The
Vocation of Man
(Bestimmung
des Menschen)
|
Book I Doubt Book II Knowledge Book III Faith WHATEVER
in the New Philosophy is useful beyond the limits of the
schools will form the contents of this work, set forth in that order
in which it would naturally present itself to unscientific thought.
The more profound arguments by which the subtle objections and extravagances
of overrefined minds are to be met, whatever is but the foundation
of other Positive Science, - lastly, whatever belongs 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 understanding; - 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 understanding, it will doubtless be found unintelligible.
[322]
It ought to attract and animate the reader, and to elevate him from
the world of sense into a region of supersensuous thought; - at least
the author is conscious 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 determined 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 himself 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 labour and
reflection, develop and build up within himself that mode of thought
the mere picture of which is presented to him in the book. [323] DOUBT I
BELIEVE, that I am now acquainted with no inconsiderable
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 exact 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 [324] take much time to repeat all that
I have heard, learned, and believed concerning them. And
in what way then have I attained this knowledge, which I have this
dim remembrance of acquiring? Have I, impelled by an earnest desire
of knowledge, toiled on through uncertainty, doubt and contradiction?
- have I, when any belief was presented to me, withheld my assent
until I have 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 without examination and without conviction I allowed everything
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 myself 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 beard this or that said upon the
subject. Thus,
while I have inquired for myself, and 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
attributed to others an interest in the highest affairs of humanity,
an earnestness and an exactitude, which I have by no means discovered
in myself. I have esteemed them indescribably higher than myself.
[325]
Whatever truth they really possess, whence can they have obtained
it but through their own reflection? 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 alighted 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 assiduity; - 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 approve itself to me as the truth. I hasten to the fulfilment of
my task.
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 decisive 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 posseses 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; [327] 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 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 definite stage of growth between its budding
and its maturity, not in the smallest degree nearer or more remote
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 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 unanswered,
and my thought is undetermined in these respects; 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.
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 moment 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 backwards without limit. In like manner will Nature
in the next 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 succeeding moment something would necessarily be different
from what it will be. And in the moment following that, all things
will be precisely as they will be, because in the immediately previous
moment they will be as they will be; and so will its successor proceed
forth from it, an another from that, and so onwards for ever. Nature
proceeds throughout the whole infinite series of her possible determinations
without outward incentive; 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 [329] within an unbroken
chain of phenomena, in which every link is determined by that which
has preceded it, and in its turn determines the next; so that, were
I able to trace backward the causes through which alone any given
moment 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
possible conditions of the universe, both past and future - past,
by interpreting the given moment; future, by forecasting 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.
Let
me pause here a little, and develope whatever is contained in this
principle, until it become 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. 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 further
proof, and without the slightest inquiry, as an absolute, immediate,
certain and unalterable truth, - (as indeed it is, as I now find it
to be, and shall ever find it to be) - assumed, I say, 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 existence insufficient to account for itself, and I was compelled
to [330] assume another existence beyond them, as a necessary condition
of theirs. But why did I find the existence of these qualities and
determinate forms insufficient for itself? Why did I find it to be
an incomplete existence? What was there in it which betrayed 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 something else, attributes of a substance, forms of something formed;
and the supposition of such a substance, 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 conceivableness
of such qualities. Further, before I can attribute 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 indefinite
series of changes from one state to another and different state. 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 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 itself, and,
in the next moment, when it no longer exists, 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 [331] 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 spontaneous energy, this definite
effect and no other; - and that it produces this certainly and infallibly.
This
principle of activity, of independent and spontaneous 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 developed 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 determination
of a power by itself, and its outward determination by circumstances,
- must be united in order to produce a change. The latter, the circumstances,
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 essentially determined, for only on this
condition is it conceivable; but its determination is completed 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 affect, however, is determined; and
- since the effect is but the expression, 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, because
it cannot otherwise be conceived of as a particular and definite power
- partly out of itself, because its own determination can be conceived
of only as conditioned by something else. [332]
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 exist for
me: - I can describe this power only through its effects, and it is
to me no more than the producing 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 possible. 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 compelled to assume a special, spontaneous, and original
power in Nature, and indeed a flower-producing
power; for another power of Nature might, under the same circumstances,
have produced something entirely different. - I have thus attained
to the following 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 develope 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 manifestations of each individual power of Nature are determined,
become what they are, partly by its own essential character, partly
through its own previous manifestations, and partly through the manifestations
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
- and it is therefore necessarily determined by them all. 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 [333] 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 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 indefinite Future other
than what it will be. Make the experiment, for instance, with this
grain of quicksand. 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; as well as the previous state by which this particular weather
was determined, - and so on; and thus you have, without stay or limit,
a wholly different temperature of the air from that which really existed,
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 influence. On the fruitfulness or unfruitfulness of countries,
and through that, or even directly, on the duration 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 [334] further inland, some
one of your forefathers 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, might never
have been, - that so a grain of sand might lie in a different place?
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 a 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.
[335]
That my successive states of being have been accompanied 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 constitution of the plant to develope
itself, of the animal to move, of man to think, - all after fixed
laws. Why should I hesitate to acknowledge the last as the manifestation
of an original power of Nature, as well as the first and second? Nothing
could hinder me from doing so but mere amazement; 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 reason? I cannot indeed explain how the power of Nature 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 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 comes into existence and developes
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 developes 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 manifesta- [336] tion of the
power of motion; and besides 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 development, - 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. Figure,
motion, thought, in me, are not dependent on each other and consequent
on each other - so that I should think and conceive of the forms and
motions that surround me in such or such a manner because they are
so, or on the other hand, that they are so because I so conceive of
them, - but they are all simultaneous and harmonious developments
of one and the same power, the manifestation of which necessarily
assumes the form of a complete creature of my species, and which may
thus be called the man-forming power. A thought arises within
me absolutely, without dependence on anything else; the corresponding
form likewise arises absolutely, and also the emotion which corresponds
to both. I am not what I am, because I think so, or will so; nor do
I think and will it, because I am so; but I am, and I think, both
absolutely; - both harmonize with each other by virtue of a higher
power. As
surely as those original powers of Nature exist for themselves, and
have their own internal laws and purposes, so surely must their outward
manifestations, if they are left to themselves and not suppressed
by any foreign force, endure for a certain period of time, and describe
a certain circle of change. That which disappears even at the moment
of its production is assuredly not the manifestation of one primordial
power, but only a consequence of the combined operation of various
powers. The plant, a particular mode or manifestation of the formative-power
of Nature, when left to itself, proceeds from the first germination
to the ripening of the seed. Man, a particular [337] mode or manifestation
of all the powers of Nature in their union, when left to himself,
proceeds from birth to death in old age. Hence the duration of the
life of plants and of men, and the varied modes of this life. This
form, this proper motion, this thought, in harmony with each other,
- this duration of all these essential qualities, amidst many non-essential
changes, belong to me, in so far as I am a being of my species. But
the man-forming power of Nature had already displayed itself
before I existed, under a multitude of outward conditions and circumstances.
Such outward circumstances have determined the particular manner of
its present activity, which has resulted in the production of precisely
such an individual of my species as I am. The same circumstances can
never return unless the whole course of Nature should repeat itself,
and two Natures arise instead of one; hence the same individuals,
who have once existed, can never again come into actual being. Further,
the man-forming power of Nature manifests itself, during
the same time in which I exist, under all the conditions and circumstances
possible in that time. But no combination of such circumstances can
perfectly resemble those through which I came into existence, unless
the universe could divide itself into two perfectly similar but independent
worlds. It is impossible that two perfectly similar individuals can
come into actual existence at the same time. It is thus determined
what I, this definite person, must be: and the general law by which
I am what I am is discovered. I am that which the man-forming
power of Nature - having been what it was, being what it is,
and standing in this particular relation to the other opposing powers
of Nature - could become; and, - there being no ground of
limitation within itself, - since it could become, necessarily
must become. I am that which I am, because in this
particular position of the great system of Nature, only such a person,
and absolutely no other, was possible; [338] - and a spirit who could
look through the innermost secrets of Nature, would, from knowing
one single man, be able distinctly to declare what men had formerly
existed, and what men would exist at any future moment; - in one individual
he would discern all actual and possible individuals.
It is this my inter-connexion with the whole system of Nature which
determines what I have been, what I am, and what I shall be; and the
same spirit would be able, from any possible moment of my existence,
to discover infallibly what I had previously been, and what I was
afterwards to become. All that, at any time, I am and shall be, I
am and shall be of absolute necessity; and it is impossible that I
should be anything else.
Bestow
consciousness on a tree, and let it grow, spread out its branches,
and bring forth leaves and buds, blossoms and fruits, after its kind,
without hindrance or obstruction: - it will perceive no limitation
to its existence in being only a tree, a tree of this particular species,
and this particular individual of the species; it will feel itself
perfectly free, because, in all those manifestations, it
will do nothing but what its nature requires; and it will desire to
do nothing else, because it can only desire what that nature requires.
But let its growth be hindered by unfavourable weather, want of nourishment,
or other causes, and it will feel itself limited and restrained,
because an impulse which actually belongs to its nature is not
satisfied. Bind its free waving boughs to a wall, force foreign branches
on it by ingrafting, and it will feel itself compelled to
one course of action; its branches will grow, but not in the direction
they would have taken if left to themselves; it will produce fruits,
but not those which belong to its original nature. In immediate consciousness,
I appear to myself as free; by reflection on the whole of Nature,
I discover that freedom is absolutely impossible; the former must
be subordinate to the latter, for it can be explained only by means
of it.
How
I am and must be conscious of my own being and of its determinations,
is, in this coinnexion, easily understood. My being and my knowledge
have one common foundation, - my own nature. The being within me,
even because it is my being, is conscious of itself. Quite as conceivable
is my consciousness of corporeal objects existing beyond myself. The
powers in whose manifestation my personality consists, - the formative
- the self-moving - the thinking powers - are not these same powers
as they exist in Nature at large, but only a certain definite portion
of them; and that they are but such a portion, is because there are
so many other existences beyond me. From the former, I can infer the
latter; from the limitation, that which limits. Because I myself am
not this or that which yet belongs to the connected system of existence,
it must exist beyond me; - thus reasons the thinking
principle within me. Of my own limitation I am immediately conscious,
because it is a part of myself, and only by reason of it do I possess
an actual existence; my consciousness of the source of this limitation,
- of that which I myself am not, - is produced by the former, and
arises out of it. Away,
then, with those pretended influences and opera- [341] tions of outward
things upon me, by means of which they are supposed to pour in upon
me a knowledge which is not in themselves and cannot flow forth from
them. The ground upon which I assume the existence of something beyond
myself, does not lie out of myself, but within me, in the limitation
of my own personality. By means of this limitation, the thinking principle
of Nature within me proceeds out of itself, and is able to survey
itself as a whole, although, in each individual, from a different
point of view. In
the same way there arises within me the idea of other thinking beings
like myself. I, or the thinking power of Nature within me, am conscious
of some thoughts which seem to have arisen spontaneously within me
as an individual form of Nature; and of others, which seem not to
have arisen in the same spontaneous manner. And so it is in reality.
The former are my own, peculiar, individual contributions to the general
circle of thought in Nature; the latter are deduced from them, as
what must surely have a place in that circle; but
being only inferences so far as I am concerned, must find that place,
not in me, but in other thinking beings: - hence I conclude that there
are other thinking beings besides myself. In short, Nature becomes
in me conscious of herself as a whole, but only by beginning with
my own individual consciousness, and proceeding from thence to the
consciousness of universal being by inference founded on the principle
of causality; - that is, she is conscious of the conditions under
which alone such a form, such a motion, such a thought as that in
which my personality consists, is possible. The principle of causality
is the point of transition from the particular within myself to the
universal which lies beyond myself; and the distinguishing characteristic
of those two kinds of knowledge is this, that the one is immediate
perception, while the other is inference. In
each individual, Nature beholds herself from a par- [342] ticular
point of view. I call myself - I, and thee - thou;
thou callest thyself - I, and me - thou; I lie beyond
thee, as thou beyond me. Of what is without me, I comprehend first
those things which touch me most nearly; thou, those which touch thee
most nearly; - from these points we each proceed onwards to the next
proximate; but we describe very different paths, which may here and
there intersect each other but never run parallel. There is an infinite
variety of possible individuals, and hence also an infinite variety
of possible points of outlook of consciousness. This consciousness
of all individuals taken together, constitutes the complete consciousness
of the universe; and there is no other, for only in the individual
is there definite completeness and reality. The
testimony of consciousness in each individual is altogether
sure and trustworthy, if it be indeed the consciousness here described;
for this consciousness arises out of the whole prescribed course of
Nature, and Nature cannot contradict herself. Wherever there is a
conception, there must be a corresponding existence, for conceptions
are only produced simultaneously with the production of the corresponding
realities. To each individual his own particular consciousness is
wholly determined, for it proceeds from his own nature: - no one can
have other conceptions, or a greater or less degree of vitality in
these conceptions, than he actually has. The substance of his conceptions
is determined by the position which he assumes in the universe; their
clearness and vitality, by the higher or lower degree of efficiency
manifested by the power of humanity in his person. Give to Nature
the determination of one single element of a person, let it seem to
be ever so trivial, - the course of a muscle, the turn of a hair,
- and, had she a universal consciousness and were able to reply to
thee, she could tell thee all the thoughts which could belong to this
person during the whole period of his conscious existence. [343]
In this system also, the phenomenon of our consciousness which we
call Will, becomes thoroughly intelligible. A volition is the immediate
consciousness of the activity of any of the powers of Nature within
us. The immediate consciousness of an effort of these powers which
has not yet become a reality because it is hemmed in by opposing powers,
is, in consciousness, inclination or desire; - the struggle of contending
powers is irresolution; - the victory of one is the determination
of the Will. If the power which strives after activity be only that
which we have in common with the plant or the animal, there arises
a division and degradation of our inward being; the desire is unworthy
of our rank in the order of things, and, according to a common use
of language, may be called a low one. If this striving power be the
whole undivided force of humanity, then is the desire worthy of our
nature, and it may be called a high one. The latter effort, considered
absolutely, may be called a moral law. The activity of this latter
effort is a virtuous Will, and the course of action resulting from
it is virtue. The triumph of the former not in harmony with the latter
is vice; such a triumph over the latter and despite its opposition,
is crime. The
power which, on each occasion, proves triumphant, triumphs of necessity;
its superiority is determined by the whole connexion of the universe;
and hence by the same connexion is the virtue, vice or crime of each
individual irrevocably determined. Give to Nature, once more, the
course of a muscle, the turn of a hair, in any particular individual,
and, had she the power of universal thought and could answer thee,
she would be able to declare all the good and evil deeds of his life
from the beginning to the end of it. But still virtue does not cease
to be virtue, nor vice to be vice. The virtuous man is a noble product
of Nature; the vicious, an ignoble and contemptible one: - although
both are necessary results of the connected system of the universe.
[344]
Repentance is the consciousness of the continued effort of humanity
within me, even after it has been, overcome, associated with the disagreeable
sense of having been subdued; - a disquieting but still precious pledge
of our nobler nature. From this consciousness of the fundamental impulse
of our nature, arises the sense which has been called 'conscience,'
and its greater or less degree of strictness and susceptibility, down
to the absolute want of it in many individuals. The ignoble man is
incapable of repentance, for in him humanity has at no time sufficient
strength to contend with the lower impulses. Reward and punishment
are the natural consequences of virtue and vice for the production
of new virtue and new vice. By frequent and important victories, our
special power is extended and strengthened; by inaction or frequent
defeat, it becomes ever weaker and weaker. The ideas of guilt and
accountability have no meaning but in external legislation. He only
has incurred guilt, and must render an account of his crime, who compels
society to employ artificial external force in order to restrain in
him the activity of those impulses which are injurious to the general
welfare.
[345]
I cannot indeed make use of this discovery in the regulation of my
actions, for I do not truly act at all, but Nature acts in me; and
to make myself anything else than that for which Nature has intended
me, is what I cannot even propose to myself, for I am not the author
of my own being, but Nature has made me myself, and all that I become.
I may repent, and rejoice, and form good resolutions; - although,
strictly speaking, I cannot even do this, for all these things come
to me of themselves, when it is appointed for them to come; - but
most certainly I cannot, by all my repentance, and by all my resolutions,
produce the smallest change in that which I must once for all inevitably
become. I stand under the inexorable power of rigid Necessity: - should
she have destined me to become a fool and a profligate, a fool and
a profligate without doubt I shall become; should she have destined
me to be wise and good, wise and good I shall doubtless be. There
is neither blame nor merit to her nor to me. She stands under her
own laws, I under hers. I see this, and feel that my tranquillity
would be best ensured by subjecting my wishes also to that Necessity
to which my very being is wholly subject.
Why
must my heart mourn at, and be lacerated by, that which so perfectly
satisfies my understanding? While nothing in Nature contradicts itself,
is man alone a contradiction? Or perhaps not man in general, but only
me and those who resemble me? Had I but been content
to remain amid the pleasant delusions that surrounded me, satisfied
with the immediate consciousness of my existence, and never raised
those questions concerning its foundation, the answer to which has
caused me this misery! But if this answer be true, then I must
of necessity have raised these questions: I indeed raised them
not, - the thinking nature within me raised them. I was destined to
this misery, and I weep in vain the lost innocence of soul which can
never return to me again.
That
I should be destined to be wise and good, or foolish and profligate,
without power to change this destiny in aught, - in the former case
having no merit, and in the [347] latter incurring no guilt, - this
it was that filled me with amazement and horror. The reference of
my being, and of all the determinations of my being,
to a cause lying out of myself, - the manifestations of which
were again determined by other causes out of itself, - this
it was from which I so violently recoiled. That freedom which
was not my own, but that of a foreign power without me, and even that
only a limited half-freedom, - this it was which did not satisfy me.
I myself, - that of which I am conscious as my own being and person,
but which in this system appears as only the manifestation of a higher
power, - this "I" would be independent, - would be something,
not by another or through another, but of myself,
- and, as such, would be the final root of all my own determinations.
The rank which in this system is assumed by an original power of Nature
I would myself assume; with this difference, that the modes of my
manifestations shall not be determined by any foreign power. I desire
to possess an inward and peculiar power of manifestation, - infinitely
manifold like those powers of Nature; and this power shall manifest
itself in the way in which it does manifest itself, for no other reason
than because it does so manifest itself - not, like these powers of
Nature, because it is placed under such or such outward
conditions. What
then, according to my wish, shall be the especial seat and centre
of this peculiar inward power? Evidently not my body, for that I willingly
allow to pass for a manifestation of the powers of Nature, - at least
so far as its constitution is concerned, if not with regard to its
farther determinations; not my sensuous inclinations, for these I
regard as a relation of those powers to my consciousness. Hence it
must be my thought and will. I would exercise my voluntary power freely,
for the accomplishment of aims which I shall have
freely adopted; and this will, as its own ultimate ground, determinable
by nothing higher, shall move and mould, first my own body, [348]
and through it the surrounding world. My active powers shall be under
the control of my will alone, and shall be set in motion by nothing
else than by it. Thus it shall be. There shall be a Supreme Good in
the spiritual world; I shall have the power to seek this with freedom
until I find it, to acknowledge it as such when found, and it shall
be my fault if I do not find it. This Supreme Good I shall be able
to desire, merely because I desire it; and if I desire anything else
instead of it, the fault shall be mine. My actions shall be the results
of this will, and without it there shall absolutely no action of mine
ensue, since there shall be no other power over my actions but this
will. Then shall my powers, determined by, and subject to the dominion
of, my will, invade the external world. I will be the lord of Nature,
and she shall be my servant. I will influence her according to the
measure of my capacity, but she shall have no influence over me.
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 [349] which I shall become, in order to be able
to become so; I must possess a two-fold being, of which the first
shall contain the fundamental determining principle of the
second. If I interrogate my immediate 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 accordance 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 determinations.
These manifold possibilities are certainly possibilities 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 determination 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 previously felt myself
compelled to maintain that the manifestation of every power must receive
its final determination from without. Doubtless I then thought only
of such powers as are incapable of consciousness, and manifest themselves
merely [350] 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 belongs. Under this supposition, man,
as well as Nature, is perfectly comprehensible. My body, and my capacity
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,
thought having 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 observation ; - 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 activity, as well as my immediate consciousness of it - that is,
my will - to one point, just as the activity of the plant (undetermined
by itself) 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. [351]
Which of these two opinions shall I adopt? Am I free and independent?
- or am I nothing in myself, and merely the manifestation of a foreign
power? It is clear to me that neither of the two doctrines is sufficiently
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
application. 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 immediate 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 determine 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 opposite 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. For myself, I myself am the highest object
of such 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 done right, I will grieve when I have done wrong; and even
this sor- [352] row 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 annihilation. 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, as for a
ridiculous folly, for what I know to be best and purest in my nature,
for the sake of which alone I would exist. 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, before I entered upon the inquiry which has thus
perplexed 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 explanation 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 contrary doctrine. It explains everything which I
can cite from my own consciousness against it, and as often as I say
'thus and thus is the case,' it replies with 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,
and this thou [353] hast confessed already in asserting that thou
thyself art the object of thy highest interest. Now we already know,
and have proved it above, that this thou for whom thou art
so keenly interested, in so far as it is not the activity of thy individual
inward nature, 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 necessarily manifest
itself in consciousness, as love for, and interest in, free individual
activity. Couldst thou exchange this narrow point of view in self-consciousness
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 beyond itself, its supposition here is wholly irregular and
unjustifiable. Thou lovest not thyself, for, strictly speaking,
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 develope 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 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 behave 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 [354] venture to place
myself at this 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 assume this position or confine myself to the range of immediate
self-consciousness; whether love shall be made subject to knowledge,
or knowledge to love. The latter alternative stands in bad esteem
among intelligent people - the former renders me indescribably miserable,
by extinguishing my own personal being within me. I cannot do the
latter without appearing inconsiderate and foolish in my own estimation
- I cannot do the former without deliberately annihilating my own
existence. I
cannot remain in this state of indecision; on the solution of this
question depends my whole peace and dignity. Impossible as it is
to decide for myself, I have absolutely no ground of decision
in favour of the one opinion or the other. Intolerable
state of uncertainty and irresolution! By 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?
[355] KNOWLEDGE
CHAGRIN
and anguish stung me to the heart. I cursed the returning day which
called me back to an existence 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 remembrance. I cannot deceive
thee; for in every step 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 questions."
I
took courage. "He appeals to my own understanding. I will make
the venture. He cannot think 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. [356] Speak, wonderful
Spirit!" I exclaimed, "whatever thou art! Speak and I will
listen. Question 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? I. Certainly
I do. Spirit. And
how dost thou know that they are actually 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 take back 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 objects. 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.? I. 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. That
is my meaning. Spirit.
And how dost thou know then that thou seest, hearest, feelest? I. I do
not understand thee. Thy questions appear strange to me. Spirit. I
will make them more intelligible. Dost thou see thy sight, and feel
thy touch, or hast thou yet a higher [357] sense, through which thou
perceivest thy external senses and their determinations? I. 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. Hence it was 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 consciousness
of thy sight and touch? I. 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 art 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
consciousness? Canst thou not recognise an object by sight or hearing,
without knowing that thou seest or hearest? I. 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 knowest a thing, only in so far as thou knowest that thou
knowest it: no element can enter into the latter cognition which is
not contained in the former. Thou canst not know anything without
knowing that thou knowest it? I. I think
not. 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 knowledge.
What thou [358] dost not perceive immediately, thou dost
not perceive at all. I. 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? I. Thou
repeatest what I have already admitted. Spirit. I
would not weary of repeating it in all its applications, if I thought
that thou hadst not thoroughly comprehended it, and indelibly impressed
it on thy mind. Canst thou say, I am conscious of external objects
? I. By
no means, if I speak accurately; for the sight and touch by which
I grasp these objects are not consciousness 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 touching of these
objects. Spirit. Do
not forget, then, what thou hast now clearly understood. In all
perception thou perceivest only thine own condition.
I. 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? I. Undoubtedly
I do. Spirit. Wilt
thou not describe it to me then? I. 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 [359] 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? I. 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 respecting 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? I. Without
doubt. 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? I. Without
doubt. Spirit. And
thou maintainest that thou hast not discovered this difference by
means of reflection and comparison of these sensations in thyself.
But perhaps 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?
I. This
is impossible; for my perception of objects proceeds from my perception
of my own internal condition, and is determined by it, - not the reverse.
I first distinguish objects by distinguishing my own states of being.
[360] I can learn that this particular sensation is indicated by the
arbitrary sign, red; - and those by the signs, blue, smooth, rough;
but I cannot learn that the sensations themselves are distinguished,
nor how they are distinguished. That they are different,
I know only by being conscious of my own feelings, and that I feel
differently regarding them. How they differ, I cannot describe;
but I know that they must differ just as my feeling regarding them
differs; and this difference of feeling is an immediate, and by no
means an acquired or inferred distinction. Spirit. Which
thou canst make independently of all knowledge of the objects themselves?
I. Which
I must make independently of such knowledge, for this knowledge
is itself dependent on that distinction. Spirit. Which
is then given to thee immediately through mere self-consciousness?
I. In
no other way. Spirit. But
then thou shouldst content thyself with saying, - "I feel myself
affected in the manner that I call red, blue, smooth, rough."
Thou shouldst refer these sensations to thyself alone, and not transfer
them to an object lying entirely out of thyself, and declare these
modifications of thyself to be properties of that object. Or,
tell me, when thou believest that thou seest an object red, or feelest
it smooth, dost thou really perceive anything more than that thou
art affected in a certain manner? I. From
what has gone before, I clearly see that I do not, in fact, perceive
more than what thou sayest; and this transference of what is in me
to something 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 [361] there is a consciousness of the
object, that consciousness is, certainly, neither
sensation nor perception: - So much is clear. Spirit. Thou
formest thy conclusions somewhat precipitately. Let us consider this
matter on all sides, so that I may be assured that thou wilt not again
retract 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
immediate sensation? I. 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 dost 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? I. 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?
I. I have
always a determinate sensation of sight. Spirit.
And what is this determinate sensation of sight with respect to that
object there? I. That
of red colour. Spirit. And
this red is something positive, a simple sensation, a specific state
of thyself? I. 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 [362] a mathematical point. Or dost thou find it otherwise? I. 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? I. It
is certainly strange. - Yet, I believe that I have found the explanation.
I do not indeed see the surface, but I feel it when I pass
my hand over it. My sensation of sight remains the same during this
process 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. This
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 feelings, and art only conscious of these? I. By
no means. Each sensation is a determinate something. 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? I. Certainly.
Spirit. This
smooth or rough is, like the red colour, a simple 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 sensation of
sight over an imaginary surface, do I now ask why thou shouldst do
the same with a simple sensation of touch? I. This
smooth surface is perhaps not equally smooth in all points, but has
in each a different degree of smoothness, although I want the capacity
of strictly distinguishing these degrees from each other, and language
whereby to [363] 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 moment of time, have sensations
of opposite kinds, or be affected at the same time in different ways? I. By
no means. Spirit.
Those different degrees of smoothness, which thou wouldst assume in
order to explain what thou canst not explain, are therefore, in so
far as they are different from each other, mere opposite
sensations which succeed each other in thee? I. 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. 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 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? I. 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 [364] which thy hand is an instrument, for this will determine the second case also. In this case there can be nothing more in the immediate perception than what belongs to sensation, -that whereby thou thyself, (and here in particular thy hand,) is conceived of as the subject tasting in the act of taste, feeling in the act of touch. Now, either thy sensation is single; in which case I cannot see why thou shouldst extend this single sensation over a sentient surface, and not content thyself with a single sentient point; - or thy sensation is varied; and in this case, since the differences must succeed each other, I again do not see why thou shouldst not conceive of these feelings as succeeding each other in one and the same point. That thy hand should appear to thee as a surface, is just as inexplicable as thy notion of an external surface in general. Do not make use of the first in order to explain the second, until thou hast explained the first itself. The second case, in which thy hand, or whatever other member of thy body thou wilt, is itself the object of a sensation, may easily be |