in this,—that every man may judge of all things whether he understands them or not!’ Has any one, in the circle of a few friends perhaps, allowed an assertion to escape him which it may be supposed he would not willingly see published to the world? In a week or two the printing press is at work to announce the re- markable fact to the world and to posterity. The journals take a part on one side and on the other, carefully investigating and inquiring whether the assertion was actually made or not, before whom was it made, what were the exact words employed, and under what con ditions the offender may be dismissed in the meantime with a partial punishment, or else be irretrievably con- demned. He must stand the brunt; and it will be well for him if, at the end-of a few years, he find his business forgotten in some new affair, Let no man smile at this; —for thereby he will only show that he has no sense of the high value of Public Opinion. But should any one who is summoned before the tribunal of this Public Opinion dare to despise its authority, then total perplexity takes posses- sion of the minds of its representatives, and to the end of their lives they gaze in profound astonishment at the man who has had courage sufficient to scorn their jurisdiction. They have of a truth thought this which they say;—at least they have assumed the air of having thought it. How then can any reasonable man refuse to pay them that respectful submission which is their due?
The right to raise itself in thought to the conception of the Laws of Reason, free from all constraint of outward authority, is indeed the highest, inalienable right of Hu- manity:—it is the unchangeable vocation of the Earthly Life of the Race. But no man has a right to wander recklessly about in the empty domain of unsettled Opinion; for such a course is directly opposed to the distinctive character of Humanity, ie. to Reason, Neither would any Age have such a right, were it not that this unsettled SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE. 91 hovering between authority and mere emptiness is a neces- sary step in the progress of our Race, whereby it may first be set free from blind constraint, and then be impelled to- wards Knowledge by the oppressive sense of its own vacuity. Let these men, then, with their pretensions about unlimited Freedom of Thought and unrestrained Public Opinion, make what demands they please; and let no man hinder them from, degrading themselves as far, and making themselves as ridiculous, as they please;—this must be permitted them. And who should desire to hinder them? Not the State—at least no State that understands its own interest. The State has charge of watching over the outward actions of its citizens, and ordering these actions by means of imperative laws which, if they are rightly adapted to the nation and imposed without dis- tinction upon all, must, without danger of failure, secure and maintain the order which is contemplated. The opinions of the citizens are not actions;—let these opi- nions be even dangerous, still if crime is sure of its threatened punishment it will be suppressed despite of opinion. The State may either attempt to change the opinions of its citizens for its own advantage:—and in this case it partly undertakes a thing which it cannot accomplish, and partly shows that its laws are not adapted to the existing condition of the nation to which this system of opinion belongs; or, that the governing power is inadequate, and, being unable to trust to its own re- sources, needs the aid of a foreign power which yet it can- not incorporate with itself. Or, the State may attempt,— perhaps with the purest intentions, and from the warmest zeal on the part of its administrators for the advancement of the dominion of Reason,—it may attempt to combat the prevailing opinions by means of external power;—and in this case it undertakes a thing in which it can never succeed, for all men feel that it then takes the form of injustice, and the persecuted opinion, being thus to-a cereee: - LECTURE VIL tain extent put in the right, gains new friends by the injustice which it suffers, and by this conviction of the justice of its cause acquires a stronger power of opposition; and the matter ends by the State being obliged to yield, whereby it once more shows only its own weakness. In like manner, neither will the few worshippers of True Knowledge hinder these advocates of unrestricted license. They have no power to do so; and if they had, they would not desire to use it. Their weapons are no other than the forces of Reason; their wishes for the world no other than that these forces should make their way by means of free con- viction. Whatever they say is to be clearly understood as true and as alone true: nothing they say is to be learned by rote and accepted in faith and trust; for then would Humanity be only brought back again to bondage, and subjected to a new authority; and instead of the de- sired progress there would be only a retreat in a new direction. Could these men comprehend it, they would no doubt acknowledge its truth;—for we do not charge them with the baseness which disavows its own conviction of better things. But precisely because they do not compre- hend it they are what they are; and so must they remain so long as they do not comprehend it:—since they are once for all what they are, it is impossible for them to become anything else;—and they must be endured, as integral parts of an unchangeable and necessary order of things.
This mode of thought, I said before, will strive to spread itself universally; and in certain masses of the Human Race it will succeed in this, and with them the whole Age will become a camp of mere Formal Knowledge. Who rules in this camp, and leads on its armies?—‘ Clearly,’ it will be answered, ‘the Heroes of the Age; the champions in whom the Spirit of the Time has most gloriously revealed itself.’ But who are these, and by what marks are they to be re- coguised? Perchance by the importance of the researches SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE, 93 which they set on foot, or the truth which radiates from their doctrines, and enlightens all men? How were that possible, when the Age passes no judgment whatever upon the importance or truth of anything, but only collects a store of opinions as materials for a future judgment? Thus he who only announces an opinion, and thereby brings his contribution to the great magazine of general speculation, in this way qualifies himself to be a leader of the host. But, as we have already observed, there is no preéminence to be attained in this Age; for every one who breathes its at- mosphere, has at one time or another swelled the general store of opinion by producing some conception of his own. Unfortunately a disaster often befalls this fertile capacity of thought;—this, namely,—that the opinion which bears universal sway in the evening is in the morning forgotten by all the world, even by its own prolific inventor;—and so this new contribution to the treasures of the Age vanishes intothinair. But should a method be discovered by which this fact of an opinion having been announced, as well as the opinion itself in so far as this latter may be possible, should be firmly established and protected against the next morning’s breeze, so that all who are blessed with sound eyesight might be distinctly advertised that an opinion had been ushered into the world, and the thinker himself be provided with a safeguard against forgetting what he has thought;—if, for example, the arts of Writing and Print- ing were discovered then should the Age be delivered from its perplexity. ‘Then he whose opinions stood perma- nently recorded by means of ink and paper should belong to the Heroes of the Age, the sublime phalanx of whom constitutes a community of votaries of Knowledge, or, as they better love to be called,—their whole being resting only on empiricism,—a Republic of Letters.
In this view the Age is by no means disturbed by the consideration that the admission into this glorious senate of humankind is usually effected through the nearest printer, 94 LECTURE VI.
whose knowledge of what he prints is even less than that of the writer as to what he writes, and whose only desire is to exchange his own printed paper for that of others.
In this way the Republic of Letters is brought together. By means of the printing press it is separated from the masses who do not print anything, and whose position in the camp of Formal Knowledge is that of Readers only. Hence arise new relations and connexions between these two principal sections of the camp of Formal Knowledge.
The first purpose of printing is obviously to announce publicly to all the world the independence of mind possessed by the Author;—from this arises, in Science, a straining after new or seemingly new opinions; and én Literature, a strug- gling after new forms. He who has attained this end, gains the favour of his Reader, whether or not, in the one case, his opinion be true; or, in the other, his form be beautiful. But when the printing press has thoroughly come into play even this novelty is laid aside, and mere printing, for its own sake alone, becomes a merit;—and then arises, in Science, the tribe of compilers, who give to the world what has been given to it a hundred times be- fore, only with some slight transposition of its parts; and in Literature, the fashionable author, who continues to repeat a form which has already been so long employed by others or by himself, that at last no man can dis- cover anything good in it.
This stream of Literature now flows forth, constantly re- newing itself; each new tide displacing its forerunner, so that the purpose originally contemplated in printing is frus- trated, and the hope of immortality by means of the press destroyed. It matters not to have brought forth one’s opi- nion in open print, unless one also possess the art to con- tinue so to do unceasingly:—for all that is Past is soon forgotten, Who is there that shall bear it in memory? Not the Author as such: for since each strives after SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE. 95 something new, no one listens to another, but each goes his own way, and promulgates his own conceptions. Not the Reader: for he, glad to be done with the old, flies to the newest comers, in choosing among whom he is for the most part guided by mere chance. In these circumstances no one who commits his lucubrations to the press, can be sure that any one, except himself and his printer, shall know anything of the matter. Hence it becomes indispensably necessary to set on foot and establish some public and general record or memorial of Literature. Such are the literary Journals and Mag- azines, which once more make known what it is which the Author has made known, and by means of which an Author is enabled to repeat, even after the lapse of half a year, what he has said already; and a similar opportunity is afforded to the reading public to learn what he has said, if they read the Journals, But it would not accord with the dignity of the authors of these publications, and would place them too far below other writers, if they only conveyed this intelligence of the thoughts of others; they must therefore, while reporting their information, also as- sert their own independence by discussing these thoughts and announcing their own opinion thereon;—the leading maxims in this business being the following:—that the Reviewer shall always find something to censure; and that he knows everything better than the original Author.
With such writings as commonly appear this is of little moment; for it is no-great misfortune that some- thing which is bad at first should be made worse by the new treatment of the Reviewer. Writings which really deserve to see the light, whether in the depart- ment of Science or that of Literature, are ever the expression of a Life wholly devoted to the Idea in some new and original form; and until such writings have seized upon the Age, and penetrated it, and fashioned it after their own thought, no judgment of them is 96 LECTURE VI.
possible: and therefore it is obvious that no thorough and comprehensive Review of such works, even by the ablest critic, can be produced in a half or even in a whole year. It is of course understood that the ordi- nary critics do not make this distinction, but unhesitat- ingly seize upon all that comes under their notice without discrimination; and also that the same judgment is pro- nounced upon truly original works, as upon the most thoroughly worthless productions. But even this fault is no misfortune except to themselves; for nothing really good is lost in the stream of Time:—how long soever it may lie defamed, misunderstood, and disregarded, the day at length arrives when it breaks its way through such hindrances and comes forth into light. But any one who should feel aggrieved by such perverted views of his writings,—who should vex himself at such attacks, in- stead of compassionately laughing at them, would only show thereby that his opponent had a certain amount of truth on his side,—that his own individual personality had not yet wholly disappeared in the Idea, and in the Knowledge and Love of Truth;—that therefore this personal feeling may indeed have shown itself in his work, and that the more offensively, the purer the expression of the Idea with which it is associated:—and such an one receives thereby the most urgent and impressive summons to retire within his own soul and to purify himself. ‘Do they regard this matter falsely?’—thinks he who is pure within himself:—‘it is to their prejudice, not mine; and that they do regard it falsely, is not the fault of an evil will but of a feeble vision;—they themselves would be glad indeed were it possible for them to come to the truth.’— Finally it is to be noticed as an advantage arising from the creation of the critic species, that he who has no great pleasure in reading, or has not much time to devote to that purpose, no longer requires to read books; but by mere reference to the literary Journals finds the whole Literature SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE. 97 of the Age brought within his grasp;—and in this way, indeed, it may be said that books are only printed in order that they may be reviewed; and there would no longer be any need for books, if Reviews could be fabricated without them..
Such is the portraiture of the active section of this camp of Formal Knowledge;—namely, the Authors. After their image, the passive or receptive section,—the body of Readers —fashions itself, that it may become their exact counterpart. As the former write on, without rest or intermission; so do the latter read on, without rest or intermission,—straining every nerve to keep their head above the flood of Literature, and, as they call it, to advance with the Age. Glad to have hurried through the old they eagerly grasp at the new, while the newest already makes its appearance; and not a single moment remains for them ever to revert to the old. They can by no means stop themselves in this restless career in order to consider what they read;—for their business is pressing, and time is short:—and so it is left wholly to chance what and how much of their reading may stick to them in this rapid transit, how it may influence them, and what spiritual form it may assume.
This custom of reading for its own sake is specifically different from every other habit of mind; and, having some- thing about it in the highest degree agreeable, it soon becomes an indispensable want to those who once indulge init. Like other narcotic remedies, it places those who use it in the pleasant condition betwixt sleeping and waking, and lulls them into sweet self-forgetfulness without calling for the slightest exertion on their part. It has always ap- peared to me to have the greatest resemblance to tobacco- smoking, and to be-best illustrated by that habit. He who has once tasted the delights of this condition will desire continually to enjoy them, and will devote himself to nothing else: he now reads even without regard to the n “98 LECTURE VI.
knowledge of Literature, or to advancing with his Age; but with this view only, that he may read, and reading live;—and so represents in his person the character of the pure Reader.
At this point Authorship and Readership both reach their end; they disappear in themselves, the final result being its own extinction. To the pure Reader, as we have described him, there is no longer any instruction in his reading, nor does he derive any clear conceptions from it; for any printed production forthwith lulls him into listless repose and placid self-forgetfulness. Besides, all other means of instruction are cut off from him. Hence verbal communication, by continuous discourse or scientific conversation, possesses infinite advantage over the mere dead letter. Writing was only practised by the Ancients in order to convey such spoken instruction to those who had not access to the speaker; everything that was written had in the first place been verbally communicated, and was but a copy of the spoken dis- course: only among the Moderns, and particularly since the invention of printing, has this method of intercourse claimed recognition for its own sake; whereby style, among other things, having lost the living corrective of speech, has fallen to ruin. But even for spoken communication, a Reader such as we have described is from the first wholly unfit, How could such an one, habitually given up to ab- solute passivity, understand the bearings of a connected discourse, which demand an active effort of the mind to lay hold of and retain them? How could he, were the dis- course broken up into periods, as every good discourse ought to be-—how could he combine the separate periods together, and review them as a whole? If he could have them put before his eyes in black and white,— then, he thinks, his difficulty should be removed. But he deceives himself. Even in that case, he would not SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE, 99 mentally comprehend the unity of the discourse, but would only, through his eye, embrace the extent of it included within his range of vision, hold this fast upon the paper and by means of the paper;—and then imagine that he had comprehended it.
Arrived at this point, I said, the scientific effort of the Age has destroyed itself! and the Race stands in absolute impotence on the one side, and in absolute incapacity on the other, for farther cultivation:—the Age can no longer read, and therefore all writing is in vain. Thus it is high time to begin something new,—and, in my opinion, this something should be, on the one side, to return to the method of spoken discourse, and to cultivate pro- ficiency in this Art;—and on the other, to acquire the requisite capacities for appreciating this form of com- munication.: If reading is still to be practised, it should at least be in another way than is customary now. In order that I may follow up the repulsive description which I have had to bring before you to-day, with something more pleasing, allow me to say what mode of reading I hold to be the right one.
Whatever ought to be read in print, is either a work of Science, or a product of Literature: whatever is neither of these, and is without relation to one or other of them, is much better unread, and might as well have remained unwritten.
In the first place, with respect to works of Science:— The first object of reading them is to understand them, and to apprehend historically the true meaning of the Author. To do this, we must not passively resign ourselves to our Author, and suffer him to mould us as chance or fortune may direct; or accept at once whatever dicta he may choose to propound, and so depart, and get these byrote. But as the Experimentalist subjects Nature to his interrogatories, and compels her not to speak at random but to reply to 100 LECTURE VI.
the questions which he puts to her; so is the Author to be subjected to a skilful and well-considered experiment by the Reader. This experiment is made in the following way. After a cursory perusal of the whole book, with the view of obtaining beforehand a general conception of the Author’s design, the Reader ought to turn to the first leading prin- ciple, period, or paragraph, as the case may be. This is necessarily, even with respect to the purpose of the Au- thor, only to a certain extent defined—in other respects undefined;—were it already completely defined, then were the book at an end, and there were no need for the con- tinuation, the only purpose of which is, that therein what stil] remains undefined, may gradually be brought to light. Only in so far as this principle is defined, is it intelligible; in so far as it is undefined, it as yet remains unintelligible. These separate portions, the Intelligible and the Unintelli- gible, the reader sets clearly before himself in the following way. ‘The subject of which this Author treats is, in itself, and independently of the Author, definable in this way, and in this. The more completely the various possible modes of defining the conception are understood beforehand, the better are we prepared. ‘Of these different ways of defining his subject, the Author in his first principle touches only this, and this; and thus de- fines his subject only in such and such respects, as distinguished from the other modes of defining it which are also possible. So far only is he intelligible to me. But he leaves his principle undefined in this, and this, and this respect; how he may view it on these sides, I know not as yet. I stand fast in an intelligible position, surrounded by a distinctly recognised circle of what is as yet unintelligible. How the Author may think upon these points, provided he has not declared it at once, will be seen from the way in which he follows up the principle he has laid down; the use which he makes of his admitted propositions will reveal this. Let me read further SCIENTIFIC CONDITION OF THE THIRD AGE. 101 until the Author more fully declare himself: by this new definition, a portion of the former indefiniteness certainly disappears; the clear point is extended, the sphere of the Unintelligible is narrowed. Let me make this new ac- quisition of the Intelligible thoroughly distinct to myself, and impress it on my mind, and read on until the Author declare himself anew;—and so on in the same way until the sphere of the Undefined and the Unintelligible has wholly disappeared in the general mass of light, and I can re-create for myself the whole system of the Author's thought in any order that may be desired, and from any selected point deduce all its other forms.’ And in order that he may strictly watch over himself during this ex- amination of his Author, and also in order that what has once become clear and distinct, may not again be lost, it would even be advisable that he should undertake this whole operation pen in hand, although it should be neces- sary, as at first might well be the case, to devote twenty written sheets to a single printed one. Any lamentation over the loss of paper were here out of place;—only let him take care that this paper do not hastily find its way to the press under the-name of a commentary! This com- mentary, as proceeding from the amount of culture which he has brought to the study of his Author, is still a com- mentary for himself only: and every one who truly desires to understand the matter would require to practise the same operation upon his commentary. Let him rather, as is more becoming, leave others to perform upon the original Author the same operation for themselves which he himself has had to do.
It is obvious-that in this way a writer may often be much better understood by another than by himself, particularly when the Reader sets out from a clearer conception than his Author. ‘ Here he gets involved in his own reasoning,—there he makes a false conclusion,— elsewhere fitting utterance is denied him, and he writes 102 LECTURE VL.
down something wholly different from what he wishes to express;—what is that to me? I know how he ought to have proceeded, and what he would have said, for I have penetrated his whole thought. These are the failings of human weakness, which, when united with true merit in the subject itself, no honourable mind will reprove.’
It is also clear, that by this mode of reading it may soon be discovered when the Author is not master of the Science of which he aspires to write, and is ignorant of the extent to which it has already been cultivated; or when he is only a bewildered dreamer. In both cases his book may be quietly laid aside: it will not be neces- sary to read it further, And in this way, the first object,—the understanding and historical recognition of the Author’s meaning,—is attained. Whether this meaning be consistent with Truth,—to ascertain which is the second purpose of reading,—will be very easily determined after such a searching study as we have described; if, indeed, a judg- ment upon this latter point has not already been formed during the study itself.
In the second place, with respect to the reading of a Literary work:—The sole purpose of such reading is, that the Reader may partake of the inspiration, elevation, and culture of mind which the work may be designed to com- municate. For this purpose,mere passive self-abandonment is all that is requisite; for it is not the business of every man to penetrate to the source of esthetic pleasure, or even to trace its operations in individual cases. Art summons all men to the enjoyment, but only a few to the use, or even to the knowledge, of her secrets. But in order that a work of Art may even come into con- tact with our minds, and we ourselves enter into com- munion with it, it must first of all be understood;— that is, we must thoroughly comprehend the purpose of SCIENTIFIC CONDITION Of THE THIRD AGE. 103 the Artist, and what it is which he desires to communi- cate to us by his work, and be able to reproduce this purpose, as the pervading spirit of the whole work, out of all its parts, and again to deduce these from the purpose which created them. Still, this is not the work itself, but only the prosaic part of it;—that only which, in the con- templation of the work from this point of view, lays hold of and penetrates us with irresistible power, is the Truth of Art:—but still we must first possess this introductory knowledge, this comprehension of the work in its organic unity, before we are capable of its enjoyment. This organic unity indeed, like all works of Genius, still remains infinite and inexhaustible, but it is no mean _ pleasure to have approached it, although only at a dis- tance. We may return to our common occupations, and forget this glorious revelation; but it will abide secretly in our souls, and gradually develop itself there unknown to us. After a time we will return to our work, and see it under another form; and thus it shall never be- come old to us, but with every new contemplation assume a new life before us. We shall no longer desire something new, for we shall kave discovered the means of transforming even the oldest into fresh and living originality.