218 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
of that advancement. I must impose some restraint upon myself, that I may not allow my feelings to ex patiate upon the elevated idea which is now brought before you; — the path of rigid inquiry is not yet ended. Yet I must remark, in passing, what it really is which they would do who should seek to check the free progress of knowledge. I say would do; for how can I know whether such persons really exist or not? Upon the progress of knowledge the whole progress of the human race is immediately dependent: he who retards that, hinders this also. And he who hinders this, — what character does he assume towards his age and posterity? Louder than with a thousand voices, by his actions he proclaims into the deafened ear of the world present and to come — "As long as I live at least, the men around me shall not become wiser or better; — for in their progress I too, notwithstanding all my efforts to the contrary, should be dragged forward in some direction; and this I detest. I will not become more enlightened, — I will not become nobler. Darkness and perversion are my elements, and I will summon all my powers together that I may not be dislodged from them." Humanity may en dure the loss of everything: all its possessions may be torn away without infringing its true dignity; — all but the possibility of improvement. Coldly and craftily, as the enemy of mankind pictured to us in the Bible, these foes of man have calculated and de vised their schemes; and explored the holiest depths to discover a point at which to assail humanity, so that they might crush it in the bud; — and they have found it. Humanity turns indignantly from the picture.
We return to our investigation.
LECTURE IV. 219 Knowledge is itself a branch of human culture; — that branch must itself be further advanced if all the faculties of man are to be continuously developed; hence it is the duty of the Scholar, as of every man who has chosen a particular condition of life, to strive for the advancement of knowledge, and chiefly of his own peculiar department of knowledge; — it is his duty as it is the duty of every man in his own depart ment; — yes, and it is much more his duty. It is for him to watch over and promote the advancement of other departments; — and shall he himself not advance? Upon his progress, the progress of all other depart ments of human culture is dependent: he should al ways be in advance to open the way for others, to explore their future path, and to lead them forward upon it; — and shall he remain behind? From that moment he would cease to be what he ought to be; and being nothing else, would then be — nothing. I do not say that every Scholar must actually extend the domain of knowledge, — that may not be within his power; — but I do say that he must strive to extend it; — that he must not rest, that he must not think his duty sufficiently performed, until he have extended it. So long as he lives he may yet accomplish this. Does death overtake him before he has attained his purpose? — then he is released from his duties in this world of appearances, and his earnest endeavour will be ac counted to him for the deed. If the following maxim be applicable to all men, it is more especially applicable to the Scholar: — that he forget what he has done as soon as it is accomplished, and constantly direct his whole thoughts upon what he has yet to do. He has advanced but little way indeed, whose field of exertion 220 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
does not extend its boundaries at every step he takes in it.
The Scholar is destined in a peculiar manner for society: his class, more than any other, exists only through society and for society: — it is thus his pecu liar duty to cultivate the social talents, — an openness to receive, and a readiness to communicate knowledge, — in the first place and in the highest degree. Re ceptivity must already be developed in him, if he has thoroughly mastered the requisite empirical sciences. He must be thoroughly conversant with the labours of those who have gone before him in his own depart ment, and this knowledge he cannot have acquired otherwise than by instruction, either oral or literary; — he cannot have arrived at it by mere reflection on the principles of Reason. But he should at all times maintain this receptivity by means of new acquirements, and endeavour to preserve himself from a growing in sensibility to foreign opinions and modes of thought, which is so common even among the most indepen dent thinkers; — for no one is so well-informed but he may still continue to learn, and may have something very necessary yet to learn; — and it is seldom that any one is so ignorant that he cannot teach some thing to the most learned, which the latter did not know before. Readiness of communication is always needed by the Scholar, for he possesses his knowledge not for himself, but for society. This he must prac tise from his youth, and keep in constant activity, — • through what means, we shall inquire at the proper time.
The knowledge which he has acquired for society he must now actually apply to the uses of society; — LECTURE IV. 221 he must rouse men to the feeling of their true wants, and make them acquainted with the means of satisfying these. Not that he should enter with them into the deep inquiries which he himself lias been obliged to undertake, in order to find some certain and secure foundation of truth: that would be an attempt to make all men Scholars like himself, which is impos sible, and opposed to the purposes of life; — the other forms of human activity must also be prosecuted, and to that end there are other classes of men; if they devoted their time to learned inquiries, the Scholars themselves should soon cease to be Scholars. How then can he spread abroad his knowledge, and how ought he to do so? Society could not subsist without trust in the honesty and skill of others; — this confi dence is deeply impressed upon our hearts, and by a peculiar favour of Nature we never possess it in a higher degree than when we most need the honesty and skill of others. He may securely reckon upon this trust in his honesty and skill, as soon as he has earned it as he ought. Further, — there is in all men a feeling of truth, which indeed is not sufficient in itself, but must be developed, proved, and purified; — and to do this is the task of the Scholar. This feeling is not sufficient in itself to lead the unlearned to all the truth of which they stand in need; but when it has not become artificially falsified (which indeed is often the work of some who call themselves Scholars) it is always sufficient to enable them, even without deep argument, to recognise truth when another leads them to her presence. On this intuitive feeling of truth the Scholar too may rely. Thus, so far as we have yet u 2 222 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
unfolded the idea of his vocation, the Scholar is, by virtue of it, the Teacher of the human race.
But he has not only to make men generally ac quainted with their wants, and with the means of satisfying these wants; he has likewise, in particular, at all times and in all places, to teach them the wants arising out of the special condition in which they stand, and to lead them to the appropriate means of reaching the peculiar objects which they are there called upon to attain. He sees not merely the present, — he sees also the future: he sees not merely the point which humanity now occupies, but also that to which it must next advance if it remain true to its final end, and do not wander or turn back from its legitimate path. He cannot wish to hurry forward humanity at once to the goal which perhaps gleams brightly before his own view; — the road cannot be avoided or overleaped; — he must only take care that it do not stand still, and that it do not turn back. In this respect the Scholar is the Guide of the human race.
I remark here expressly, that in this as in ah1 his other avocations, the Scholar stands under the rule of the moral law, — of the requisite harmony of his own being. He acts upon society; — it is founded on the idea of freedom; it, and every member of it, is free; and he dares not approach it otherwise than by moral means. The Scholar will never be tempted to bring men to the adoption of his convictions by coercion or the use of physical force: — in the present age it ought to be unnecessary to throw away a single word upon this folly: — neither will he deceive them. Setting aside the fact that he would thereby offend against himself, and that the duties of the man are in every LECTURE IV. 223 case higher than those of the Scholar: — he would also thereby offend against society. Each individual in society ought to act from his own free choice, from his own mature and settled conviction; — he ought to be able to look upon himself as a joint object of all his actions, and be regarded as such by all his fellow-men. He who is deceived, is used only as a means by which another may attain his purpose.
The ultimate purpose of each individual man, as well as of all society, and consequently of all the labours of the Scholar in society, is the moral elevation of all men. It is the duty of the Scholar to have this final object constantly in view, — never to lose sight of it in all that he does in society. But no one can successfully labour for the moral improvement of his species who is not himself a good^man. We do not teach by words alone, — we also teach much more impressively by example; and every one who lives in society owes it a good example, because the power of example has its origin in the social relation. How much more is this due from the Scholar, who ought to be before all others in every branch of human culture? If he be behind in the first and highest of them all, that to which all the others tend, — how can he be the pattern which he ought to be, and how can he suppose that others will follow his teachings, which he himself contradicts before all men in every action of his life? The words which the founder of the Christian Religion addressed to his disciples apply with peculiar force to the Scholar, — " Ye are the salt of the earth: if the salt hath lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?"
— if the chosen among men be depraved, where shall we seek for moral good? Thus, in this last respect, 224 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
i the Scholar ought to be morally the best man of his age; — he ought to exhibit in himself the highest grade of moral culture then possible.
This is our common vocation, — this our common destiny. A happy vocation it is, which calls upon you to do that, as your own peculiar occupation, which all men must do by reason of their common destiny as men; to employ all your time and powers upon that alone, for which other men must hoard up time and power with wise parsimony; to have for your employ ment, your business, the sole every-day labour of your life, what only comes to others as sweet refreshment after toil! It is an invigorating, soul-elevating thought which each one among you, who is worthy of his calling, may entertain, — " To me also, for my part, is entrusted the culture of my own and following ages; from my labours will proceed the course of future generations, — the history of nations who are yet to be. To this am I called, — to bear witness to the Truth: my life, my fortunes are of little moment; the results of my life are of infinite moment. I am a Priest of Truth; I am in her pay; I have bound myself to do all things, to venture all things, to suffer all things for her. If I should be persecuted and hated for her sake, if I should even meet death in her service, what won derful thing is it I shall have done, — what but that which I clearly ought to do?"
I know how much I have now said; — I know too, that an effeminate and nerveless generation will tolerate neither these feelings nor the expression of them; — that with a timorous voice which betrays its inward shame, it stigmatizes as extravagance everything which is above its reach; — that it turns away its eyes with LECTURE IV. 225 agony from a picture in which it beholds nothing but its own enervation and disgrace; — that everything vigorous and elevating is to it as every touch is to one diseased in all his limbs. I know all this; — but I know too where I speak. I speak before young men who are at present secured by their youth against this utter enervation; and along with a manly morality, and by means of it, I would deeply impress such feelings on their souls as may preserve them for the future also from such effeminacy. I avow it frankly, that from the point on which Providence has placed me, I too would willingly contribute something, to extend in every direction, as far as my native tongue can reach and farther if possible, a more manly tone of thought, a stronger sense of elevation and dignity, a more ardent zeal to fulfil our destiny at every hazard; — so that when you shall have left this place and are scat tered abroad in all directions, I may one day know in you, wherever you may dwell, men whose chosen friend is Truth, who adhere to her in life and in death, who receive her when she is cast out by all the world, who take her openly under their protection when she is traduced and calumniated, who for her sake will joyfully bear the cunningly concealed enmity of the great, the dull sneer of the coxcomb, and the com passionating shrug of the fool. With this view I have now spoken; — and in everything which I may address to you in future, I shall have the same ultimate design.
( 226 ) LECTURE V.
EXAMINATION OF ROUSSEAU'S DOCTRINES CONCERNING THE INFLUENCE OF ART AND SCIENCE ON THE WELL-BEING OF MAN.
THE combating of error is of no important advantage in the discovery of truth. If truth be once derived by just deduction from its essential principles, everything opposed to it must necessarily, and without express refutation, be false; and if the whole path, which must be traversed in order to arrive at certain knowledge, lie clear before our view, we can at the same time easily observe the by-ways which lead from it towards erroneous opinions, and shall even be able readily to indicate to every wanderer the precise point from which he has gone astray. For every truth can be derived only from one fundamental principle. What the fundamental principle is, upon which each problem of human knowledge may be solved, it is the province of a fundamental philosophy to declare; — how each principle should be followed out to its consequences, universal logic must teach; — and thus the true as well as the false way may be easily ascertained.
But the consideration of opposite opinions is of great value in imparting distinct and clear views of discovered truth. In comparing truth with error, we LECTURE V. 227 are obliged to note with greater accuracy the distinc tive marks of both; and our conceptions of them acquire sharper precision and greater clearness. I now avail myself of this method to give you a short and plain view of what has been already brought forward in these lectures.
I have placed the vocation of man in the continual advancement of culture, and in the harmonious de velopment of all his faculties and wants; and I have assigned to that class, whose duty it is to watch over the progress and harmony of this development, a most honourable place in human society.
No man has opposed this truth more decidedly, on more plausible grounds, or with more powerful elo quence, than Rousseau. To him the advancement of culture is the sole cause of all human depravity. Ac cording to him there is no salvation for man but in a State of Nature; and — what indeed flows most ac curately from his principles — that class of men who most effectually promote the advancement of culture, — the Scholar-class, — is at once the source and centre of all human misery and corruption.
Such a theory has been propounded by a man who has himself cultivated his mental faculties in a very high degree. With all the power which he acquired by this superior cultivation, he laboured, wherever it was possible, to convince mankind of the justice of his doctrines, — to persuade them to return to that State of Nature which he so much commended. To him retrogression was progress, and that forsaken State of Nature the ultimate end which a now marred and perverted humanity must finally attain. Thus he did precisely that which we do, — he laboured to advance 228 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
humanity according to his own ideas, and to aid its progress towards its highest end. He did that pre cisely which he Himself so bitterly censured; his ac tions stand in opposition to his principles.
The same contradiction reigns in his principles them selves. What excited him to action but some impulse of his heart? Had he examined into this impulse, and connected it with that which led him into error, he would then have had unity and harmony both in his actions and in his conclusions. If we can reconcile the first contradiction, we shall, at the same time, have reconciled the second; the point of agreement of the first is likewise that of the second. We shall discover this point, we shall solve the contradiction, we shall understand Housseau better than he understood him self, and we shall then discover him to be in perfect harmony with himself and with us.
Whence did Ilousscau derive this extraordinary theory, maintained indeed partially by others before him, but as a whole so completely opposed to the general faith? Did he deduce it by reason from some higher principle? Oh no! Rousseau did not penetrate on any side to the confines of human know ledge; he does not appear ever to have proposed such a question to himself. What truth he possessed, he founded immediately on his feelings; and his knowledge has therefore the faults common to all knowledge founded on mere undeveloped feeling, — that it is partly uncertain, because man cannot render to himself a complete account of his feelings; — that the true is mixed up with the untrue, because a judgment resting upon feeling alone regards as of like meaning things which are yet essentially different. Feeling does not err; LECTURE V. 229 LECTURE V. 229 but the judgment errs, because it misinterprets feeling, and mistakes a compound for a pure feeling. From these undeveloped feelings, upon which Rousseau grounds his reflections, he proceeds with perfect jus tice: once in the region of syllogism, he is in harmony with himself, and hence carries the reader who can think with him, irresistibly along. Had he allowed his feelings to influence the course of his inquiries, they would have brought him back to the right path from which they had first led him astray. To have erred less than he did, Rousseau must have possessed either more or less acuteness of intellect than he actually did possess; and so he who reads his works, in order not to be led astray by them, must possess either a much higher or a much lower degree of acuteness than he possessed; — he must either be a complete thinker, or no thinker at all.
Separated from the great world, and guided by his pure feeling and lively imagination, Rousseau had sketched a picture of society, and particularly of the Scholar-class, — with whose labours he especially occu pied himself, — as they ought to be, and as they neces sarily must and would be, if they followed the guidance of common feeling. He came into the great world; he cast his eyes around him, and what were his sensations when the world and its Scholars, as they actually were, met his gaze! He saw at its most fearful extreme, that scene which every one may see who turns his eyes towards it;* — men bowed down to the dust like beasts, chained to the earth regardless of their high dignity * The reader will bear in mind that these Lectures were delivered in 1794, during the Eevolutionary Epoch in France.
X 230 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
and the divinity within them; — saw their joys, their sorrows, their whole existence, dependent on the satis faction of a base sensuality whose demands rose higher with every gratification; — saw them careless of right or wrong, holy or unholy, in the satisfaction of their appetites, and ever ready to sacrifice humanity itself to the desire of the moment; — saw them ultimately lose all sense of right and wrong, and place wisdom in selfish cunning and duty in the gratification of lust; — saw them at last place their glory in this degradation and their honour in this shame, and even look down with contempt on those who were not so wise, and not so virtuous as themselves; — saw those who ought to have been the teachers and guides of the nation sunk into the accommodating slaves of its corruption; those who ought to have given to the age a character of wisdom and of earnestness, assiduously catching the tones of the reigning folly and the predominant vice; — heard them ask, for the guidance of their inquiries, not, Is it true? is it good and noble? but, Will it be well received? — not, What will humanity gain by it? but, What shall I gain by it? how much gold, or what prince's favour, or what beauty's smile? — saw them even look on this mode of thought as their highest honour, and bestow a compassionating shrug on the imbeciles who understood not like them to propitiate the spirit of the time; — saw talent, and art, and know ledge, united in the despicable task of extorting a more delicate enjoyment from nerves already wasted in pleasure, or in the detestable attempt to palliate or justify human depravity, to raise it to the rank of virtue, and wilfully demolish everything which yet placed a barrier in its way; — saw at length, — and