I feel within me an impulse and an effort towards outward activity; this appears to be true, and to be the only truth belonging to the matter. Since it is I who feel this impulse, and since I cannot pass beyond myself, either with my whole consciousness, or in par- ticular with my capacity of sensation, — since this 7 itself is the last point at which I am conscious of this impulse, it certainly appears to me as an impulse founded in myself, to an activity also founded in my- self. Might it not be however that this impulse, al- though unperceived by me, is in reality the impulse of a foreign power invisible to me, and that notion of inde- pendence merely a delusion, arising from my sphere of vision being limited to myself alone? I have no reason to assume this, but just as little reason to deny it. I must confess that I absolutely know nothing, and can know nothing, about it.
Do I then indeed feel that real power of free action, which, strangely enough, I ascribe to myself without knowing anything of it? By no means; — it is merely the de terminable element, which by the well-known laws of thought whereby all capacities and all powers arise, we are compelled to add in imagination to the determinate element — the real action, which itself is, in like manner, only an assumption.
Is that procession, from the mere conception to an 98 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
imaginary realization of it, anything more than the usual and well-known procedure of all objective thought, which always strives to be, not mere thought, but something more? By what dishonesty can this procedure be made of more value here than in any other case? — can it possess any deeper significance, when to the conception of a thought it adds a realiza- tion of this thought, than when to the conception of this table it adds an actual and present table? " The conception of a purpose, a particular determination of events in me, appears in a double shape, — partly as subjective — a Thought; partly as objective — an Ac- tion." What reason, which would not unquestionably itself stand in need of a genetic deduction, could I ad- duce against this explanation?
I say that I feel this impulse: — it is therefore I my- self who say so, and think so while I say it? Do I then really feel, or only think that I feel? Is not all which I call feeling only a presentation produced by my objective process of thought, and indeed the first transition point of all objectivity? And then again, do I really think, or do I merely think that I think? And do I think that I really think, or merely that I pos- sess the idea of thinking? What can hinder specula- tion from raising such questions, and continuing to raise them without end? What can I answer, - and where is there a point at which I can command such questionings to cease? I know, and must admit, that each definite act of consciousness may be made the sub- ject of reflection, and a new consciousness of the first consciousness may thus be created; and that thereby the immediate consciousness is raised a step higher, and the first consciousness darkened and made doubt- ful; and that to this ladder there is no highest step. I BOOK III. FAITH. 99 know that all scepticism rests upon this process, and that the system which has so violently prostrated me is founded on the adoption and the clear conscious- ness of it.
I know that if I am not merely to play another perplexing game with this system, but intend really and practically to adopt it, I must refuse obedience to that voice within me. " I cannot will to act, for accord- ing to that system I cannot know whether I can really act or not: — I can never believe that I truly act; that which seems to be my action must appear to me as entirely without meaning, as a mere delusive picture. All earnestness and all interest is withdrawn from my life; and life, as well as thought, is transformed into a mere play, which proceeds from nothing and tends to nothing.
Shall I then refuse obedience to that inward voice? I will not do so. I will freely accept the vocation which this impulse assigns to me, and in this resolu- tion I will lay hold at once of thought, in all its reality .and truthfulness, and on the reality of all things which are presupposed therein, I will restrict myself to the position of natural thought in which this impulse places me, and cast from me all those over-refined and sub- tile inquiries which alone could make me doubtful of its truth.
I understand thee now, sublime Spirit! I have found the organ by which to apprehend this reality, and, with this, probably all other reality. Knowledge is not this organ: — no knowledge can be its own foundation, its own proof; every knowledge presup- poses another higher knowledge on which it is founded, and to this ascent there is no end. It is FAITH, that voluntary acquiescence in the view which is naturally TOO THE VOCATION OF MAN.
presented to us, because only through this view we can fulfil our vocation; — this it is, which first lends a sanction to knowledge, and raises to certainty and conviction that which without it might be mere de- lusion. It is not knowledge, but a resolution of the will to admit the validity of knowledge.
Let me hold fast for ever by this doctrine, which is no mere verbal distinction, but a true and deep one, bearing with it the most important consequences for my whole existence and character. All my conviction is but faith; and it proceeds from the will, not from the understanding. Knowing this, I will enter upon no disputation, because I foresee that thereby nothing can be gained; I will not suffer myself to be perplexed by it, for the source of my conviction lies higher than all disputation; I will not suffer myself to entertain the desire of pressing this conviction on others by reasoning, and I will not be surprised if such an un- dertaking should fail. I have adopted my mode of thinking first of all for myself, not for others, and before myself only will I justify it. He who possesses the honest, upright purpose of which I am conscious, will also attain a similar conviction; but without that, this conviction can in no way be attained; Now that I know this, I also know from what point all culture of myself and others must proceed; from the will, not from the understanding. If the former be only fixedly and honestly directed towards the Good, the latter will of itself apprehend the True. Should the latter only be exercised, whilst the former remains neglected, there can arise nothing whatever but a dexterity in groping after vain and empty refinements, throughout the ab- solute void inane. Now that I know this, I am able to confute all false knowledge that may rise in oppo- BOOK III. FAITH. 101 sition to my faith. I know that every pretended truth, produced by mere speculative thought, and not founded upon faith, is assuredly false and surreptitious; for mere knowledge, thus produced, leads only to the con- viction that we can know nothing. I know that such false knowledge never can discover anything but what it has previously placed in its premises through faith, from which it probably draws conclusions which are wholly false. Now that I know this, I possess the touchstone of all truth and of all conviction. Con- science alone is the root of all truth: whatever is op- posed to conscience, or stands in the way of the ful- filment of her behests, is assuredly false; and it is impossible for me to arrive at a conviction of its truth, even if I should be unable to discover the fallacies by which it is produced.
So has it been with all men who have ever seen the light of this world. Without being conscious of it, they apprehend all the reality which has an existence for them, through faith alone; and this faith forces itself on them simultaneously with their existence; — it is born with them. How could it be otherwise? If in mere knowledge, in mere perception and reflection, there is no ground for regarding our mental presen- tations as more than mere pictures which necessarily pass before our view, why do we yet regard all of them as more than this, and assume, as their founda- tion, something which exists independently of all pres- entation? If we all possess the capacity and the in- stinct to proceed beyond our first natural view of things, why do so few actually go beyond it, and why do we even defend ourselves, with a sort of bitterness, from every motive by which others try to persuade us to this course? What is it which holds us confined 102 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
within this first natural belief? Not inferences of reason, for there are none such; it is the interest we have in a reality which we desire to produce; — the good, absolutely for its own sake, — the common and sensuous, for the sake of the enjoyment they afford. No one who lives can divest himself of this interest, and just as little can he cast off the faith which this interest brings with it. We are all born in faith; — he who is blind, follows blindly the secret and irre- sistible impulse; he who sees, follows by sight, and believes because he resolves to believe.
What unity and completeness does this view pre- sent!— what dignity does it confer on human nature! Our thought is not founded on itself alone, independ- ently of our impulses and affections; — man does not consist of two independent and separate elements; he is absolutely one. All our thought is founded on our impulses; — as a man's affections are, so is his knowl- edge. These impulses compel us to a certain mode of thought only so long as we do not perceive the con- straint; the constraint vanishes the moment it is per- ceived; and it is then no longer the impulse by itself, but we ourselves, according to our impulse, who form our own system of thought.
But I shall open my eyes; shall learn thoroughly to know myself; shall recognise that constraint; — this is my vocation. I shall thus, and under that supposition I shall necessarily, form my own mode of thought. Then I shall stand absolutely independent, thoroughly equipt and perfected through my own act and deed. The primitive source of all my other thought and of my life itself, that from which everything proceeds BOOK III. FAITH. 103 which can have an existence in me, for me, or through me, the innermost spirit of my spirit, — is no longer a foreign power, but it is, in the strictest possible sense, the product of my own will. I am wholly my own creation. I might have followed blindly the leading of my spiritual nature. But I would not be a work of Nature but of myself, and I have become so even by means of this resolution. By endless subtilties I might have made the natural conviction of my own mind dark and doubtful. But I have accepted it with freedom, simply because I resolved to accept it. I have chosen the system which I have now adopted with settled purpose and deliberation from among other possible modes of thought, because I have recog- nised in it the only one consistent with my dignity and my vocation. With freedom and consciousness I have returned to the point at which Nature had left me. I accept that which she announces; — but I do not accept it because I must; I believe it because I will.
The exalted vocation of my understanding fills me with reverence. It is no longer the deceptive mirror which reflects a series of empty pictures, proceeding from nothing and tending to nothing; it is bestowed upon me for a great purpose. Its cultivation for this purpose is entrusted to me; it is placed in my hands, and at my hands it will be required. — It is placed in my hands. I know immediately, — and here my faith accepts the testimony of my consciousness without far- ther criticism, — I know that I am not placed under the necessity of allowing my thoughts to float about without direction or purpose, but that I can voluntary arouse and direct my attention to one object, or turn 104 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
it away again towards another; — know that it is neither a blind necessity which compels me to a certain mode of thought, nor an empty chance which runs riot with my thoughts; but that it is I who think, and that I can think of that whereof I determine to think. Thus by reflection I have discovered something more; I have discovered that I myself, by my own act alone,, produce my whole system of thought and the particular view which I take of truth in general; since it remains with me either by over-refinement to deprive myself of all sense of truth, or to yield myself to it with faithful obedience. My whole mode of thought, and the cul- tivation which my understanding receives, as well as the objects to which F direct it, depend entirely on myself. True insight is merit;— the perversion of my capacity for knowledge, thoughtlessness, obscurity, error, and unbelief, are guilt.
There is but one point towards which I have un- ceasingly to direct all my attention, — namely, what I ought to do, and how I may best fulfil the obligation. All my thoughts must have a bearing on my actions, and must be capable of being considered as means, however remote, to this end; otherwise they are an idle and aimless show, a mere waste of time and strength, the perversion of a noble power which is entrusted to me for a very different end.
I dare hope, I dare surely promise myself, to follow out this undertaking with good results. The Nature on which I have to act is not a foreign element, called into existence without reference to me, into which I cannot penetrate. It is moulded by my own laws of thought, and must be in harmony with them; it must be thoroughly transparent, knowable and penetrable to me, even to its inmost recesses. In all its phenom- BOOK III. FAITH. 105 ena it expresses nothing but the connexions and rela- tions of my own being to myself; and as surely as I may hope to know myself, so surely may I expect to comprehend it. Let me seek only that which I ought to seek, and I shall find; let me ask only that which I ought to ask, and I shall receive an answer.
I.
I.
That voice within my soul in which I believe, and on account of which I believe in every other thing to which I attach credence, does not command me merely to act in general. This is impossible; all these general principles are formed only through my own voluntary observation and reflection, applied to many individual facts; but never in themselves express any fact whatever. This voice of my conscience announces to me precisely what I ought to do, and what leave undone, in every particular situation of life; it accom- panies me, if I will but listen to it with attention, through all the events of my life, and never refuses me its reward where I am called upon to act. It car- ries with it immediate conviction, and irresistibly com- pels my assent to its behests: — it is impossible for me to contend against it.
To listen to it, to obey it honestly and unreservedly, without fear or equivocation, — this is my true vocation, the whole end and purpose of my existence. My life ceases to be an empty play without truth or significance. There is something that must absolutely be done for its own sake alone; — that which conscience demands of me in this particular situation of life it is mine to do, for this only I am here; — to know it, I have understanding; io6 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
to perform it, I have power. Through this edict of con- science alone, truth and reality are introduced into my conceptions. I cannot refuse them my attention and my obedience without thereby surrendering the very purpose of my existence.
Hence I cannot withhold my belief from the reality which they announce, without at the same time re- nouncing my vocation. It is absolutely true, without farther proof or confirmation, — nay, it is the first truth, and the foundation of all other truth and certainty, that this voice must be obeyed; and therefore every- thing becomes to me true and certain, the truth and certainty of which is assumed in the possibility of such obedience.
There appear before me in space, certain phenomena to which I transfer the idea of myself; — I conceive of them as beings like myself. Speculation, when carried out to its last results, has indeed taught me, or would teach me, that these supposed rational beings out of myself are but the products of my own presentative power; that, according to certain laws of my thought, I am compelled to represent out of myself my con- ception of myself; and that, according to the same laws, I can transfer this conception only to certain definite intuitions. But the voice of my conscience thus speaks: — " Whatever these beings may be in and for themselves, thou shalt act towards them as self- existent, free, substantive beings, wholly independent of thee. Assume it as already known, that they can give a purpose to their own being wholly by them- selves, and quite independently of thee; never inter- rupt the accomplishment of this purpose, but rather further it to the utmost of thy power. Honour their freedom, lovingly take up their purposes as if they BOOK III. FAITH. 107 were thine own." Thus ought I to act: — by this course of action ought all my thought to be guided, — nay, it shall and must necessarily be so, if I have resolved to obey the voice of my conscience. Hence I shall always regard these beings as in possession of an existence for themselves wholly independent of mine, as capable of forming and carrying out their own purposes; — from this point of view, I shall never be able to conceive of them otherwise, and my previous speculations re- garding them shall vanish like an empty dream. — I think of them as beings like myself, I have said; but strictly speaking, it is not by mere thought that they are first presented to me as such. It is by the voice of my conscience, — by the command: — " Here set a limit to thy freedom; here recognise and reverence purposes which are not thine own." This it is which is first translated into the thought, " Here, certainly and truly, are beings like myself, free and independ- ent." To view them otherwise, I must in action re- nounce, and in speculation disregard, the voice of my conscience.
Other phenomena present themselves before me which I do not regard as beings like myself, but as things irrational. Speculation finds no difficulty in showing how the conception of such things is devel- oped solely from my own presentative faculty and its necessary modes of activity. But I apprehend these things, also, through want, desire, and enjoyment. Not by the mental conception, but by hunger, thirst, and their satisfaction, does anything become for me food and drink. I am necessitated to believe in the reality of that which threatens my sensuous existence, or in that which alone is able to maintain it. Con- science enters the field in order that it may at once io8 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
sanctify and restrain this natural impulse. " Thou shalt maintain, exercise, and strengthen thyself and thy physical powers, for they have been taken account of in the plans of reason. But thou canst maintain them only by legitimate use, conformable to their na- ture. There are also, besides thee, many other beings like thyself, whose powers have been counted upon like thine own, and can be maintained only in the same way as thine own. Concede to them the same privilege that has been allowed to thee. Respect what belongs to them as their possession; — use what belongs to thee legitimately as thine own." Thus ought I to act, — according to this course of action must I think. I am compelled to regard these things as standing un- der their own natural laws, independent of, though perceivable by me; and therefore to ascribe to them an independent existence. I am compelled to believe * in such laws; the task of investigating them is set before me, and that empty speculation vanishes like a mist when the genial sun appears.
In short, there is for me absolutely no such thing as an existence which has no relation to myself, and which I contemplate merely for the sake of contem- plating it; — whatever has an existence for me, has it only through its relation to my own being. But there is, in the highest sense, only one relation to me pos- sible, all others are but subordinate forms of this: — my vocation to moral activity. My world is the ob- ject and sphere of my duties, and absolutely nothing more; there is no other world for me, and no other qualities of my world than what are implied in this; — my whole united capacity, all finite capacity, is insuffi- cient to comprehend any other. Whatever possesses an existence for me, can bring its existence and reality BOOK III. FAITH. 109 into contact with me only through this relation, and only through this relation do I comprehend it: — for any other existence than this I have no organ what- ever.
To the question, whether, in deed and in fact, such a world exists as that which I represent to myself, I can give no answer more fundamental, more raised above all doubt, than this: — I have most certainly and truly, these determinate duties, which announce them- selves to me as duties towards certain objects, to be fulfilled by means of certain materials; — duties which I cannot otherwise conceive of, and cannot otherwise fulfil, than within such a world as I represent to myself. Even to one who had never meditated on his own moral vocation, if there could be such a one, or who, if he had given it some general consideration, had, at least, never entertained the slightest purpose of ful- filling it at any time within an indefinite futurity, — even for him, his sensuous world, and his belief in its reality, arises in no other manner than from his ideas of a moral world. If he do not apprehend it by the thought of his duties, he certainly does so by the de- mand foV his rights. What he perhaps never requires of himself, he does certainly exact from others in their conduct towards him, — that they should treat him with propriety, consideration, and respect, not as an irrational thing, but as a free and independent being; — and thus, by supposing in them an ability to comply with his own demands, he is compelled also to regard them as themselves considerate, free, and independent of the dominion of mere natural power. Even should he never propose to himself any other purpose in his use and enjoyment of surrounding objects but simply that of enjoying them, he at least demands this enjoyi io THE VOCATION OF MAN.
ment as a right, in the possession of which he claims to be left undisturbed by others; and thus he appre- hends even the irrational world of sense by means of a moral idea. These claims of respect for his ration- ality, independence, and preservation, no one can resign who possesses a conscious existence; and with these claims, at least, there is united in his soul, earnestness, renunciation of doubt, and faith in a reality, even if they be not associated with the recognition of a moral law within him. Take the man who denies his own moral vocation, and thy existence, and the existence of a material world, except as a mere futile effort in which speculation tries her strength, — approach him practical- ly, apply his own principles to life, and act as if either he had no existence at all, or were merely a portion of rude matter, — he will soon lay aside his scornful in- difference, and indignantly complain of thee; earnestly call thy attention to thy conduct towards him; main- tain that thou oughtst not and darest not so to act; and thus prove to thee, by deeds, that thou art as- suredly capable of acting upon him; that he is, and that thou a/rt, — that there is a medium by which thou canst influence him, and that thou, at least, hast duties to perform towards him.
Thus, it is not the operation of supposed external objects, which indeed exist for us, and we for them, only in so far as we already know of them; and just as little an empty vision evoked by our own imagina- tion and thought, the products of which must, like itself, be mere empty pictures; — it is not these, but the necessary faith in our own freedom and power, in our own real activity, and in the definite laws of human action, which lies at the root of all our consciousness of a reality external to ourselves; — a consciousness BOOK III. FAITH. in BOOK III. FAITH. in which is itself but faith, since it is founded on another faith, of which however it is a necessary con- sequence. We are compelled to believe that we act, and that we ought to act in a certain manner; we are compelled to assume a certain sphere for this action; this sphere is the real, actually present world, such as we find it; — and on the other hand, the world is abso- lutely nothing more than, and cannot, in any way, ex- tend itself beyond, this sphere. From this necessity of action proceeds the consciousness of the actual world; and not the reverse way, from the conscious- ness of the actual world the necessity of action: — this, not that, is the first; the former is derived from the latter. We do not act because we know, but we know because we are called upon to act: — the practical rea- son is the root of all reason. The laws of action for rational beings are immediately certain; their world is certain only through that previous certainty. We cannot deny these laws without plunging the world, and ourselves with it, into absolute annihilation; — we raise ourselves from this abyss, and maintain ourselves above it, solely by our moral activity.
II.
II.
There is something which I am called upon to do, simply in order that it may be done; something to avoid doing, solely that it may be left undone. But can I act without having an end in view beyond the action itself, without directing my intention towards something which can become possible by means of my action, and only by means of it? Can I will, without having something which I will? No: — this would be iia THE VOCATION OF MAN.