The Vocation of Man (Bestimmung des Menschen)

Johann Gottlieb Fichte

From Volume I of The Popular Works of Johann Gottlieb Fichte (William Smith trans., Trübner & Co.- London, 4th ed. 1889)

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]

BOOK I: 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.

[326] I seize on Nature in her rapid and unresting flight, detain her for an instant, hold the present moment steadily in view, and reflect upon this Nature by means of which my thinking powers have hitherto been developed and trained to those researches that belong to her domain.

I am surrounded by objects which I am compelled to regard as separate, independent, self-subsisting wholes. I behold plants, trees, animals. I ascribe to each individual certain properties and attributes by which I distinguish it from others; to this plant, such a form; to another, another; to this tree, leaves of such a shape; to another, others differing from them.

Every object has its appointed number of attributes, neither more nor less. To every question, whether it is this or that, there is, for any one who is thoroughly acquainted with it, a decisive Yes possible, or a 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.

But Nature pursues her course of ceaseless change, and while I yet speak of the moment which I sought to detain before me it is gone, and all is changed; and in like manner, before I had fixed my observation upon it, all was [328] otherwise. It had not always been as it was when I observed it: - it had become so.

Why then, and from what cause, had it become so? Why had Nature, amid the infinite variety of possible forms, assumed in this moment precisely these and no others?

For this reason, that they were preceded by those precisely which did precede them, and by no others; and because the present could arise out of those and out of no other possible conditions. Had anything in the preceding moment been in the smallest degree different from what it was, then in the present 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.

What is it then that I have thus arrived at? If I review my positions as a whole, I find their substance to be this: - that in every stage of progress an antecedent is necessarily supposed, from which and through which alone the present has arisen; in every condition a previous condition, in every existence another existence; and that from nothing, nothing whatever can proceed.

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 myself, with all that I call mine, am a link in this chain of the rigid necessity of Nature. There was a time - so others tell me who were then alive, and I am compelled by reasoning to admit such a time of which I have no immediate consciousness, - there was a time in which I was not, and a moment in which I began to be. I then only existed for others, - not yet for myself. Since then, my self, my self-consciousness, has gradually unfolded itself, and I have discovered in myself certain capacities and faculties, wants and natural desires. I am a definite creature, that came into being at a certain time.

I have not come into being by my own power. It would be the highest absurdity to suppose that I was before I came into existence in order to bring myself into existence. I have, then, been called into being by 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.

I am, indeed, conscious of myself as an independent, and, in many phases of my life, a free being; but this consciousness may easily be explained on the principles already laid down, and may be thoroughly reconciled with the conclusions which have been drawn. My immediate consciousness, my proper perception, cannot go beyond myself and the modes of my own being; - I have immediate knowledge of myself alone: whatever I may know more than this, I know only by inference, in the same way in which I have inferred the existence of original powers of Nature, which yet do not lie within the circle of my perceptions. I myself however, - that which I call me - my personality, - am not the man-forming power of Nature, but only one of its manifestations; and it is only of this manifestation that I am conscious, as myself, not of that power whose existence I only infer from the necessity of explaining my own. This manifestation, however, in its true nature, is really the product of an original and independent power, and must appear as such in consciousness. On this account I recognise myself generally as an independent being. For this reason I appear to [339] myself as free in certain phases of my life, when these are the manifestations of the independent power which falls to my share as an individual; - as restrained and limited, when, by any combination of outward circumstances, which may arise in time, but do not lie within the original limitations of my personality, I cannot do what my individual power would naturally, if unobstructed, be capable of doing; - as compelled, when this individual power, by the superiority of antagonistic powers, is constrained to manifest itself even in opposition to the laws of its own nature.

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.

What high satisfaction this system affords to my understanding! What order, what firm connexion, what [340] comprehensive supervision does it introduce into the whole fabric of my knowledge! Consciousness is here no longer a stranger in Nature, whose connexion with existence is so incomprehensible; it is native to it, and indeed one of its necessary manifestations. Nature herself ascends gradually in the determinate series of her creations. In rude matter she is a simple existence; in organized matter she returns within herself to internal activity, - in the plant to produce form, in the animal motion; - in man, as her highest masterpiece, she turns inward that she may perceive and contemplate herself, - in him she, as it were, doubles herself, and, from being mere existence, becomes existence and consciousness in one.

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.

My inquiry is closed, and my desire of knowledge satisfied. I know what I am, and wherein the nature of my species consists. I am a manifestation, determined by the whole connected system of the universe, of a power of Nature which is determined by itself. To understand thoroughly my particular personal being in its deepest sources is impossible, for I cannot penetrate into the innermost recesses of Nature. But I am immediately conscious of this my personal existence. I know right well what I am at the present moment; I can for the most part remember what I have been formerly; and I shall learn what I shall be when what is now future shall become present experience.

[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.

But, oh these opposing wishes! For why should I any longer hide from myself the sadness, the horror, the amazement with which I was penetrated when I saw how my inquiry must end? I had solemnly promised myself that my inclinations should have no influence in the direction of my thoughts; and I have not knowingly allowed them any such influence. But may I not at last, confess that this result contradicts the profoundest aspirations, wishes, and wants of my being. And, despite of the accuracy and the decisive strictness of the proofs by which it seems to be supported, how can I truly believe in a theory of my being which strikes at the very root of [346] that being, which so distinctly contradicts all the purposes for which alone I live, and without which I should loathe my existence?

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.

But courage! Let all else be lost, so that this at least remains! Merely for the sake of my wishes, did they lie ever so deep or seem ever so sacred, I cannot renounce what rests on incontrovertible evidence. But perhaps I may have erred in my investigation; - perhaps I may have only partially comprehended and imperfectly considered the grounds upon which I had to proceed. I ought to retrace the inquiry again from the opposite end, in order that I may at least have a correct starting-point. What is it, then, that I find so repugnant, so painful, in the decision to which I have come? What is it, which I desired to find in its place? Let me before all things make quite clear to myself what are these inclinations to which I appeal.

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.

This, then, is the substance of my wishes and aspirations. But the system, which has satisfied my understanding, has wholly repudiated these. According to the one I am wholly independent of Nature and of any law which I do not impose upon myself; according to the other, I am but a strictly determined link in the chain of Nature. Whether such a freedom as I have desired be at all conceivable, and, if so, whether, on complete and thorough investigation, there may not be found grounds which may compel me to accept it as a reality and ascribe it to myself, and whereby the result of my former conclusions might be refuted; - this is now the question.

To be free, in the sense stated, means that I myself will make myself whatever I am to be. I must then, - and this is what is most surprising, and, at first sight, absurd in the idea, - I must already be, in a certain sense, that [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]

BOOK II

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 shall, however, continue to speak thy language, since it is most familiar to thee. Thou hast said that thou canst see, hear, and feel objects. How then, - that is, with what properties or attributes, - dost thou see or feel them?

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 explained by means of the first. Thou perceivest this member by means of another, which is then the sentient one. I ask the same questions concerning this latter member that I asked concerning thy hand, and thou art as little able to answer them as before.

So it is with the surface of thy eyes, and with every other surface of thy body. It may very well be that the consciousness of an extension out of thyself, proceeds from the consciousness of thine own extension as a material body, and is conditioned by it. But then thou must, in the first place, explain this extension of thy material body.

I. It is enough. I now perceive clearly that I neither see nor feel the superficial extension of the properties of bodies, nor apprehend it by any other sense. I see that it is my habitual practice to extend over a surface what nevertheless in sensation is but one point, to represent as [365] adjacent and simultaneous what I ought to represent as only successive, since in mere sensation there is nothing simultaneous but all is successive. I discover that I proceed in fact exactly as the geometer does in the construction of his figures, extending points to lines and lines to surfaces. I am astonished how I should have done this.

Spirit. Thou dost more than this, and what is yet more wonderful. This surface which thou attributest to bodies, thou canst indeed neither see nor feel, nor perceive by any organ; but it may be said, in a certain sense, that thou canst see the red colour, or feel the smoothness, upon it. But thou addest something more even to this surface: - thou extendest it to a solid mathematical figure; as by thy previous admission thou hast extended the line to a surface. Thou assumest a substantial interior existence of the body behind its surface. Tell me, canst thou then see, feel, or recognise by any sense, the actual presence of anything behind this surface?

I. By no means - the space behind the surface is impenetrable to my sight, touch, or any of my senses.

Spirit. And yet thou dost assume the existence of such an interior substance, which, nevertheless, thou canst not perceive?

I. I confess it, and my astonishment increases.

Spirit. What then is this something which thou imaginest to be behind the surface?

I. Well - I suppose something similar to the surface, - something tangible.

Spirit. We must ascertain this more distinctly. Canst thou divide the mass of which thou imaginest the body to consist?

I. I can divide it to infinity; - I do not mean with instruments, but in thought. No possible part is the smallest so that it cannot be again divided.

Spirit. And in this division dost thou ever arrive at a portion of which thou canst suppose that it is no longer [366] perceptible in itself to sight, touch, &c.; - in itself I say, besides being imperceptible to thy own particular organs of sense?

I. By no means.

Spirit. Visible, perceptible absolutely? - or with certain properties of colour, smoothness, roughness, and the like?

I. In the latter way. Nothing is visible or perceptible absolutely, because there is no absolute sense of sight or touch.

Spirit. Then thou dost but spread through the whole mass thy own sensibility, that which is already familiar to thee, - visibility as coloured, tangibility as rough, smooth, or the like; and after all it is this sensibility itself of which alone thou art sensible? Or dost thou find it otherwise?

I. By no means: what thou sayest follows from what I have already understood and admitted.

Spirit. And yet thou dost perceive nothing behind the surface, and hast perceived nothing there?

I. Were I to break through it, I should perceive something.

Spirit. So much therefore thou knowest beforehand. And this infinite divisibility, in which, as thou maintainest, thou canst never arrive at anything absolutely imperceptible, thou hast never carried it out, nor canst thou do so?

I. I cannot carry it out.

Spirit. To a sensation, therefore, which thou hast really had, thou addest in imagination another which thou hast not had?

I. I am sensible only of that which I attribute to the surface; I am not sensible of what lies behind it, and yet I assume the existence of something there which might be perceived. Yes, I must admit what thou sayest.

Spirit. And the actual sensation is in part found to correspond with what thou hast thus pre-supposed? [367]

I. When I break through the surface of a body, I do indeed find beneath it something perceptible, as I pre-supposed. Yes, I must admit this also.

Spirit. Partly, however, thou hast maintained that there is something beyond sensation, which cannot become apparent to any actual perception.

I. I maintain, that were I to divide a corporeal mass to infinity, I could never come to any part which is in itself imperceptible; although I admit that I can never make the experiment, - can never practically carry out the division of a corporeal mass to infinity. Yes, I must agree with thee in this also.

Spirit. Thus there is nothing remaining of the object but what is perceptible, - what is a property or attribute, - this perceptibility thou extendest through a continuous space which is divisible to infinity; and the true substratum or supporter of the attributes of things which thou hast sought, is, therefore, only the space which is thus filled?

I. Although I cannot be satisfied with this, but feel that I must still suppose in the object something more than this perceptibility and the space which it fills, yet I cannot point out this something, and I must therefore confess that I have hitherto been unable to discover any substratum but space itself.

Spirit. Always confess whatever thou perceivest to be true. The present obscurities will gradually become clear, and the unknown will be made known. Space itself, however, is not perceived; and thou canst not understand how thou hast obtained this conception, or why thou extendest throughout it this property of perceptibility?

I. It is so.

Spirit. As little dost thou understand how thou hast obtained even this conception of a perceptibility out of thyself, since thou really perceivest only thine own sensation in thyself, not as the property of an external thing, but as an affection of thine own being. [368]

I. So it is. I see clearly that I really perceive only my own state, and not the object; that I neither see, feel, nor hear this object; but that, on the contrary, precisely there where the object should be, all seeing, feeling, and so forth, comes to an end.

But I have a presentiment. Sensations, as affections of myself, have no extension whatever, but are simple states: in their differences they are not contiguous to each other in space, but successive to each other in time. Nevertheless, I do extend them in space. May it not be by means of this extension, and simultaneously with it, that what is properly only my own feeling or sensation becomes changed for me into a perceptible something out of myself; and may not this be the precise point at which there arises within me a consciousness of the external object?

Spirit. This conjecture may be confirmed. But could we raise it immediately to a conviction, we should thereby attain to no complete insight, for this higher question would still remain to be answered, - How dost thou first come to extend sensation through space? Let us then proceed at once to this question; and let us propound it more generally - I have my reasons for doing so - in the following manner: - How is it, that, with thy consciousness, which is but an immediate consciousness of thyself, thou proceedest out of thyself; and to the sensation which thou dost perceive, superaddest an object perceived and perceptible which yet thou dost not perceive?

I.

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