BOOK 1. DOUBT. 29 invade the external world. I will be the lord of Na- ture, and she shall be my servant. I will influence her according to the measure of my capacity, but she shall have no influence on me.
This, then, is the substance of my wishes and aspira- tions. But the system, which has satisfied my under- standing, has wholly repudiated these. According to the one, I am wholly independent of Nature and of any law which I do not impose upon myself; accord- ing to the other, I am but a strictly determined link in the chain of Nature. Whether such a freedom as I have desired be at all conceivable, and, if so, whether there be not grounds which, on complete and thorough investigation, may compel me to accept it as a reality and to ascribe it to myself, and whereby the result of my former conclusions might thus be refuted; — this is now the question.
To be free, in the sense stated, means that I myself will make myself whatever I am to be. I must then, — and this is what is most surprising, and, at first sight, absurd in the idea, — I must already be, in a certain sense, that which I shall become, in order to be able to become so; I must possess a two- fold being, o'f which the first shall contain the fundamental determin- ing principle of the second. If I interrogate my im- mediate self-consciousness on this matter, I find the following. I have the knowledge of various possible courses of action, from amongst which, as it appears to me, I may choose which I please. I run through the whole circle, enlarge it, examine the various courses, compare one with another and consider. I at length decide upon one, determine my will in accord- 30 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
ance with it, and this resolution of my will is followed by a corresponding action. Here then, certainly, I am beforehand, in the mere conception of a purpose, what subsequently, by means of this conception I am in will and in action. I am beforehand as a thinking what I am afterwards as an active, being. I create myself: — my being by my thought, my thought by thought itself. One can conceive the determinate state of a manifestation of a mere power of Nature, of a plant for instance, as preceded by an indeterminate state, in which, if left to itself, it might have assumed any one of an infinite variety of possible determina- tions. These manifold possibilities are certainly possi- bilities within it, contained in its original constitution, but they are not possibilities for it, because it is incapable of such an idea, and cannot choose or of itself put an end to this state of indecision: there must be external grounds by which it may be determined to some one of those various possibilities to which it is unable to determine itself. This deter- mination can have no previous existence within it, for it is capable of but one mode of determination, that which it has actually assumed. Hence it was, that I formerly felt myself compelled to maintain that the manifestation of every power must receive its final de- termination from without. Doubtless I then thought only of such powers as are incapable of consciousness, and manifest themselves merely in the outward world. To them that assertion may be applied without the slightest limitation; — but to intelligences the grounds of it are not applicable, and it was, therefore, rash to extend it to them.
Freedom, such as I have laid claim to, is conceivable only of intelligences; but to them, undoubtedly, it be- BOOK I. DOUBT. 31 longs. Under this supposition, man, as well as nature, is perfectly comprehensible. My body, and my ca- pacity of operating in the world of sense, are, as in the former system, manifestations of certain limited powers of Nature; and my natural inclinations are the relations of these manifestations to my consciousness. The mere knowledge of what exists independently of me arises under this supposition of freedom, precisely as in the former system; and up to this point, both agree. But according to the former, — and here begins the opposition between these systems, — according to the former, my capacity of physical activity remains under the dominion of Nature, and is constantly set in motion by the same power which produced it, and thought has here nothing whatever to do but to look on; according to the latter, this capacity, once brought into existence, falls under the dominion of a power superior to Nature and wholly independent of her laws, — the power of determinate purpose and of will. Thought is no longer the mere faculty of ob- servation;— it is the source of action itself. In the one case, my state of indecision is put an end to by forces, external and invisible to me, which limit my ac- tivity as well as my immediate consciousness of it — that is, my will — to one point, just as the indeter- minate activity of the plant is limited; — in the other, it is I myself, independent, and free from the influence of all outward forces, who put an end to my state of indecision, and determine my own course, according to the knowledge I have freely attained of what is best.
Which of these two opinions shall I adopt? Am I free and independent? — or am I nothing in myself, and 32 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
merely the manifestation of a foreign power? It is clear to me that neither of the two doctrines is suffi- ciently supported. For the first, there is no other recommendation than its mere conceivableness; for the latter, I extend a principle, which is perfectly true in its own place, beyond its proper and natural applica- tion. If intelligence is merely the manifestation of a power of Nature, then I do quite right to extend this principle to it; but, whether it is so or not, is the very question at issue; and this question I must solve by deduction from other premises, not by a one-sided answer assumed at the very commencement of the inquiry, from which I again deduce that only which I myself have previously placed in it. In short, it would seem that neither of the two opinions can be established by argument.
As little can this matter be determined by imme- diate consciousness. I can never become conscious either of the external powers, by which, in the system of universal necessity, I am determined; nor of my own power, by which, on the system of freedom, I deter- mine myself. Thus whichsoever of the two opinions I may accept, I still accept it, not upon evidence, but merely by arbitrary choice.
The system of freedom satisfies my heart; the oppo- site system destroys and annihilates it. To stand, cold and unmoved, amid the current of events, a passive mirror of fugitive and passing phenomena, — this existence is insupportable to me; I scorn and detest it. I will love: — I will lose myself in sympathy; — I will know the joy and the grief of life. I myself am the highest object of this sympathy; and the only mode in which I can satisfy its requirements is by my actions. I will do all for the best; — I will rejoice when I have BOOK I. DOUBT. 33 done right, I will grieve when I have done wrong; and even this sorrow shall be sweet to me, for it is a chord of sympathy, — a pledge of future amendment. In love only there is life; — without it is death and annihila- tion.
But coldly and insolently does the opposite system advance, and turn this love into a mockery. If I listen to it, I am not, and I cannot act. The object of my most intimate attachment is a phantom of the brain, — a gross and palpable delusion. Not I, but a foreign and to me wholly unknown power, acts in me; and it is a matter of indifference to me how this power unfolds itself. I stand abashed, with my warm affections and my virtuous will, and blush for what I know to be best and purest in my nature, for the sake of which alone I would exist, as for a ridiculous folly. What is holiest in me is given over as a prey to scorn.
Doubtless it was the love of this love, an interest in this interest, that impelled me, unconsciously, be- fore I entered upon the inquiry which has thus per- plexed and distracted me, to regard myself, without farther question, as free and independent; doubtless it was this interest which has led me to carry out, even to conviction, an opinion which has nothing in its favour but its intelligibility, and the impossibility of proving its opposite; it was this interest which has hitherto restrained me from seeking any farther ex- planation of myself and my capacities.
The opposite system, barren and heartless indeed, but exhaustless in its explanations, will explain even this desire for freedom, and this aversion to the con- trary doctrine. It explains everything which I can cite from my own consciousness against it, and as as I say ' thus and thus is the case,' it replies with 34 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
the same cool complacency, " I say so too; and I tell you besides why it must necessarily be so." " When thou speakest of thy heart, thy love, thy interest in this and that," thus will it answer all my complaints, " thou standest merely at the point of immediate self- consciousness of thine own being, and this thou hast confessed already in asserting that thou thyself art the object of thy highest interest. Now it is already well known, and we have proved it above, that this thou for whom thou art so deeply interested, in so far as it is not the mere activity of thy individual inward na- ture, is at least an impulse of it; — every such impulse, as surely as it exists, returns on itself and impels itself to activity; — and we can thus understand how this impulse must manifest itself in consciousness, as love for, and interest in, free individual activity. Couldst thou exchange this narrow point of view in self-con- sciousness for the higher position in which thou mayest grasp the universe, which indeed thou hast promised thyself to take, then it would become clear to thee that what thou hast named thy love is not thy love, but a foreign love, — the interest which the original power of Nature manifesting itself in thee takes in maintaining its own peculiar existence. Do not then appeal again to thy love; for even if that could prove anything be- sides, its supposition here is wholly irregular and un- justifiable. Thou lovest not thyself, for, strictly speak- ing, thou art not; it is Nature in thee which concerns herself for her own preservation. Thou hast admitted without dispute, that although in the plant there exists a peculiar impulse to grow and develop itself, the specific activity of this impulse yet depends upon forces lying beyond itself. Bestow consciousness upon the plant, — and it will regard this instinct of growth with BOOK I. DOUBT. 35 interest and love. Convince it by reasoning that this instinct is unable of itself to accomplish anything whatever, but that the measure of its manifestation is always determined by something out of itself, — and it will speak precisely as thou hast spoken; it will be- have in a manner that may be pardoned in a plant, but which by no means beseems thee, who art a higher product of Nature, and capable of comprehending the universe."
What can I answer to this representation? Should I venture to place myself at its point of view, upon this boasted position from whence I may embrace the universe in my comprehension, doubtless I must blush and be silent. This, therefore, is the question, — whether I shall at once assume this position, or con- fine myself to the range of immediate self-conscious- ness; whether love shall be made subject to knowledge, or knowledge to love. The latter stands in bad esteem among intelligent people; — the former renders me in- describably miserable, by extinguishing my own per- sonal being within me. I cannot do the latter with- out appearing inconsiderate and foolish in my own estimation; — I cannot do the former without delib- erately annihilating my own existence.
I cannot remain in this state of indecision; on the solution of this question depends my whole peace and dignity. As impossible is it for me to decide; I have absolutely no ground of decision in favour of the one opinion or the other.
Intolerable state of uncertainty and irresolution! Through the best and most courageous resolution of my life, I have been reduced to this! What power can deliver me from it? — what power can deliver me from myself?
BOOK II.
KNOWLEDGE.
CHAGRIN and anguish stung me to the heart. I cursed the returning day which called me back to an exist- ence whose truth and significance were now involved in doubt. I awoke in the night from unquiet dreams. I sought anxiously for a ray of light that might lead me out of these mazes of uncertainty. I sought, but became only more deeply entangled in the labyrinth.
Once at the hour of midnight, a wondrous shape appeared before me, and addressed me: — " Poor mortal," I heard it say, " thou heapest error upon error, and fanciest thyself wise. Thou tremblest before the phantoms which thou hast thyself toiled to create. Dare to become truly wise. I bring thee no new revelation. What I can teach thee thou already knowest, and thou hast but to recall it to thy remem- brance. I cannot deceive thee; for thou, thyself, wilt acknowledge me to be in the right; and shouldst thou still be deceived, thou wilt be deceived by thyself. Take courage; — listen to me, and answer my ques- tions."
I took courage. " He appeals to my own under- standing. I will make the venture. He cannot force his own thoughts into my mind; the conclusion to which I shall come must be thought out by myself; the conviction which I shall accept must be of my own creating. Speak, wonderful Spirit! " I exclaimed, 36 BOOK II. KNOWLEDGE. 37 " whatever thou art! Speak, and I will listen. Ques- tion me, and I will answer."
The Spirit. Thou believest that these objects here, and those there, are actually present before thee and out of thyself?
/. Certainly I do.
Spirit. And how dost thou know that they are ac- tually present?
I. I see them; I would feel them were I to stretch forth my hand; I can hear the sounds they produce; they reveal themselves to me through all my senses.
Spirit. Indeed! Thou wilt perhaps by and by re- tract the assertion that thou seest, feelest, and hearest these objects. For the present I will speak as thou dost, as if thou didst really, by means of thy sight, touch, and hearing, perceive the real existence of ob- jects. But observe, it is only by means of thy sight, touch, and other external senses. Or is it not so? Dost thou perceive otherwise than through thy senses? and has an object any existence for thee, otherwise than as thou seest it, hearest it, &c.?
/. By no means.
Spirit. Sensible objects, therefore, exist for thee, only in consequence of a particular determination of thy external senses: thy knowledge of them is but a result of thy knowledge of this determination of thy sight, touch, &c. Thy declaration — ' there are objects out of myself; depends upon this other — ' I see, hear, feel, and so forth. '?
I. This is my meaning.
Spirit. And how dost thou know then that thou seest, hearest, feelest?
7. I do not understand thee. Thy questions appear strange to me.
38 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Spirit. I will make them more intelligible. Dost thou see thy sight, and feel thy touch, or hast thou yet a higher sense, through which thou perceivest thy external senses and their determinations?
/. By no means. I know immediately that I see and feel, and what I see and feel; I know this while it is, and simply because it is, without the intervention of any other sense. It was on this account that thy question seemed strange to me, because it appeared to throw doubt on this immediate consciousness.
Spirit. That was not my intention: I desired only to induce thee to make this immediate consciousness clear to thyself. So thou hast an immediate conscious- ness of thy sight and touch?
/. Yes.
Spirit. Of thy sight and touch, I said. Thou art, therefore, the subject seeing, feeling, &c.; and when thou art conscious of the seeing, feeling, &c., thou are conscious of a particular determination or modification of thyself.
I. Unquestionably.
Spirit. Thou hast a consciousness of thy seeing, feeling, &c., and thereby thou perceivest the object. Couldst thou not perceive it without this conscious- ness? Canst thou not recognize an object by sight or hearing, without knowing that thou seest or hear- est?
/. By no means.
Spirit. The immediate consciousness of thyself, and of thy own determinations, is therefore the imperative condition of all other consciousness; and thou know- est a thing, only in so far as thou knowest that thou knowest it: no element can enter into the latter cog- nition which is not contained in the former. Thoji BOOK II. KNOWLEDGE. 39 canst not know anything without knowing that thou knowest it?
7. I think so.
Spirit. Therefore thou knowest of the existence of objects only by means of seeing, feeling them, &c.; and thou knowest that thou seest and feelest, only by means of an immediate consciousness of this knowl- edge. What thou dost not perceive immediately, thou dost not perceive at all.
/. I see that it is so.
Spirit. In all perception, thou perceivest in the first place only thyself and thine own condition; whatever is not contained in this perception, is not perceived at all?
7. Thou repeatest what I have already admitted.
Spirit. I would not weary of repeating it in all its applications, if I thought thou hadst not thoroughly comprehended it, and indelibly impressed it on thy mind. Canst thou say, I am conscious of external objects.
7. By no means, if I speak accurately; for the sight and touch by which I grasp these objects are not con- sciousness itself, but only that of which I am first and most immediately conscious. Strictly speaking, I can only say, that I am conscious of my seeing and touch- ing of these objects.
Spirit. Do not forget, then, what thou hast now clearly understood. In all perception thou perceivest only thine own condition.
I shall, however, continue to speak thy language, since it is most familiar to thee. Thou hast said that thou canst see, hear, and feel objects. How then, — 40 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
that is, with what properties or attributes, — dost thou see or feel them?
/. I see that object red, this blue; when I touch them, I find this smooth, that rough — this cold, that warm.
Spirit. Thou knowest then what red, blue, smooth, rough, cold, and warm, really signify.
7. Undoubtedly I do.
Spirit. Wilt thou not describe it to tne then?
/. It cannot be described. Look! Turn thine eye towards that object: — what thou becomest conscious of through thy sight, I call red. Touch the surface of this other object: — what thou feelest, I call smooth. In this way I have arrived at this knowledge, and there is no other way by which it can be acquired.
Spirit. But can we not, at least from some of these qualities known by immediate sensation, deduce a knowledge of others differing from them? If, for instance, any one had seen red, green, yellow, but never a blue colour; had tasted sour, sweet, salt, but never bitter, — would he not, by mere reflection and comparison, be able to discover what is meant by blue or bitter, without having ever seen or tasted anything of the kind?
/. Certainly not. What is matter of sensation can only be felt, it is not discoverable by thought; it is no deduction, but a direct and immediate perception.
Spirit. Strange! Thou boastest of a knowledge re- specting which thou art unable to tell how thou hast attained it. For see, thou maintainest that thou canst see one quality in an object, feel another, hear a third; thou must, therefore, be able to distinguish sight from touch, and both from hearing?
/. Without doubt.
BOOK IL KNOWLEDGE. 41 Spirit. Thou maintainest further, that thou seest this object red, that blue; and feelest this smooth, that rough. Thou must therefore be able to distinguish red from blue, smooth from rough?
7. Without doubt.
Spirit. And thou maintainest that thou hast not dis- covered this difference by means of reflection and comparison of these sensations in thyself. But per- haps thou hast learnt, by comparing the red or blue colours, the smooth or rough surfaces of objects out of thyself, what thou shouldst feel in thyself as red or blue, smooth or rough?
7. This is impossible; for my perception of objects proceeds from my perception of my own internal con- dition, and is determined by it, but not the contrary. I first distinguish objects by distinguishing my own states of being. I can learn that this particular sensa- tion is indicated by the wholly arbitrary sign, red; — and those by the signs, blue, smooth, rough; but I cannot learn that the sensations themselves are distin- guished, nor how they are distinguished. That they are different, I know only by being conscious of my- self, and being conscious of internal change. How they differ, I cannot describe; but I know that they must differ as much as my self-consciousness differs; and this difference of sensations is an immediate, and by no means an acquired, distinction.
Spirit. Which thou canst make independently of all knowledge of the objects themselves?
7. Which I must make independently of such knowl- edge, for this knowledge is itself dependent on that distinction.
Spirit. Which is then given to thee immediately through mere self-consciousness?
42 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
I. In no other way.
Spirit. But shouldst thou not then content thyself with saying, — " I feel myself affected in the manner that I call red, blue, smooth, rough."? Shouldst thou not place these sensations in thyself alone? and not transfer them to an object lying entirely out of thyself, and declare these modifications of thyself to be prop- erties of this object?
Or, tell me, when thou believest that thou seest an object red, or feelest it smooth, dost thou really per- ceive anything more than that thou art affected in a certain manner?
7. From what has gone before, I have clearly seen that I do not, in fact, perceive more than what thou sayest; and this transference of what is in me to some- thing out of myself, from which nevertheless I cannot refrain, now appears very strange to me.
My sensations are in myself, not in the object, for I am myself and not the object; I am conscious only of myself and of my own state, not of the state of the object. If there is a consciousness of the object, that consciousness is, certainly, neither sensation nor per- ception: — thus much is clear.
Spirit. Thou formest thy conclusions somewhat pre- cipitately. Let us consider this matter on all sides, so that I may be assured that thou wilt not again re- tract what thou hast now freely admitted Is there then in the object, as thou usually conceivest of it, anything more than its red colour, its smooth surface, and so on; in short, anything besides those characteristic marks which thou obtainest through im- mediate sensation?
BOOK //. KNOWLEDGE. 43 /. I believe that there is: besides these attributes there is yet the thing itself to which they belong; the substratum which supports these attributes.
Spirit. But through what sense does thou perceive this substratum of these attributes? Dost thou see it, feel it, hear it; or is there perhaps a special sense for its perception?
/. No. I think that I see and feel it.
Spirit. Indeed! Let us examine this more closely. Art thou then ever conscious of thy sight in itself, or at all times only of determinate acts of sight?
7. I have always a determinate sensation of sight.
Spirit. And what is this determinate sensation of sight with respect to that object there?
/. That of red colour.
Spirit. And this red is something positive, a simple sensation, a specific state of thyself?
/. This I have understood.
Spirit. Thou shouldst therefore see the red in itself as simple, as a mathematical point, and thou dost see it only as such. In thee at least, as an affection of thyself, it is obviously a simple, determinate state, without connexion with anything else, — which we can only describe as a mathematical point. Or dost thou find it otherwise?
7. I must admit that such is the case.
Spirit. But now thou spreadest this simple red over a broad surface, which thou assuredly dost not see, since thou seest only a simple red. How dost thou obtain this surface 7. It is certainly strange. — Yet, I believe that I have found the explanation. I do not indeed see the sur- face, but I feel it when I pass my hand over it. My sensation of sight remains the same during this process 44 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
of feeling, and hence I extend the red colour over the whole surface which I feel while I continue to see the same red.
Spirit. That might be so, didst thou really feel such a surface. But let us see whether that be possible. Thou dost not feel absolutely thou feelest only thy feel- ings, and art only conscious of these?
/. Certainly. Each sensation is a determinate some- thing. I never merely see, or hear, or feel, in general, but my sensations are always definite; — red, green, blue colours, cold, warmth, smoothness, roughness, the sound of the violin, the voice of man, and the like, — are seen, felt, or heard. Let that be settled between us.
Spirit. Willingly. — Thus, when thou saidst that thou didst feel a surface, thou hadst only an immediate consciousness of feeling smooth, rough, or the like?
/. Certainly.
Spirit. This smooth or rough is, like the red colour, a sim'ple sensation, — a point in thee, the subject in which it abides? And with the same right with which I formerly asked why thou didst spread a simple sen- sation of sight over an imaginary surface, do I now ask why thou shouldst do the same with a simple sensation of touch?
/. This smooth surface is perhaps not equally smooth in all points, but possesses in each a different degree of smoothness, only that I want the capacity of strictly distinguishing these degrees from each other, and lan- guage whereby to retain and express their differences. Yet I do distinguish them, unconsciously, and place them side by side; and thus I form the conception of a surface.
Spirit. But canst thou, in the same undivided mo- BOOK II. KNOWLEDGE. 45 ment of time, have sensations of opposite kinds, or be affected at the same time in different ways?
/. By no means.
Spirit. Those different degrees of smoothness, which thou wouldst assume in order to explain what thou canst not explain, are nevertheless, in so far as they are different from each other, mere opposite sensa- tions which succeed each other in thee?
/. I cannot deny this.
Spirit. Thou shouldst therefore describe them as thou really findest them, — as successive changes of the same mathematical point, such as thou perceivest in other cases; and not as adjacent and simultaneous qualities of several points in one surface.
/. I see this, and I find that nothing is explained by my assumption. But my hand, with which I touch the object and cover it, is itself a surface; and by it I perceive the object to be a surface, and a greater one than my hand, since I can extend my hand several times upon it.
Spirit. Thy hand is a surface? How dost thou know that? How dost thou attain a consciousness of thy hand at all? Is there any other way than either that thou by means of it feelest something else, in which case it is an instrument; or that thou feelest itself by means of some other part of thy body, in which case it is an object?
/. No, there is no other. With my hand I feel some other definite object, or I feel my hand itself by means of some other part of my body. I have no immediate, absolute consciousness of my hand, any more than of my sight or touch.
Spirit. Let us, at present, consider only the case in which thy hand is an instrument, for this will deter- 46 THE VOCATION OF MAN.