things
under whose influence he comes increases do his desires cover a wider
circle; as the road by which he reaches the objects of his wishes
lengthens, so do his desires become more artificial. Here we come to the
first line of separation between man and the mere animal, and herein we
may even discover a difference between one species of animal and another.
With few animals does the act of feeding follow immediately upon the
sensation of hunger; the heat of the chase, or the industry of collection
must come first. But in the case of no animal does the satisfaction of
this want follow so late upon the preparations made in reference thereto
as in the case of man; with no animal does the endeavor wind through so
long a chain of means and intentions before it arrives at the last link.
How far removed from this end, though in reality they have no other, are
the labors of the artisan or the ploughman. But even this is not all.
When the means of human subsistence have become richer and more various
through the institutions of society; when man begins to discover that
without a full expenditure of time and labor a surplus remains to him;
when at the same time by the communication of ideas he becomes more
enlightened; then he begins to find a last end for all his actions in
himself; he then remarks that, even when his hunger is thoroughly
satisfied, a good supply of raiment, a roof above him, and a sufficiency
of furniture within doors, there still remains something over and
above for him to do. He goes a step further, he becomes conscious that
in those very actions by which he has procured for himself food and
comfort--in so far as they have their origin in certain powers of a
spirit, and in so far as they exercise these powers--there lies a higher
good than in the external ends which thereby are attained. From this
moment on he works, indeed--in company with the rest of the human race,
and along with the whole animal kingdom--to keep himself alive, and to
provide for himself and his friends the necessaries of physical
existence;--for what else could he do? What other sphere of action could
he create for himself, if he were to leave this? But he knows now that
nature has not so much awakened in him these various impulses and desires
for the purpose of affording so many particular pleasures,--but, and far
more, places before him the attraction of those pleasures and advantages,
in order that these impulses may be put in motion--and with this end,
that to a thinking being there may be given matter for thought, to a
sensitive spirit matter for sensations, to the benevolent means of
beneficence, and to the active opportunity for work. Thus does
everything, living or lifeless, assume to him a new form. All the facts
and changes of life were formerly estimated by him only in so far as they
caused him pleasure or pain: now, in so far as they offer occasion for
expression of his desire of perfection. In the first case, events are
now good, now bad; in the latter, all are equally good. For there is no
chance or accident which does not give scope for the exercise of some
virtue, or for the employment of a special faculty. At first he loved
his fellows because he believed that they could be of use to him; he
loves them now far more--because he looks upon benevolence as the
condition of the perfect mind."
S 11.-From the History of Humanity.
Yet once more, a glance at the universal history of the whole human
race--from its cradle to the maturity of full-grown man--and the truth of
what has been said up to this point will stand forth in clearest relief.
Hunger and nakedness first made of man a hunter, a fisher, a cowherd, a
husbandman, and a builder. Sensual pleasure founded families, and the
defencelessness of single men was the origin of the tribe. Here already
may the first roots of the social duties be discovered. The soil would
soon become too poor for the increasing multitude of men; hunger would
drive them to other climates and countries that would discover their
wealth to the necessity that forced men to seek it; in the process they
would learn many improvements in the cultivation of the soil, and perhaps
some means to escape the hurtful influence of many things they would
necessarily encounter. These separate experiences passed from
grandfather to grandson, and their number was always on the increase.
Man learned to use the powers of nature against herself; these powers
were brought into new relations and the first invention was made. Here
we have the first roots of the simple and healing arts--always, we admit,
art and invention for the behoof of the animal, but still an exercise of
power, an addition to knowledge; and at the very fire in whose embers the
savage roasted his fish, Boerhaave afterwards made his inquiries into the
composition of bodies; through the very knife which this wild man used to
cut up his game, Lionet invented what led to his discovery of the nerves
of insects; with the very circle wherewith at first hoofs were measured,
Newton measures heaven and earth. Thus did the body force the mind to
pay attention to the phenomena around it; thus was the world made
interesting and important, through being made indispensable. The inward
activity of their nature, and the barrenness of their native soil,
combined in teaching our forefathers to form bolder plans, and invented
for them a house wherein, under conduct of the stars, they could safely
move upon rivers and seas, and sail toward regions new:--
Fluctibus ignotis insultavere carinae.
(Their keels danced upon waves unknown.)
Here again they met with new productions of nature, new dangers, new
needs that called for new exertions. The collision of animal instincts
drives hordes against hordes, forges a sword out of the raw metal, begets
adventurers, heroes, and despots. Towns are fortified, states are
founded: with the states arise civic duties and rights, arts, figures,
codes of law, subtle priests--and gods.
And now, when necessities have degenerated into luxury, what a boundless
field is opened to our eyes! Now are the veins of the earth burrowed
through, the foot of man is planted on the bottom of the sea, commerce
and travel flourish:--
Latet sub classibus aequor.
(The sea is hid beneath the fleets.)
The West wonders at the East, the East at the West; the productions of
foreign countries accustom themselves to grow under other skies, and the
art of gardening shows the products of three-quarters of the world in one
garden. Artists learn her works from nature, music soothes the savage
breast, beauty and harmony ennoble taste and manners, and art leads the
way to science and virtue. "Man," says Schloezer [see Schloezer's Plan
of his Universal History, S 6], "this mighty demigod, clears rocks from
his path, digs out lakes, and drives his plough where once the sail was
seen. By canals he separates quarters of the globe and provinces from
one another; leads one stream to another and discharges them upon a sandy
desert, changed thereby into smiling meadow; three quarters of the globe
he plunders and transplants them into a fourth. Even climate, air, and
weather acknowledge his sway. While he roots out forests and drains the
swamp, the heaven grows clear above his head, moisture and mist are lost,
winter becomes milder and shorter, because rivers are no longer frozen
over." And the mind of man is refined with the refining of his clime.
The state occupies the citizen in the necessities and comforts of life.
Industry gives the state security and rest from without; from within,
granting to thinker and artist that fruitful leisure through which the
age of Augustus came to be called the Golden Age. The arts now take a
more daring and untrammelled flight, science wins a light pure and dry,
natural history and physical science shatter superstition, history
extends a mirror of the times that were, and philosophy laughs at the
follies of mankind. But when luxury grows into effeminacy and excess,
when the bones begin to ache, and the pestilence to spread and the air
becomes infected, man hastens in his distress from one realm of nature to
another, that he may at least find means for lessening his pains. Then
he finds the divine plant of China; from the bowels of the earth he digs
out the mightily-working mercury, and from the poppy of the East learns
to distil its precious juice. The most hidden corners of nature are
investigated; chemistry separates material objects into their ultimate
elements, and creates worlds of her own; alchemists enrich the province
of physical science; the microscopic glance of a Schwammerdam surprises
nature in her most secret operations. Man goes still further; necessity
or curiosity transcends the boundaries set by superstition: he seizes the
knife, takes courage, and the masterpiece of nature is discovered, even
man. Thus did it behoove the least, the poorest, to help us to reach the
highest; disease and death must lend their aid to man in teaching him
Gnothi seauton ("Know thyself!"). The plague produced and formed our
Hippocrates, our Sydenhams, as war is the mother of generals; and we owe
to the most devastating disease that ever visited humanity an entire
reformation of our medical system.
Our intention was to show the influence upon the perfecting of the soul
through the temperate enjoyment of the pleasures held out by the senses;
and how marvellously has the matter changed, even while under our hands!
We found that even excess and abuse in this direction have furthered the
real demands of humanity; the deflections from the primitive end of
nature--merchants, conquerors, and luxury--have, undoubtedly, tended to
hasten a progress which had otherwise been more regular, but very slow.
Let us compare the old world with the new! In the first, desire was
simple, its satisfaction easy; but how mistaken, how painful was the
judgment passed on nature and her laws! Now, the road is made more
difficult by a thousand windings, but how full the light that has been
shed upon all our conceptions!
We may, then, repeat: Man needed to be an animal before he knew that he
was a spirit; he needed to crawl in the dust before he ventured on a
Newtonian flight through the universe. The body, therefore, is the first
spur to action; sense the first step on the ladder to perfection.