its own proper home, and betake itself to the path which leads toward that much wished-for Unknown, whose light streams upon it from afar. Towards that unknown it is unceasingly attracted; in meditating upon it, in striving after it, it employs its best spiritual power.
This impulse towards an obscure, imperfectly dis cerned spiritual object, is commonly named Genius; — and it is so named on good grounds. It is a super natural instinct in man, attracting him to a super natural object, — thus indicating his relationship to the spiritual world, and his original home in that world. Whether we suppose that this impulse, which, absolutely considered, should prompt to the pursuit of the Divine Idea in its primitive unity and indivisibility, does originally, and at the first appearance of any individual in the \vorld of sense, so shape itself that this individual can only lay hold of the Idea at one particular point of contact, and only from that point penetrate gradually to the other parts of the spiritual universe; — or whether we hold that this peculiar point of contact for the individual only comes into existence during the first development of individual power on the manifold materials which are offered to it, and always occurs in that material which chance presents at the precise moment when the power is sufficiently developed; — which of these opinions soever we adopt, still, so far as its outward manifestation is concerned, the impulse which shows itself in man and urges him onward, will always exhibit itself as an impulse towards some particular side of the one indivisible Idea; or, as we may express it, after the investigations of our last lecture, without fear of being misunderstood, — as an impulse towards one particular idea in the sphere of all possible ideas; or if we give to this impulse the name of Genius, then Genius will always appear as a specific Genius, for philosophy, poetry, natural science, legis lation, or the like, — never clothed with an absolute character, as Genius in the abstract. According to the first opinion, this specific Genius possesses its distin guishing character as an innate peculiarity; according to the second, it is originally a universal Genius, which is only determined to a particular province by accident of culture. The decision of this controversy lies beyond the limits of our present task.
In whatever way it is decided, two things are evi dent: — in general, the necessity of previous spiritual culture, and of preliminary instruction in the manage ment and ordering of ideas and knowledge, so that Genius, if present, may disclose itself; and, in parti cular, the necessity of bringing within the reach of every man, ideas of many different kinds, so that either the inborn specific Genius may come into contact with its appropriate material, or the originally universal Genius may freely choose one particular object from among the many. Even in this preliminary spiritual culture, future Genius reveals itself; for its earliest impulse is directed towards Knowledge only as Know ledge, — merely for the sake of knowing; — and thus manifests itself solely as a desire to know.
But even when this impulse has visibly manifested itself, either in the active investigation of some attrac tive problem or in happy anticipations of its solution, still persevering industry, uninterrupted labour, are imperatively requisite. The question has often been raised, whether Genius or Industry be more essential in science. I answer, both must be united: the one is but little worth without the other. Genius is nothing more than the effort of the Idea to assume a definite form. The Idea, however, has in itself neither body nor substance, but only shapes for itself an embodiment out of the scientific materials which environ it in Time, of which Industry is the sole purveyor. On the other hand, Industry can do nothing more than provide the elements of this embodiment; — to unite them organi cally, and to breathe into them a living spirit, is not the work of Idustry, but belongs only to the Idea revealing itself as Genius. To impress its image on the surrounding world is the object for which the living Idea dwelling in the True Scholar seeks for itself an embodiment. It is to become the highest life-principle, the innermost soul of the world around it; — it must therefore assume the same forms which are borne by the surrounding world, establish itself in these forms as its own proper dwelling-place, and with a free authority regulate the movements of all their individual parts according to the natural purposes of each, even as a healthy man can set in motion his own limbs. As for him with whom the indwelling Genius proceeds but half-way in its embodiment, and stops there. — whether it be because the paths of Learned Culture are inaccessible to him, or because, from idle ness or presumptuous self-conceit, he disdains to avail himself of them, — between him and his age, and con sequently between him and every possible age, and the whole human race in every point of its progress, an impassable gulf is fixed, and the means of mutual influ ence are cut off. Whatever may now dwell within him, — or, more strictly speaking, whatever he might have acquired in the course of his progressive culture, — he is unable to explain clearly either to himself or others, or to make it the deliberate rule of his actions and thus realize it in the world. He wants the two necessary elements of the true life of the Idea, — clearness and freedom. Clearness; — his fundamental principle not being thoroughly distinct to his own mind, he cannot follow it in its course, and keep it in view throughout all its modifications, from its innermost source where it is poured down immediately from the Divinity upon his soul, to all those points at which it has to manifest and embody itself in the visible world, and through all the different forms which, under every possible condition, it must assume. Freedom; — which springs from clear ness, and can never exist without it: for he cannot perceive at a glance the form which the Idea must assume in every phase of reality which presents itself, nor the proper means to the attainment of that object; — nor has he those means at his free disposal. He is commonly called a visionary, — and he is rightly so called. On the contrary, he in whom the Idea perfectly reveals itself, looks out from it, as his peculiar point of view, upon all reality and thoroughly penetrates the nature of outward things by the light of the Idea.
Through the Idea itself he understands all its relative objects, — how they have become what they are, what in them is complete, what is still awanting, and how the want must be supplied; and he has, besides, the means of supplying that want completely in his power. The embodiment of the Idea is then for the first time completed in him, and he is a matured Scholar; — the point where the Scholar passes into the free Artist is the point of perfection for the former. Hence it is evident that even when Genius has shown itself, and visibly become a self-forming life of the Idea, untiring Industry is necessary to its perfect growth. To show that at the point where the Scholar reaches perfection the creative existence of the Artist begins; that this, too, requires Industry, that it is infinite; — lies not within our present inquiry; we only allude to it in passing.
But what did I say? — that even after the manifes tation of Genius, Industry is requisite? — as if I would call forth Industry by my prescription, my advice, my demonstration of its necessity, and thus expected to rouse to exertion those in whom it is wanting? Rather let us say, that where Genius is really present, Industry spontaneously appears, grows with a steady growth, and ceaselessly impels the advancing Scholar on towards perfection; — where, on the contrary, Industry is not to be found, it is not Genius nor the impulse of the Idea which has shown itself, but, in place of it, only some very mean and unworthy motive.
The Idea is not the ornament of the individual (for, strictly speaking, there is no such thing as individu ality in the Idea), but it seeks to flow forth in the whole human race, to animate it with new life, and to mould it after its own image. This is the distinctive character of the Idea; and whatever is without this character is not the Idea. Wherever, therefore, it attains an existence, it irresistibly strives after this universal activity, not through the life of the indi vidual, but through its own essential life. It thus impels every one in whom it has an abode, even against the will and wish of his sensuous, personal nature, and as though he were a passive instrument, B b forward to this universal activity, — to the skill which is demanded in its exercise, and to the Industry which is necessary for the acquisition of that skill. It never ceases from spontaneous activity and self-development, feeling no need of outward incentive thereto, until it has attained such a living and efficient form as it is possible for it to attain under these conditions. Wher ever a man, having availed himself of the existing and accessible means for the acquirement of Learned Cul ture — (for the second case, where those means do not exist, or are inaccessible, docs not belong to our present subject) — wherever, I say, in the first case, a man remains inactive, satisfied with the persuasion that he is in possession of something resembling the Idea or Genius, — then in him there is neither Idea nor Genius, but only a vain ostentatious disposition, which assumes a singular and fantastic costume in order to attract attention. Such a disposition shows itself at once, in self-gratulatory contemplation of its own parts and endowments, dwelling on these in com placent indolence, commonly accompanied by con temptuous disparagement of the personal qualities and gifts of others; while, on the contrary, he who is restlessly urged on by the Idea has no time left to think of his own personality; — lost with all his powers in the object he has in view, he never weighs his own capacities of grasping it against those of others.
Genius, where it is present, see its object only — never sees itself; — as the sound eye fixes itself upon some thing beyond it, but never looks round upon its own brightness. In such an one the Idea does certainly not abide. What is it, then, that animates him, — that moves him to those eager and active exertions which we behold? It is intense pride and self-conceit, and the desperate purpose, despite of natural disquali fication, to assume a character which does not belong to him; — these animate, impel, and spur him on, and stand to him in the room of Genius. And what is it which he produces, which appears to the common eye (itself neither clear nor pure, and in particular incapable of appreciating the sole criteria of all true Ideals — clearness, freedom, depth, artistic form) as if it were the Idea? — what is it? Either something which he has himself invented or which has occurred to him by accident, which, indeed, he does not under stand, but which he hopes, nevertheless, may appear new, striking, paradoxical, and therefore blaze forth far and wide; — with this he commits himself to the chance of fortune, trusting that in the sequel he him self or some one else may discover a meaning therein. Or else he has borrowed it from others, — cunningly distorting, disarranging, and unsettling it, so that its original form cannot easily be recognised; and by way of precaution depreciating the source whence it came, as utterly barren and unprofitable, lest the unpreju diced observer might be led to inquire whether he has not possibly obtained from thence that which he calls his own.
In one word, — self-contemplation, self-admiration, and self-flattery, although the last may remain unex pressed, and even carefully shrouded from the eye of every beholder, — these, and the indolence and disdain of the treasures already gathered together in the store houses of learning which spring from these, are sure signs of the absence of true Genius; whilst forgetful -ness of self in the object pursued, entire devotion to that object, and inability to entertain any thought of self in its presence, are the inseparable accompani ments of true Genius. It follows that true Genius in every stage of its growth, but particularly during its early development, is marked by amiable modesty and retiring bashfulness. Genius knows least of all about itself; it is there, and works and rules with silent power long before it comes to consciousness of its own nature. Whoever is constantly looking back upon himself, to see how it stands with him, of what powers he can boast, and who is himself the first discoverer of these, — in him truly there is nothing great.
Should there then be here among you any opening Genius, far be it from me to wound its native modesty and diffidence by any general invitation to you to examine yourselves, and see whether or not you are in possession of the Idea; — I would much rather earnestly dissuade you from such self-examination. And that this advice may not seem to you the sug gestion of mere pedantic school- wisdom, and perhaps of extravagant caution, but may approve itself to your minds as arising from absolute necessity, I would add that this question can neither be answered by yourselves, nor can you obtain any sure answer to it from any one else; that therefore truth is not elicited by such a premeditated self-examination, but, on the contrary, the youth is taught a self -contemplation and conceited brooding over his own nature, through which the man becomes at length an intellectual and moral ruin. There are many signs by which we may know that the Genius whicli possibly lies concealed in a Student has not yet declared itself, — and we shall afterwards find occasion in the sequel to point out the most remarkable of these; — but there is only one decisive criterion by which we may determine whether Genius has existed or has never existed in him; and that one decisive criterion can only be applied after the result has become apparent. Whoever has really become a perfect Scholar and Artist, in the sense in which we have used these words, — grasping the world in his clear, penetrating Idea, and able to impress that Idea upon the world at every point; — he has had Genius, he has been inspired by the Idea; and this may now confidently be said of him: — he who, not withstanding the most diligent study, has come to years of maturity without having raised himself to the Idea, — he has been without genius, without com munion with the Idea; and this may henceforth be said of him: — but of him who is still upon the way, neither of these judgments can be pronounced.
This disposition of things, which is as wise as it is necessary, leaves but one course open to the youthful student who cannot know with certainty whether or not Genius dwells within him, — this, namely, that he continue to act as though there were resident within him that which must at last come to light; that he subject himself to all conditions, and place himself in all circumstances, in which, if present, it may come to light; that, with untiring Industry and true devo tion of his whole mind, he avail himself of all the means which Learned Culture offers to him. In the worst case, — if at the termination of his studies he find that out of the mass of learning which he has accumu lated not one spark of the Idea has beamed upon him. there yet remains for him this consciousness at least, which is more indispensable to man than even Genius B b 2 itself, and without which the possessor of the greatest Genius is far less worthy than he, — the consciousness that if he has not risen higher, no blame can attach itself to him, — that the point at which he has stopped short is the place which God has assigned to him, whose law he will joyfully obey. No one need pride himself upon Genius, for it is the free gift of God; but of honest Industry and true devotion to his destiny any man may well be proud; indeed this thorough integrity of purpose is itself the Divine Idea in its most common form, and no really honest mind is with out communion with God.
The knowledge which he has acquired by means of this sincere effort after something higher, will render him always a suitable instrument in the hands of the more perfect Scholar, — of him who has attained pos session of the Idea. To him he will unhesitatingly submit without grudge or jealousy, — without any unsatisfied struggle after an elevation for which he was not formed; his guidance he will follow with a true loyalty which shall have become to him a second nature, and thus he will obtain a sure consciousness of having fulfilled his vocation, as the last and highest destiny to which, in any sphere of life, man can attain.
(283) OF INTEGRITY IN STUDY.
HE who is to become a True Scholar, so that in him the Divine Idea of the world may attain to such a measure of clearness and influence over the surround ing world as is possible in his circumstances, must be laid hold of by the Idea itself through its own in herent power, and by it be urged forward unceasingly towards the wished-for end.
In our portraiture of the Nature of the True Scholar, we are now engaged with the Progressive Scholar, or the Student.
If the Student be really inspired by the Idea, — or, what is the same thing, if he possess Genius and true talent, he is already far above all our counsels; Genius will fulfil its vocation in him without our aid, and even without his own concurrence: — of this we have spoken sufficiently in our last lecture.
But, as we have likewise seen in the same lecture, the Progressive Scholar can never determine for him self whether or not he possesses Gen1' as in our sense of the term, nor can any one else determine it for him: — hence there is nothing left for him, but with sincere and perfect Integrity so to act, as if Genius, which must ultimately come to light, lay now concealed within him. True Genius, when present, mani fests itself precisely in the same way as does this Integrity in Study; in appearance, both assume the same form, and cannot be distinguished the one from the other.
Turning away from the tests of Genius which, in the Progressive Scholar at least, are inscrutable, we have now only to exhaust the indications of Integrity in Study, and we shall then have completed the por traiture of the true follower of learning. The honest Scholar is to us the only True Scholar: the two ideas flow into each other.
Integrity in the abstract, as we have also remarked before, is itself a Divine Idea; it is the Divine Idea in its most general form, embracing all men. Hence, like the Idea itself, it acts by its own inherent power; — it forms itself, as we said before of Genius, without aid from the personal feeling of the individual, — nay, annihilating his self-love as far as possible, — into an independent life in man, irresistibly urging him for ward, and prevading all his thoughts and actions. His actions, I say; for the idea of Integrity is an immediately practical idea, determining the outward, visible, free doings of man; — whereas the influence of Genius is, in the first place, internal, — affecting spiri tual insight.- He who truly possesses Genius must be successful in his studies: to him light and knowledge will spring up on all sides from the objects of his contemplation. He who possesses Integrity in Study, of him this success cannot be so surely predicted; but should it not follow, he will at least be blameless, for he will neglect nothing within his power which may enable him to attain it; and even if he be not at last a sharer in the triumph, he shall at all events have deserved to be so.
Integrity, as a living and governing principle, rises above the person of him who is animated by it, and regards this person as standing under a definite law, — as existing only for a certain purpose, and as a means to a higher end. Man shall be and do something; his temporal life shall leave behind it in the spiritual world an imperishable and eternal result, — a particular re sult arising from the life of each individual, belonging to him alone and demanded of him alone. It is thus that the true-minded man looks upon all personal Life in Time, and particularly on that life which lies near est to him, — namely, his own. He in whom this Integrity has become a living idea cannot conceive of human life in any other way than this; — from this principle he sets forth, to it he constantly returns, and by it he regulates all his other modes of thought. Only in so far as he obeys this law and fulfils this purpose, which he recognises as his being's end and aim, is he satisfied with himself: everything in him which is not directed to this high end, — which is not evidently a means to its attainment, he despises, hates, desires to have swept away. He looks upon his in dividual person as a thought of the Deity; and thus his vocation — the design of his being — is to him as a purpose of God himself. This, and nothing else, is the idea of Integrity, whether he who is ruled by it calls it by this name or by another.
Success cannot indeed be certainly predicted of mere Integrity as such, either in study or in any other purpose which it may propose to itself; but in all its pursuits it will surely display the independent power of the Idea pressing steadily forward to its mark; and of the true-minded man it may confidently be said, that in Integrity itself, his defence and support, he will find a noble reward. In advancing on the path of rectitude, it will become continually less needful for him to admonish, to arouse himself to the struggle against recurring evil desires; for the true feeling, the legitimate mode of thought, will spontaneously reveal itself to him, and become his ruling principle, — his second nature. Whatever thou doest, do it with In tegrity: if thou studiest, let it guide thy studies; and then, as to whether thou shalt prosper in what thou doest, — leave that to God; — thou hast most surely left it to Him, when thou goest to work with true and honest purpose: with the attainment of that Integrity thou shalt also attain unbroken peace, inward cheerful ness, and an unstained conscience; and in so far thou shalt assuredly prosper.
We have said that the honest man in general looks upon his free personal life as unalterably determined by the eternal thought of God; — the honest student in particular looks upon himself as designed by the thought of God to this end, — that the Divine Idea of the constitution of the world may enter his soul, shine in him with steady lustre, and through him maintain a definite influence on the surrounding world. Thus does he conceive of his vocation; for in this lies the essential Mature of the Scholar: — so surely as he has entered upon his studies with Integrity, i.e. with the persuasion that God has given a purpose to his life, and that he must direct all his free actions towards the fulfilment of that purpose, — so surely has he made the supposition that it is the Divine Will that he should become a Scholar. It matters not whether we have chosen this condition for ourselves with freedom and foresight, or others have chosen it for us, placed us in the way of preparation for it, and closed every other condition of life against us. How could any one, at the early age at which this choice of a condition usually occurs, and in most cases must occur, have attained the mature wisdom by which to decide for himself whether or not he is possessed of the as yet untried and undeveloped capacity for knowledge? When we come to exercise our own understanding, the choice of a condition is already made, — it has been made with out our aid, because we were incapable at the time of rendering any aid in the matter; and now we cannot turn back, — a necessity precisely similar to the un alterable conditions under which our freedom is placed by the Divine Will. If an error should occur in the choice thus made for us by others, the fault is not ours; we could not decide whether or not an error had been committed, and could not venture to presuppose one: if it has occurred, then it is our business, so far as in us lies, to correct it. In any case, it is the Divine Will that every one, in the station where he has been placed by necessity, should do all things which properly belong to that station. We have met together to study; hence it is assuredly the Divine Will that we consider ourselves as Students, and apply to ourselves all that is comprehended in that idea.
This thought, with its indestructible certainty, en ters and fills the soul of every honest Student: — this, namely — " I, this sent, this expressly commissioned individual as I may now call myself, am actually here, have entered into existence for this cause and no other, — that the eternal counsel of God in this universe may through me be seen of men in another, hitherto un known light, — may be made clearly manifest, and shine forth with inextinguishable lustre over the world; and this phase of the Divine Thought, thus bound up with my personality, is the only true living being within me; all else, though looked upon even by myself as belonging to my being, is dream, shadow, nothing; — this alone is imperishable and eternal within me; all else shall again disappear in the void from which it has seemingly, but never really come forth." This thought fills his whole soul: whether or not it be itself clearly conceived and expressed, every thing else which is there clearly conceived, expressed, wished, or willed, is referred back to it as to its first condition, can only be explained by it, and only con sidered possible on the supposition of its truth.
Through this fundamental principle of all his thoughts, he himself, and Knowledge, the object of his activity, become to him, before all other things, honourable and holy. He himself becomes honourable and holy. Not, by any means, that he dwells with self-complacent pride on the superiority of his vocation — to share in some degree the counsel of God and reveal it to the world — over other less distinguished callings, invidiously weighing them against each other, and thus esteeming himself as of more value than other men. If one form of human destiny appears to us superior to another, it is not because it offers a better field for personal distinction, but because in it the Divine Idea reveals itself with greater clearness. The individual man has no peculiar value beyond that of faithfully fulfilling his vocation, whatever that may be; and of this all can partake, irrespective of the different natures of their callings. Moreover, the Pro gressive Scholar does not even know whether he shall attain the proper end of his studies, the possession of the Idea; nor, therefore, if that noble vocation be really his; — he is only bound to suppose the possibility of it. The perfect Scholar — of whom we do not now speak — when he has the completed result in his posses sion, can then indeed with certainty know his vocation; but even in him the cravings of the Idea for more extended manifestation still continue, and shall continue while life endures, so that he shall never have time to muse over the superiority of his vocation, even were such musings not utterly vain in themselves. All pride is founded on what we think we are, — are in settled and perfect being; and thus pride is in itself vain and contradictory, — for that which is our true being, — that to which endless growth belongs, — is precisely that to which we have not yet attained. Our true and underived being in the Divine Idea always shows itself as a desire of progress, and hence as dissatisfaction with our present state; and thus the Idea makes us truly modest, and bows us down to the dust before its majesty. By his pride itself, the proud man shows that, more than any one else, he has need of humility; for while he thinks of himself that he is something, he shows by his pride that he is really nothing.
Hence, in the thought to which we gave utterance, the Student is holy and honourable to himself above everything else, — not in respect of what he is, but of what he ought to be, and what he evermore must strive c c to become. The peculiar self-abasement of a man con sists in this, — when he makes himself an instrument of a temporary and perishable purpose, and deigns to spend care and labour on something else than the Imperishable and Eternal. In this view, every man should be honourable and holy to himself, — and so, too, should the Scholar.
To what end, then, O Student, dost thou give to Knowledge this attention, which, be it great or small, still costs thee some effort, — wherefore concentrate thy thoughts here, when thou wouldst rather let them rove abroad, — wherefore deny thyself so many enjoyments, for which, nevertheless, the appetite is not want ing in thee? Dost thou answer, — "That I may not some day come to want; — that I may acquire a suffi cient maintenance, a respectable competency, whereby I may satisfy myself with good things; — that my fellow-citizens may respect me, and that I may more easily move them to the fulfilment of my purposes"? I ask, — Who then is this thou, in whose future nursing and comfort thou art so keenly interested, and for whom thou dost now toil so hard and sacrifice so much? It is as yet quite uncertain whether it ever reach this hoped-for land of self - gratification: — but suppose it should do so, and even enjoy the pampering thou hast provided for it during a series of years, what will be the end of it all at last? All this nursing will have an end; the pampered body will sink and crumble into a heap of ashes; and for this wilt thou begin the monotonous, mechanical, often irksome business of life, and even add to its inherent bitterness by deliberating beforehand on the burden which it lays on thee? In such circumstances, I at least would rather begin at the end of the romance, and go down this day to the grave, into which sooner or later I must descend. Or dost thou answer thus, more praiseworthily in ap pearance at least, but not more profoundly, — " i will thereby become useful to my fellow-men and promote their welfare"? — then I ask, What end will thy use fulness serve? In a few years, of all whom thou desirest to serve, and whom I freely grant thou mayest serve, not one shall remain, — not one shall have the least need of thy services any more: thou hast spent thy labour on perishable things; — they disappear, and thou disappearest with them, and a time comes when every trace of thy existence shall be utterly effaced. Not so the true Student, who has brought Integrity with him to his task. " I am," he may say; " but as surely as I am, is my existence a thought of God, for He alone is the fountain of all being, and besides Him there is no being. Whatever I am, in and by this thought, I am before all Time, and do so remain, independent of all time and change. This thought will I strive to know, — to its fulfilment I will apply all my powers; — then shall they be employed on what is eternal, and their result shall last for ever. I am Eternal, and it is below the dignity of the Eternal to waste itself on things that perish."