WHATEVER in the more recent Philosophy is useful beyond the limits of the schools will form the con- tents of this work, set forth in that order in which it would naturally present itself to unscientific thought. The more profound arguments by which subtle objections and extravagances of over-refined minds are to be met, whatever is but the foundation of other Positive Science, — and lastly, whatever be- longs to Pedagogy in its widest sense, that is, to the deliberate and arbitrary Education of the Human Race, — shall remain beyond the limits of our task. These objections are not made by the natural under- standing;— Positive Science it leaves to Scholars by profession; and the Education of the Human Race, in so far as that depends upon human effort, to its appointed Teachers and Statesmen.
This book is therefore not intended for philosophers by profession, who will find nothing in it that has not been already set forth in other writings of the same author. It ought to be intelligible to all readers who are able to understand a book at all. To those who wish only to repeat, in somewhat varied order, certain phrases which they have already learned by rote, and who mistake this business of the memory for under- standing, it will doubtless be found unintelligible.
It ought to attract and animate the reader, and to xi xii PREFACE.
elevate him from the world of sense into a region of transcendental thought; — at least the author is con- scious that he has not entered upon his task without such inspiration. Often indeed, the fire with which we commence an undertaking disappears during the toil of execution; and thus, at the conclusion of a work, we are in danger of doing ourselves injustice upon this point. In short, whether the author has succeeded in attaining his object or not, can be de- termined only by the effect which the work shall produce on the readers to whom it is addressed, and in this the author has no voice.
I must, however, remind my reader that the " I " who speaks in this book is not the author himself; but it is his earnest wish that the reader should him- self assume this character, and that he should not rest contented with a mere historical apprehension of what is here said, but that during reading he should really and truly hold converse with himself, deliberate, draw conclusions and form resolutions, like his imaginary representative, and thus, by his own la- bour and reflection, develop and build up within him- self that mode of thought the mere picture of which is presented to him in the book.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Introduction by E. Ritchie, Ph.D...i Bibliography...ix Preface...xi Book I. Doubt...i Book II. Knowledge...36 Book III. Faith...93 BOOK I.
DOUBT.
I BELIEVE that I am now acquainted with no inconsid- erable part of the world that surrounds me, and I have certainly employed sufficient labour and care in the acquisition of this knowledge. I have put faith only in the concurrent testimony of my senses, only in repeated and unvarying experience; — what I have beheld, I have touched — what I have touched, I have analyzed; — I have repeated my observations again and again; I have compared the various phenomena with each other; and only when I could understand their mutual connexion, when I could explain and deduce the one from the other, when I could calculate the result beforehand, and the observation of the result had proved the accuracy of my calculations, have I been satisfied. Therefore I am now as well assured of the accuracy of this part of my knowledge as of my own existence; I walk with a firm step in these understood spheres of my world, and do actually every moment venture welfare and life itself on the certainty of my convictions.
But — what am I myself, and what is my vocation?
Superfluous question! It is long since I have been completely instructed upon these points, and it would take much time to repeat all that I have learned, learned, and believed concerning them.
2 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
And in what way then have I attained this knowledge, which I have this dim remembrance of acquir- ing? Have I, impelled by a burning desire of knowl- edge, toiled on through uncertainty, doubt and con- tradiction?— have I, when any belief was presented to me, withheld my assent until I had examined and reexamined, sifted and compared it, — until an inward voice proclaimed to me, irresistibly and without the possibility of doubt, — " Thus it is — thus only — as surely as thou livest and art!" — No! I remember no such state of mind. Those instructions were bestowed on me before I sought them, the answers were given before I had put the questions. I heard, for I could not avoid doing so, and what was taught me remained in my memory just as chance had disposed it; — with- out examination and without interest I allowed every- thing to take its place in my mind.
How then could I persuade myself that I possessed any real knowledge upon these matters? If I know that only of which I am convinced, which I have my- self discovered, myself experienced, then I cannot truly say that I possess even the slightest knowledge of my vocation; — I know only what others assert they know about it, and all that I am really sure of is, — that I have heard this or that said upon the subject.
Thus, while I have inquired for myself, with the most anxious care, into comparatively trivial matters, I have relied wholly on the care and fidelity of others in things of the weightiest importance. I have at- tributed to others an interest in the highest affairs of humanity, an earnestness and an exactitude, which I BOOK I. DOUBT. 3 by no means discovered in myself. I have esteemed them indescribably higher than myself.
Whatever truth they really possess, whence can they have obtained it but through their own reflec- tion? And why may not I, by means of the same reflection, discover the like truth for myself, since I too have a being as well as they? How much have I hitherto undervalued and slighted myself!
It shall be no longer thus. From this moment I will enter on my rights and assume the dignity that belongs to me. Let all foreign aids be cast aside! I will examine for myself. If any secret wishes concerning the result of my inquiries, any partial leaning towards certain conclusions, stir within me, I forget and renounce them; and I will accord them no influence over the direction of my thoughts. I will perform my task with firmness and integrity; — I will honestly accept the result whatever it may be. What I find to be truth, let it sound as it may, shall be welcome to me. I will know. With the same certainty with which I am assured that this ground will support me when I tread on it, that this fire will burn me if I approach too near it, will I know what I am, and what I shall be. And should it prove impossible for me to know this, then I will know this much at least, that I cannot know it. Even to this conclusion of my inquiry will I submit, should it ap- prove itself to me as the truth. I hasten to the ful- filment of my task.
THE VOCATION OP MAN.
I seize on Nature in her rapid and unresting flight, detain her for an instant, hold the present mo- ment steadily in view, and reflect — upon this Nature by means of which my thinking powers have hither- to been developed and trained to those researches that belong to her domain.
I am surrounded by objects which I am compelled to regard as separate, independent, self-subsisting wholes. I behold plants, trees, animals. I ascribe •to each individual certain properties and attributes by which I distinguish it from others; to this plant, such a form; to another, another; to this tree, leaves of such a shape; to another, others differing from them.
Every object has its appointed number of attributes, neither more nor less. To every question, whether it is this or that, there is, for any one who is thoroughly acquainted with it, a decisive Yes possible, or a de- cisive No, — so that there is an end of all doubt or hesitation on the subject. Everything that exists is something, or it is not this something; — is coloured, or is not coloured; — has a certain colour, or has it not; — may be tasted, or may not; — is tangible, or is not; — and so on, ad infinitum.
Every object possesses each of these attributes in a definite degree. Let a measure be given for any particular attribute which is capable of being applied to the object; then we may discover the exact extent of that attribute, which it neither exceeds nor falls short of. I measure the height of this tree; it is defined, and it is not a single line higher or lower BOOK I. DOUBT. 5 than it is. I consider the green of its leaves; it is a definite green, not the smallest shade darker or lighter, fresher or more faded than it is; although I may have neither measure nor expression for these qualities. I turn my eye to this plant; it is at a defi- nite stage of growth between its budding and its ma- turity, not in the smallest degree nearer or more re- mote from either than it is. Everything that exists is determined throughout; it is what it is, and nothing else.
Not that I am unable to conceive of an object as floating unattached between opposite determinations. I do certainly conceive of indefinite objects; for more than half of my thoughts consist of such conceptions. I think of a tree in general. Has this tree fruit or not, leaves or not; if it has, what is their number? — to what order of trees does it belong? — how large is it? — and so on. All these questions remain unan- swered, and my thought is undetermined in these re- spects; for I did not propose to myself the thought of any particular tree, but of a tree generally. But I deny actual existence to such a tree in thus leaving it undefined. Everything that actually exists has its determinate number of all the possible attributes of actual existence, and each of these in a determinate measure, as surely as it actually exists, although I may admit my inability thoroughly to exhaust all the properties of any one object, or to apply to them any standard of measurement.
"But Nature pursues her course of ceaseless change, and while I yet speak of the moment which I sought to detain before me, it is gone, and all is changed, 6 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
and in like manner, before I had fixed my observation upon it, all was otherwise. It had not always been as it was when I observed it; — it had become so.
Why then, and from what cause, had it become so? Why had Nature, amid the infinite variety of possible forms, assumed in this moment precisely these and no others?
For this reason, that they were preceded by those precisely which did precede them, and by no others, and because the present could arise out of those and out of no other possible conditions. Had anything in the preceding moment been in the smallest degree different from what it was, then in the present mo- ment something would have been different from what it is. And from what cause were all things in that preceding moment precisely such as they were? For this reason, that in the moment preceding that, they were such as they were then. And this moment again was dependent on its predecessor, and that on another, and so on without limit. In like manner will Nature, in the succeeding moment, be necessarily determined to the particular forms which it will then assume — for this reason, that in the present moment it is determined exactly as it is; and were anything in the present moment in the smallest degree different from what it is, then in the succeed- ing moment somjething would necessarily be different from what it will be. And in the moment following that, all things will be precisely as they will be, be- cause in the immediately previous moment they will be as they will be; and so will its successor proceed forth from it, and another from that, and so on forever.
Nature proceeds throughout the whole infinite series BOOK /. DOUBT. 7 of her possible determinations without outward in- centive; and the succession of these changes is not arbitrary, but follows strict and unalterable laws. Whatever exists in Nature, necessarily exists as it does exist, and it is absolutely impossible that it should be otherwise. I enter within an unbroken chain of phenomena, in which every link is determined by that which has preceded it, and in its turn deter- mines the next; so that, were I able to trace back- ward the causes through which alone any given mo- ment could have come into actual existence, and to follow out the consequences which must necessarily flow from it, I should then be able, at that moment, and by means of thought alone, to discover all possi- ble conditions of the universe, both past and future; — past, by interpreting the given moment; future, by foreseeing its results. Every part contains the whole, for only through the whole is each part what it is, but through the whole it is necessarily what it is.
What is it then which I have thus arrived at? If I review my positions as a while, I find their sub- stance to be this: — that in every stage of progress an antecedent is necessarily supposed, from which and through which alone the present has arisen; in every condition a previous condition, in every existence, an- other existence; and that from nothing, nothing what- ever can proceed.
Let me pause here a little, and develop whatever is contained in this principle, until it becomes perfectly clear to me! For it may be that on my clear insight into this point may depend the success of my whole future inquiry.
8 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Why, and from what cause, I had asked, are the determinate forms of objects precisely such as they are at this moment. I assumed without farther proof, and without the slightest inquiry, as an abso- lute, immediate, certain and unalterable truth, that they had a cause; — that not through themselves, but through something which lay beyond them, they had attained existence and reality. I found their exist- ence insufficient to account for itself, and I was com- pelled to assume another existence beyond them, as a necessary condition of theirs. But why did I find the existence of these qualities and determinate forms in- sufficient for itself? why did I find it to be an in- complete existence? What was there in it which be- trayed to me its insufficiency? This, without doubt: — that, in the first place, these qualities do not exist in and for themselves, — they are qualities of some- thing else, attributes of a substance, forms of some- thing formed; and the supposition of such a sub- stance, of a something to support these attributes, — of a substratum for them, to use the phraseology of the Schools, — is a necessary condition of the conceiv- ableness of such qualities. Further, before I can at- tribute a definite quality to such a substratum, I must suppose for it a condition of repose, and of cessation from change, — a pause in its existence. Were I to regard it as in a state of transition, then there could be no definite determination, but merely an endless series of charges from one state to another. The state of determination in a thing is thus a state and expression of mere passivity; and a state of mere passivity is in itself an incomplete existence. Such passivity itself demands an activity to which it may be referred, by which it can be explained, and through BOOK I. DOUBT. g which it first becomes conceivable; — or, as it is usually expressed, — which contains within it the ground of this passivity.
What I found myself compelled to suppose was thus by no means that the various and successive determinations of Nature themselves produce each other, — that the present determination annihilates it- self, and, in the next moment, when it no longer ex- ists, produces another, which is different from itself, and not contained in it, to fill its place: — this is wholly inconceivable. The mere determination produces neither itself nor anything else.
What I found myself compelled to assume in order to account for the gradual origin and the changes of those determinations, was an active power, peculiar to the object, and constituting its essential nature.
And how, then, do I conceive of this power? — what is its nature, and the modes of its manifestation? This only, — that under these definite conditions it produces, by its own energy and for its own sake, this definite effect and no other; — and that it produces this certainly and infallibly.
This principle of activity, of independent and spon- taneous development, dwells in itself alone, and in nothing beyond itself, as surely as it is power — power which is not impelled or set in motion, but which sets itself in motion. The cause of its having devel- oped itself precisely in this manner and no other, lies partly in itself — because it is this particular power and no other; and partly in the circumstances under which it developes itself. Both these, — the inward deter- mination of a power by itself, and its outward de- termination by circumstances, — must be united in or- der to produce a change. The latter, the circum- 10 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
stances, the passive condition of things, — can of itself produce no change, for it has within it the opposite of all change, — inert existence. The former, the power, — is wholly determined, for only on this con- dition is conceivable; but its determination is com- pleted only through the circumstances under which it is developed. I can conceive of a power, it can have an existence for me, only in so far as I can perceive an effect proceeding from it; an inactive power, — which should yet be a power, and not an inert thing, — is wholly inconceivable. Every effect, however, is determined; and — since the effect is but the expres- sion, but another mode of the activity itself, — the active power is determined in its activity; and the ground of this determination lies partly in itself, be- cause it cannot otherwise be conceived of as a particu- lar and definite power; — partly out of itself, because its own determination can be conceived of only as conditioned by something else.
A flower has sprung out of the earth, and I infer from thence a formative power in Nature. Such a formative power exists for me only so far as this flower and others, plants generally, and animals ex- ist for me: — I can describe this power only through its effects, and it is to me no more than the produc- ing cause of such effects, — the generative principle of flowers, plants, animals, and organic forms in general. I will go further, and maintain that a flower, and this particular flower, could arise in this place only in so far as all other circumstances united to make it pos- sible. But by the union of all these circumstances for its possibility, the actual existence of the flower is by no means explained; and for this I am still com- pelled to assume a special, spontaneous, and original BOOK I. DOUBT. il power in Nature, and indeed a -flower- producing power; for another power of Nature might, under the same circumstances, have produced something en- tirely different. — I have thus attained to the follow- ing view of the Universe.
When I contemplate all things as one whole, one Nature, there is but one power, — when I regard them as separate existences, there are many powers — which develop themselves according to their inward laws, and pass through all the possible forms of which they are capable; and all objects in Nature are but those powers under certain determinate forms. The mani- festations of each individual power of Nature are de- termined, become what they are, partly by its own essential character, and partly through the manifesta- tions of all the other powers of Nature with which it is connected; but it is connected with them! all — for Nature is one connected whole. They are, there- fore, unalterably determined; — while its essential character remains what it is, and while it continues to manifest itself under these particular circumstances, its manifestations must necessarily be what they are; — and it is absolutely impossible that they should be in the smallest degree different from what they are.
In every moment of her duration Nature is one connected whole; in every moment each individual part must be what it is, because all the others are what they are; and you could not remove a single grain of sand from its place, without thereby, although perhaps imperceptibly to you, changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole. But every moment of this duration is determined by all past moments, and will determine all future moments; and you cannot conceive even the position of a grain 12 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
of sand other than it is in the Present, without being compelled to conceive the whole indefinite Past to have been other than what it has been, and the whole indefi- nite Future other than what it will be. Make the ex- periment, for instance, with this grain of quick-sand. Suppose it to lie some few paces further inland than it does: — then must the storm-wind that drove it in from the sea have been stronger than it actually was; — then must the preceding state of the weather, by which this wind was occasioned and its degree of strength determined, have been different from what it actually was; and the previous state by which this particular weather was determined, — and so on; and thus you have, without stay or limit, a wholly differ- ent temperature of the air from that which really ex- isted, and a different constitution of the bodies which possess an influence over this temperature, and over which, on the other hand, it exercises such an influ- ence. On the fruitfulness or unfruitfulness of coun- tries, and through that, or even directly, on the dura- tion of human life, — this temperature exercises a most decided influence. How can you know, — since it is not permitted us to penetrate the arcana of Nature, and it is therefore allowable to speak of possibilities, — how can you know, that in such a state of weather as may have been necessary to carry this grain of sand a few paces further inland, some one of your fore- fathers might not have perished from hunger, or cold, or heat, before begetting that son from whom you are descended; and that thus you might never have been at all, and all that you have ever done, and all that you ever hope to do in this world, must have been obstructed in order that a grain of sand might lie in a different place?
BOOK. 7. DOUBT. 13 I myself, with all that I call mine, am a link in this chain of the rigid necessity of Nature. There was a time — so others tell me who were then alive, and I am compelled by reasoning to admit such a time of which I have no immediate consciousness, — there was a time in which I was not, and a moment in which I began to be. I then only existed for others, — not yet for myself. Since then, my self, my self-consciousness, has gradually unfolded itself, and I have discovered in myself certain capacities and faculties, wants and nat- ural desires. I am a definite creature, which came into being at a certain time.
I have not come into being by my own power. It would be the highest absurdity to suppose that I was before I came into existence, in order to' bring myself into existence. I have, then, been called into being by another power beyond myself. And by what power but the universal power of Nature, since I too am a part of Nature? The time at which my existence began, and the attributes with which I came into being, were determined by this universal power of Nature; and all the forms under which these inborn attributes have since manifested themselves, and will manifest themselves as long as I have a being, are determined by the same power. It was impossible that, instead of me, another should have come into existence; — it is impossible that this being, once here, should at any moment of its existence be other than what it is and will be.
That my successive states of being have been ac- companied by consciousness, and that some of them, such as thoughts, resolutions, and the like, appear to be nothing but varied modes of consciousness, need not perplex my reasonings. It is the natural consti- 14 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
tution of the plant to develop itself, of the animal to move, of man to think, — all after fixed laws. Why should I hesitate to acknowledge the last as the mani- festation of an original power of Nature, as well as the first and second? Nothing could hinder me from doing so but mere wonder; thought being assuredly a far higher and more subtle operation of Nature than the formation of a plant or the proper motion of an animal. But how can I accord to such a feeling any influence whatever upon the calm conclusions of rea- son? I cannot indeed explain how the power of Na- ture can produce thought; but can I better explain its operation in the formation of a plant or in the motion of an animal? To attempt to deduce thought from any mere combination of matter is a perversity into which I shall not fall; but can I then explain from it even the formation of the simplest moss? Those original powers of Nature cannot be explained, for it is only by them that we can explain everything which is susceptible of explanation. Thought exists, — its existence is absolute and independent just as the formative power of Nature exists absolutely and independently. It is in Nature; for the thinking being arises and develops himself according to the laws of Nature; therefore thought exists through Nature. There is in Nature an original thinking-power, as there is an original formative-power.
This original thinking-power of the Universe goes forth and develops itself in all possible modes of which it is capable, as the other original forces of Nature go forth and assume all forms possible to them.. I, like the plant, am a particular mode or manifestation of the formative-power; like the animal, a particular mode or manifestation of the power of motion; and besides BOOK I. DOUBT. 15 these I am also a particular mode or manifestation of the thinking-power; and the union of these three original powers into one, — into one harmonious de- velopment,— is the distinguishing characteristic of my species, as it is the distinguishing characteristic of the plant species to be merely a mode or manifestation of the formative-power.