s more a slave than they." He might with still greater justice have said — " He who considers himself the lord of others is himself a slave." Even should he not bear the outward badge of servitude, yet he has most surely the soul of a slave, and will basely cringe before the first stronger man who subdues him. He only is free, who would make all around him free likewise; and does really make them free, by a certain influence the sources of which have never been observed. Under his eye we breathe more freely; we feel that nothing has power to oppress, hinder, or confine us; we feel an unwonted desire to be and to do all things which self-respect does not forbid.
Man may use irrational things as means for the accomplishment of his purposes, but not rational beings; he may not even use these as means for attain ing the end of their own being; he may not act upon them as upon dead matter or upon the beasts, so as to prosecute his designs with them without taking their freedom into account; he may not make any reason able being either virtuous, or wise, or happy against his own will. Laying aside the fact that such an attempt would be utterly fruitless, — that no being can become virtuous, or wise, or happy, but by his own labour and exertion; — laying aside the fact that man cannot do this, yet even if he could, or believed he could, he must not even desire to do it; for it is unjust, and by so doing he would be placed in opposition to himself.
The social impulse is also positively defined by the law of perfect internal harmony, and thus we arrive at the peculiar vocation of man in Society. All the indi viduals who compose the human race differ from each other; there is only one thing in which they entirely agree; — that is, their ultimate end — perfection. Per fection has but one form; it is equal to itself: could all men become perfect, could they attain their highest and ultimate end, they would all be equal to each other, — they would be only one, — but one single subject. But in Society each strives to make others perfect, at least according to his own standard of perfection; to raise them to the ideal of humanity which he has formed. Thus, the last, highest end of Society is per fect unity and unanimity of all its possible members. But since the attainment of this end supposes the attainment of the destination of each individual man, — the attainment of absolute perfection; — so it is quite as impossible as the latter, — it is unattainable, unless man were to lay aside his humanity and become God. Perfect unity with ah1 the individuals of his race is thus indeed the ultimate end, but not the vocation, of man in Society.
But to approach nearer this end, — constantly to approach nearer to it, — this he can and ought to do. This approximation towards perfect unity and unani mity with all men may be called co-operation. Thus co-operation, growing ever firmer at its centre and ever wider in its circumference, is the true vocation of man in Society: — but such a co-operation is only possible by means of ever-growing improvement, for it is only in relation to their ultimate destination that men are at one, or can become united. We may therefore say, that mutual improvement, — improvement of ourselves by the freely admitted action of others upon us, and improvement of others by our reaction upon them as upon free beings, — is our vocation in Society.
19G THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR.
And in order to fulfil this vocation, and fulfil it always more and more thoroughly, we need a quali fication which can only be acquired and improved by culture; and indeed a qualification of a double nature: an ability to give, or to act upon others as upon free beings; — and an openness to receive, or to derive the greatest advantage from the action of others upon us. Of both we shall speak particularly in the proper place We must especially strive to acquire the latter, when we possess the former in a high degree; — otherwise we cease to advance, and consequently retrograde. Seldom is any man so perfect, but he may be much improved through the agency of any other man, in some perhaps apparently unimportant or neglected point of culture.
I know few more sublime conceptions, than the idea of this universal inter-action of the whole human race on itself; this ceaseless life and activity; this eager emulation to give and to receive, — the noblest strife in which man can take a part; this general indentation of countless wheels into each other, whose common motive-power is freedom; and the beautiful har mony which is the result of all. " Whoever thou art," may each of us say — " whoever thou art, if thou bear the form of man, thou too art a member of this great commonwealth; — through what count less media soever our mutual influence may be trans mitted, still by that title I act upon thee, and thou on me; — no one who bears the stamp of Reason on his front, however rudely impressed, exists in vain for me. But I know thee not, — thou knowest not me! — Oh! so surely as we have a common calling to be good, ever to become better, — so surely — though millions of ages may first pass away — (what is time!) — so surely shall a period at last arrive when I may receive thee too into my sphere of action, — when I may do good to thee, and receive good from thee in return; when my heart may be united to thine also, by the fairest possible bond, — a mutual interchange of free and generous love.
S2 ( 198 ) ON THE DISTINCTION OF CLASSES IN SOCIETY.
THE vocation of man as an individual, as well as the vocation of man in society, is now before you. The Scholar is only invested with his distinctive character when considered as a member of society. We may therefore proceed to the inquiry, — What is the peculiar vocation of the Scholar in society? But the Scholar is not merely a member of society; he is also a member of a particular class in society: at least it is customary to speak of the Scholar-class, — with what propriety or impropriety will appear in due time.
Our chief inquiry — What is the vocation of the Scholar (i — thus pre-supposes the solution of a third and very important question, besides those two which we have already answered; — this, namely, — Whence arises the difference of Classes in Society? — or, What is the source of the inequality existing among men?
It will be readily understood without previous ex planation, that tlu's word Class does not mean anything which has come to pass fortuitously and without our aid, but something determined and arranged by free choice according to a concerted purpose. For an in equality which occurs fortuitously and without our aid, i. e. for physical inequality, Nature is accountable; but inequality of classes seems to be a moral inequality, with respect to which, therefore, the question naturally arises, — By what right do different classes exist?
Attempts have often been made to answer this question; and proceeding merely on the grounds of experience, the numerous purposes which are accom plished by such a division and the many advantages which are gained by it have been as rhapsodically enumerated as they are eagerly laid hold of; but by such means any other question may sooner be answered than the one we have proposed. The advantage of a certain disposition of things does not prove its justice; and we did not propose the historical question, — What purpose had man in this arrangement? — but the moral question, — Whether it was lawful for him to bring it about, whatever purpose he might have had in view by so doing. The question must be answered on the principles of Reason, pure as well as practical; and such an answer has, so far as I know, never yet been even attempted. To prepare for it, I must lay down a few general scientific principles.
All the laws of Reason are founded in our spiritual nature; but they only arrive at empirical consciousness through an experience to which they are applicable; and the more frequently such application takes place, the more intimately do they become interwoven with this consciousness. It is thus with all the laws of Reason; — it is thus especially with the practical, which do not, like the theoretical, terminate in a mere act of judgment, but proceed to an activity without us, and announce themselves to consciousness under the form of impulses. The foundation of all impulses lies in our own being: — but not more than the foundation.
Every impulse must be awakened by experience if it is to arrive at consciousness, and must be developed by numerous experiences of the same kind, if it is to be come a desire, and its appropriate gratification a want of man. Experience, however, does not depend upon ourselves, and therefore neither does the awakening nor the development of our impulses.
The independent Non-Ego as the foundation of ex perience, or Nature, — is manifold; no one part of it is perfectly the same as another; — this principle is maintained and even strictly proved in the Kantian philosophy. It follows from this, that its action on the human mind is of a very varied character, and calls forth the capacities and talents of men nowhere in the same manner. By these different ways in which Nature acts upon man, are individuals, and what we call their peculiar, empirical, individual character, de termined; — and in this respect we may say that no individual is perfectly like another in his awakened and developed capacities. Hence arises a physical in equality, to which we not only have not contributed, but which we even cannot remove by our freedom; for before we can, through freedom, resist the influence of Nature upon us, we must first have arrived at the consciousness and use of this freedom; but we cannot arrive thereat except by that awakening and unfolding of our impulses which does not depend upon our selves.
But the highest law of man and of all reasonable beings, — the law of perfect internal harmony, of abso lute identity, — in so far as this law becomes positive and material by means of special individual applications, demands that all the faculties of the individual shall be uniformly developed, — all his capacities cultivated to the highest possible perfection; — a demand, the object of which cannot be realized by the mere law itself, because the fulfilment of the law, as we have said, does not depend upon the law itself, nor upon our will which is determinable by the law, but upon the free action of Mature.
If we apply this law to society, — if we make the supposition that there are many reasonable beings in existence, — then the demand that all the faculties of the individual should be uniformly cultivated includes also the demand that all reasonable beings should be cultivated uniformly with each other. If the faculties of all are essentially the same. — as they are, since they areair*ftjcmdcd-upon pure Reason, — if they are all to be cultivated after a similar fashion, which is what the law requires, — then the result of such a cultivation must be similar capacities in every respect equal to each other: — and thus by another way we arrive at the ultimate end of all society, as declared in our former lecture, — the perfect equality of all its members.
We have already shown in our last lecture that the mere law cannot, of itself, realize the object of this de mand, any more than it can realize that of the demand on which our present lecture is founded. But Free-Will can and ought to strive constantly to approach nearer this ultimate end.
And here the activity of the social impulse comes into play, which also proceeds upon this same purpose, and is the means of the requisite continual approxima tion to it. The social impulse, or the impulse towards mutual cooperation with free reasonable beings as such, includes the two following impulses: the communicative impulse, — that is, the impulse to impart to others that form of culture which we ourselves possess most com pletely, to make others, as far as possible, like ourselves, like the better self within us; — and the receptive im pulse, — that is, the impulse to receive from others that form of culture which they possess most completely, and in which we are deficient. Thus the defect _of.Nature injjn in tipwnrlinrl ~hy TJnnnnn nnrl Frpprlpjnj the partial culture which Nature has given to the individual be comes the property of the whole race, and the race in turn bestows all its culture upon him; — it gives him all the culture which is possible under the determining conditions of Nature, if we suppose that all the indi viduals who are possible under these conditions do actually exist. Nature cultivates each individual only in part; but she bestows culture at every point where she encounters reasonable beings. Reason unites these points, presents to Nature a firmly compacted and ex tended front, and compels her to cultivate the^Race at least in all its particular capacities, since she will not bestow that culture upon the Individual. Reason has already, by means of the social impulse, provided for the equal distribution of the culture thus acquired among the individual members of society, and will provide for it still further; for the sway of Nature does not extend here.
Reason will take care that each individual receive from the hands of society, the whole and complete cultivation which he cannot obtain immediately from Nature. Society will gather together the possessions of every individual member into a common fund for the free use of all, and thus multiply them by the number of those who share their advantages; the deficiencies of each individual will be borne by the com munity, and will thus be reduced to an infinitely small quantity: — or, to express this in another form more generally applicable, — the aim of all culture of human capacity is_Jr> s^bjor.t Nature (as I have defined this expression) to Reason; to place Experience, in so far as it is not dependent on the laws of our perceptive faculties, in harmony with our necessary practical ideas of Reason. Thus Reason stands in continual strife with Mature. This warfare can never come to an end, unless we were to become gods; but the influence of Nature can and ought to be gradually weakened, — the dominion of Reason constantly made more powerful; — so that the latter shall gain victory after victory over the former. One individual may perhaps struggle successfully against Nature at his own particular point of contact with her, while at all other points he may be completely subject to her sway. But now society is combined like one man: what the individual could not accomplish by himself, all are enabled to perform by the combined powers of the community. Each indeed strives singly, but the enfeeblement of Nature which is the result of the common struggle, and the partial triumph which each gains over her in his own department, come to the aid of all. Thus even from the physical inequality of individuals arises a new security for the bond which unites them all in one body; the pressure of individual wants, and the still sweeter impulse to supply the wants of others, bind them more closely together; and Nature has strength ened the power of Reason, even while she attempted to weaken it.
Thus far everything proceeds in its natural order: We have found different characters, various in the kind and degree of their cultivation; but we have as yet no different classes, for we have not yet pointed out any special determination of free activity, — any voluntary selection of a particular kind of culture. I say, we have not yet been able to produce any special determination of free activity; — but let not this be erroneously or partially understood. The social im pulse, considered generally, addresses itself to freedom only; it merely instigates, — it does not compel. We may oppose, and even subdue it; — we may, through misanthropic selfishness, separate ourselves from our fellow-men, and refuse to receive anything at the hands of society, that we may not have to render back any thing in return; — we may, from rude animalism, for get the freedom of society, and look upon it only as something subject to our will, because we have no higher idea of ourselves than as subjects of the power of Nature. But this is not the question here. On the supposition that man obeys the social impulse generally, it is necessary that under its guidance he should impart the advantages which he possesses to those who have need of them, and receive those of which he himself stands in need from those who possess them. And for this purpose there is no need of any 1 particular determination or modification of the social )' impulse by a new act of freedom, — which is all that I meant to affirm.
The characteristic distinction is this: — Under the conditions now laid down, I as an individual give my self up to Nature for the one-sided cultivation of some particular capacity, because / must do so; I have no choice in the matter, but blindly follow her leading.
I take all that she gives me, but I cannot take that which she does not give; I neglect no opportunity of cultivating myself as completely as I can, but I do not create such opportunity, because I cannot create it. If, on the contrary, I choose a class, — a class being understood to be something chosen by free will, as it should be according to the common use of language, — if I choose a class, I must indeed have first become subject to Nature before it was possible for me to choose; for to that end different impulses must be awakened within me, different capacities elevated into consciousness; but in the choice itself I determine henceforward to pay no respect to certain motives which Nature may perchance offer to me, in order that I may apply all my powers and all the gifts of Nature to the exclusive development of one or more particular capacities; and by the particular capacity to the cul- \ tivation of which I thus devote myself by free choice, will my class or condition in society be determined. ) The question arises, — Ought I to choose a parti cular class? or, if the demand be not imperative, — Dare I devote myself to a particular class, — that is, to a partial culture? If I ought, — if it be absolute duty, then it must be possible to educe from the highest laws of Eeason an impulse directed towards the selec tion of a class, as we may educe from these laws the impulse towards society in general. If I only may do this, then it will not be possible to educe such an im pulse from the laws of Reason, but only a permission; — and for the determination of the will to the actual choice thus permitted by Reason, some empirical data must be assigned, by means of which not a law, but T only a rule of prudence, may be laid down. How this matter stands will be seen upon further inquiry.
The law says, — "Cultivate all thy faculties com pletely and uniformly, so far as thou canst;" — but it does not determine whether I shall exercise them di rectly upon Mature, or indirectly through intercourse with my fellow-men. On this point the choice is thus left entirely to my own prudence. The law says, — " Subdue Nature to thy purposes;" — but it does not say that if I should find Nature already sufficiently adapted to certain of my purposes by other men, I should nevertheless myself adapt it to all the possible purposes of humanity. Hence the law does not forbid me to choose a particular class; but neither does it enjoin me to do so, for precisely the same reason which prevents the prohibition. I am now in the field of Free -Will; I may choose a class, and I must now look out for quite other grounds of determination than those which are derived immediately from Reason, on which to resolve the question, — not "What class shall I choose?" — (of this we shall speak at another time) — but, " Shall I choose any class at all, or shall I not?"
As things are at present, man is born in society. He finds Nature no longer rude, but already prepared in many respects for his purposes. He finds a multi tude of men employed in its different departments, cultivating it on every side for the use of rational beings. He finds much already done which otherwise he would have had to do for himself. He might per haps enjoy a very pleasant existence without ever ap plying his own powers immediately to Nature; he might even attain a kind of perfection by the enjoy ment of what society has already accomplished, and in particular of what it has done for its own cultivation. But this may not be; — he must at least endeavour to repay his debt to society; he must take his place among men; he must at least strive to forward in some respect the perfection of the race which has done so much for him.
And to that end two ways present themselves: either he may determine to cultivate Nature on all sides; — and, in this case, he would perhaps require to apply his whole life, or many lives if he had them, even to acquire a knowledge of what has been already done before him by others, and of what remains to do; and thus his life would be lost to the human race, — not indeed from evil intent, but from lack of wisdom: — or he may take up some particular department of Nature, with the previous history of which he is per haps best acquainted, and for the cultivation of which he is best adapted by natural capacity and social training, and devote himself exclusively to that. In the latter case, he leaves his own culture in its other departments to Society, whose culture in that depart ment which he has chosen for himself is the sole object of his resolves, his labours, his desires; — and thus he has selected a class, and his doing so is perfectly legiti mate. But still this act of freedom is, like all others, subject to the universal moral law, in so far as that law is the rule of our actions; or to the categorical imperative, which I may thus express: — " Never per mit the determinations of thy will to be at variance with thyself;" — a law which, as expressed in this for mula, may be fulfilled by every one, since the determi nations of our will do not depend upon Nature, but on ourselves alone.
The choice of a class is a free choice; therefore no man whatever ought to be compelled to any particular class, nor to be shut out from any. Every individual action, as well as every general arrangement, which proceeds on such compulsion, is unjust. It is unwise to force a man into one class, or to exclude him from another; because no man can have a perfect knowledge of the peculiar capacities of another, and because a member is often lost to society altogether, in conse quence of being thrust into an improper place. But laying this out of view, such a course is unjust in itself, for it sets our deed itself in opposition to our practical conception of it. We wish to give society a member, and we make a tool; we wish to have a free fellow -workman in the great business of life, and we create an enslaved and passive instrument; we destroy the man within him, so far as we can do so by our ar rangements, and are guilty of an injury both to him and to society.
We make choice of a particular class, we select » one particular talent for more extended cultivation, — only that we may thereby be enabled to render back to society what it has done for us; — and thus each of us is bound to make use of our culture for the ad vantage of society. No one has a right to labour only for his own enjoyment, to shut himself up from his fellow-men, and make his culture useless to them; for it is only by the labour of society that he has been placed in a position wherein he could acquire that culture; it is in a certain sense a product, a property of society; and he robs society of a property which belongs to it if he does not apply his culture to its use. It is the duty of every one, not only to endeavour to make himself useful to society generally, but also to direct all his eiforts, according to the best knowledge which he possesses, towards the ultimate object of society, — towards the ever-increasing ennoblement of the human race; — that is, to set it more and more at liberty from the bondage of Nature, constantly to increase its independence and spontaneous activity: — and thus, from the new inequality of classes a new equality arises — a uniform progress of culture in all individual men.
I do not say that human life is at any time such as I have now depicted it; but it ought to be so, according to our practical ideas of society and of the different classes it contains; and we may and ought to labour that it may become so in reality. How powerfully the Scholar in particular may contribute to this end, and how many means for its accomplishment he at his dis posal, we shall see at the proper time.
When we contemplate the idea now unfolded, even without reference to ourselves, we see around us a community in which no one can labour for himself without at the same time labouring for his fellow-men, or can labour for others without also labouring for himself; where the success of one member is the success of all, and the loss of one a loss to all: — a picture which, by the harmony it reveals in the manifold diversity of being, introduces a cordial feeling of satisfaction to the mind, and powerfully raises the soul above the things of time.
But the interest is heightened when we turn our thoughts to ourselves, and contemplate ourselves as members of this great spiritual community. The feel ing of our dignity and our power is increased when 2 T we say, — what each of us may say, — " My existence is not in vain and aimless; I am a necessary link in the great chain of being which reaches from the awakening of the first man to perfect consciousness of his existence, onward through eternity; all the great and wise and noble that have ever appeared among men, — those benefactors of the human race whose names I find recorded in the world's history, and the many others whose benefits have outlived their names, — all have laboured for me; I have entered into their labours; I follow their footsteps on this earth where they dwelt, where they scattered blessings as they went along. I may, as soon as I will, assume the sublime task which they have resigned, of making our common brotherhood ever wiser and happier; I may continue to build where they had to cease their labours; I may bring nearer to its completion the glorious temple which they had to leave unfinished."
" But" — some one may say — •" I too, like them, must rest from my labours." Oh! this is the sublimest thought of all! If I assume this noble task, I can never reach its end; and so surely as it is my vocation to assume it, I can never cease to act, and hence can never cease to be. That which men call Death cannot interrupt my activity; for my work must go on to its completion, and it cannot be completed in Time; — hence my existence is limited by no Time, and I am Eternal: — with the assumption of this great task, I have also laid hold of Eternity. I raise my head boldly towards the threatening rock, the raging flood, or the fiery tempest, and say — " I am Eternal, and I defy your might! Break all upon me! — and thou Earth, and thou Heaven, mingle in the wild tumult, and all ye elements, foam and fret yourselves, and crush in your conflict the last atom of the body which I call mine! — my WILL, secure in its own firm purpose, shall soar undisturbed and bold over the wreck of the universe: — for I have entered upon my vocation, and it is more enduring than ye are: it is ETERNAL, and I am ETERNAL like it."
( 212 ) LECTUEE IV.
1 HAVE to-day to speak of the Vocation of the Scholar. I stand in a peculiar relation to this subject. All, or most of you, have chosen knowledge as the business of your lives; and I have made the same choice: — all of you, I presume, apply your whole energies, so that you may honourably fill the station to which you aspire; and I too have done, and do the like. I have to speak as a Scholar, before future Scholars, of the Scholar's vocation. I must examine the subject to its founda tion; exhaust it, if I can; hold back nothing in my representation of the truth. And if I discover for the Scholar a vocation most honourable, most lofty, and distinguished above that of all other classes of men, how is it possible for me to lay it before you without exceeding the limits of modest expression, — without seeming to undervalue other vocations, — without being apparently blinded by self-conceit? But I speak as a philosopher, whose duty it is strictly to define all his ideas. I cannot exclude this idea from the system of which it is a necessary part. I dare not keep back any part of the truth which I recognise. It still remains true; and modesty itself is subordinate to it: — it is a false modesty which is violated by truth. Let us then consider our subject in the first place with indifference, as if it had no relation to ourselves: — let us treat it as an idea belonging to a world quite foreign to our own. Let us look with the greater strictness to our arguments. Let us never forget, what I hope I have already impressed upon you with some degree of suc cess, that every station in life is necessary; that each deserves our respect; that not the station itself, but the worthy fulfilment of its duties, does honour to a man; and that we only merit esteem in so far as we approach nearest to the perfect performance of the duties assigned to us in the order of things; — that therefore the Scholar has reason to be of all others the most modest, because an aim is set before him of which he continually falls far short, — because he has a most elevated ideal to reach, which commonly he ap proaches only at the greatest distance.
There are many tendencies and powers in man, and it is the vocation of each individual to cultivate all his powers, so far as he is able to do so. Among others is the social impulse; which offers him a new and peculiar form of cultivation, — that for society, — and affords an unusual facility for culture in general. There is nothing prescribed to man on this subject; — whether he shall cultivate all his faculties as a whole, unaided and by nature alone, — or mediately through society. The first is difficult, and in no wise advances society; —hence in the social state each individual rightfully selects his own part of the common cultivation, leaves the rest to his fellows, and expects that they will allow him to share the benefits of their culture, as he permits them to participate in the advantages of his own: — and this is the origin and ground of the distinction of classes in society.
Such are the results arrived at in our previous dis courses. For an arrangement of these different classes according to the ideas of Pure Reason, which is quite possible, a foundation must be sought in a complete enumeration of all the natural capacities and wants of man; — not, however, of his merely artificial wants. A particular class in society may be devoted to the cultivation of each faculty, or, what is the same thing, to the satisfaction of each want founded on an original impulse in human nature. We reserve this inquiry for another occasion, that we may now enter upon one which lies nearer to us.