By the establishment of this only true State, this firm foundation of internal peace, the possibility of foreign war, at least with other true states, is cut off. Even for its own advantage, even to prevent the thought of injustice, plunder, and violence entering the minds of its own citizens, and to leave them no possibility of gain, except by means of industry and diligence within their legitimate sphere of activity, every true state must forbid as strictly, prevent as carefully, compen sate as exactly, or punish as severely, any injury to the citizen of a neighbouring state, as to one of its own. This law concerning the security of neighbours is ne cessarily a law in every state that is not a robber-state; and by its operation the possibility of any just com plaint of one state against another, and consequently every case of self-defence among nations, is entirely pre vented. There are no necessary, permanent, and imme diate relations of states, as such, with each other, which might be productive of strife; there are, properly speak ing, only relations of the individual citizens of one state to the individual citizens of another; a state can be injured only in the person of one of its citizens; but such injury will be immediately compensated, and the ag grieved state satisfied. Between such states as these, there is no rank which can be insulted, no ambition which can be offended. No officer of one state is authorised to intermeddle in the internal affairs of an other, nor is there any temptation for him to do so, since he could not derive the slightest personal advan tage from any such influence. That a whole nation should determine, for the sake of plunder, to make war on a neighbouring country, is impossible; for in a state where all are equal, the plunder could not be come the booty of a few, but must be equally divided amongst all, and the share of no one individual could ever recompense him for the trouble of the war. Only where the advantage falls to the few oppressors, and the injury, the toil, the expense, to the countless herd of slaves, is a war of spoliation possible and conceivable. Not from states like themselves could such states as these entertain any fear of war; only from savages or barbarians, whose lack of skill to enrich themselves by industry impels them to plunder; or from enslaved nations, driven by their masters to a war from which they themselves will reap no advantage. In the for mer case, every individual state must, through the arts of civilization, already be the stronger party; against the latter danger, the common advantage of all de mands that they should strengthen themselves by union.
No free state can reasonably suffer in its vicinity as sociations governed by rulers whose interests would be promoted by the subjugation of adjacent nations, and whose very existence is therefore a constant source of danger to their neighbours; a regard for their own security compels all free states to transform all around them into free states like themselves; and thus, for the sake of their own welfare, to extend the empire of culture over barbarism, of freedom over slavery. Soon will the nations, civilized or enfranchised by them, find themselves placed in the same relation towards others still enthralled by barbarism or slavery, in which the earlier free nations previously stood towards them, and be compelled to do the same things for these which were previously done for themselves; and thus, of nex x 2 cessity, by reason of the existence of some few really free states, will the empire of civilization, freedom, and with it universal peace, gradually embrace the whole world.
Thus, from the establishment of a just internal or ganization, and of peace between individuals, there will necessarily result integrity in the external relations of nations towards each other, and universal peace among them. But the establishment of this just internal or ganization, and the emancipation of the first nation that shall be truly free, arises as a necessary consequence from the ever-growing oppression exercised by the ruling classes towards their subjects, which gradually becomes insupportable, — a progress which may be safely left to the passions and the blindness of those classes, even although warned of the result.
In these only true states all temptation to evil, nay, even the possibility of a man resolving upon a bad action with any reasonable hope of benefit to himself, will be entirely taken away; and the strongest possible motives will be offered to every man to make virtue the sole object of his will.
There is no man who loves evil because it is evil; it is only the advantages and enjoyments expected from it, and which, in the present condition of humanity, do actually, in most cases, result from it, that are loved. So long as this condition shall continue, so long as a premium shall be set upon vice, a fundamental improve ment of mankind, as a whole, can scarcely be hoped for. But in a civil society constituted as it ought to be, as reason requires it to be, as the thinker may easily describe it to himself although he may nowhere find it actually existing at the present day, and as it must necessarily exist in the first nation that really acquires true freedom, — in such a state of society, evil will present no advantages, but rather the most certain disadvantages, and self-love itself will restrain the ex cess of self-love when it would run out into injustice. By the unerring administration of such a state, every fraud or oppression practised upon others, ah1 selfaggrandizement at their expense, will he rendered not merely vain, and all labour so applied fruitless, but such attempts would even recoil upon their author, and assuredly bring home to himself the evil which he would cause to others. In his own land, — out of his own land, — throughout the whole world, he could find no one whom he might injure and yet go unpunished.
But it is not to be expected, even of a bad man, that he would determine upon evil merely for the sake of such a resolution, although he had no power to carry it into effect, and nothing could arise from it but in famy to himself. The use of liberty for evil purposes is thus destroyed; man must resolve either to re nounce his freedom altogether, and patiently to become a mere passive wheel in the great machine of the uni verse, or else to employ it for good. In soil thus pre pared, good will easily prosper. When men shall no longer be divided by selfish purposes, nor their powers exhausted in struggles with each other, nothing will remain for them but to direct their united strength against the one common enemy which still remains unsubdued, — resisting, uncultivated nature. No longer estranged from each other by private ends, they will necessarily combine for this common object; and thus there arises a body, everywhere animated by the same spirit, and the same love. Every misfortune to the individual, since it can no longer be a gain to any other individual, is a misfortune to the whole, and to each individual member of the whole; and is felt with the same pain, and remedied with the same activity, by every member; — every step in advance made by one man is a step in advance made by the whole race. Here, where the petty, narrow self of mere individual per sonality is merged in the more comprehensive unity of the social constitution, each man truly loves every other as himself, — as a member of this greater self which now claims all his love, and of which he himself is no more than a member, only capable of participating in a common gain or in a common loss. The strife of evil against good is here abolished, for here no evil can intrude. The strife of the good among themselves respecting good, disappears, now that they find it easy to love what is good for its own sake alone, and not because they are its authors; now that it has become of all-importance to them that truth should really be discovered, that the useful action should be done, — but not at all by whom this may be accomplished. Here each individual is at all times ready to join his strength to that of others, to make it subordinate to that of others; and whoever, according to the judgment of all, is most capable of accomplishing the greatest amount of good, will be supported by all, and his success re joiced in by all with an equal joy.
This is the purpose of our earthly life, which reason sets before us, and for the infallible attainment of which she is our pledge and security. This is not an object given to us only that we may strive after it for the mere purpose of exercising our powers on some thing great, the real existence of which we may per haps be compelled to abandon to doubt; it shall, it must be realized; there must be a time in which it shall be accomplished, as surely as there is a sensible world, and a race of reasonable beings, existent in time, with respect to which nothing earnest and rational is conceivable besides this purpose, and whose existence only becomes intelligible through this purpose. Unless all human life be metamorphosed into a mere theatrical display for the gratification of some malignant spirit, who has implanted in poor humanity this inextinguish able longing for the imperishable only to amuse himself with its ceaseless pursuit of that which it can never over take, — its ever-repeated efforts, Ixion-like, to embrace that which still eludes its grasp, — its restless hurrying onward in an ever-recurring circle; — only to mock its earnest aspirations with an empty, insipid farce; — unless the wise man, seeing through this mockery, and feeling an irrepressible disgust at continuing to play his part in it, is to cast life indignantly from him, and make the moment of his awakening to reason also that of his physical death; — unless these tilings are so, this purpose most assuredly must be attained. — Yes! it is attainable in life, and through life, for Reason com mands me to live: — it is attainable, for I am.
III.
III.
But when this end shall have been attained, and humanity at length stand at this point, what is there then to do? Upon earth there is no higher state than this; — the generation which has once reached it, can do no more than abide there, steadfastly maintain its position, die, and leave behind it descendants who shall do the like, and who will again leave behind them descendants to follow in their footsteps. Humanity would thus stand still upon her path; and therefore her earthly end cannot be her highest end. This earthly end is conceivable, attainable, and finite. Even although we consider all preceding generations as means for the production of the last complete one, we do not thereby escape the question of earnest reason, — to what end then is this last one? Since a human race has appeared upon earth, its existence there must certainly be in accordance with, and not contrary to, reason; and it must attain all the development which it is possible for it to attain on earth. But why should such a race have an existence at all, — why may it not as well have remained in the womb of chaos? Reason is not for the sake of existence, but existence for the sake of reason. An existence which does not of itself satisfy reason, and solve all her questions, cannot by possibility be the true being.
And, then, are those actions which are commanded by the voice of conscience, — by that voice whose dic tates I never dare to criticise, but must always obey in silence, — are those actions, in reality, always the means, and the only means, for the attainment of the earthly purpose of humanity? That I cannot do other wise than refer them to this purpose, and dare not have any other object in view to be attained by means of them, is incontestible. But then are these, my in tentions, always fulfilled?• — is it enough that we will what is good, in order that it may happen? Alas!
many virtuous intentions are entirely lost for this world, and others appear even to hinder the purpose which they were designed to promote. On the other hand, the most despicable passions of men, their vices and their crimes, often forward, more certainly, the good cause than the endeavours of the virtuous man. who will never do evil that good may come! It seems that the Highest Good of the world pursues its course of increase and prosperity quite independently of all human virtues or vices, according to its own laws, through an invisible and unknown power, — just as the heavenly bodies run their appointed course, inde pendently of all human effort; and that this power carries forward, in its own great plan, all human in tentions, good and bad, and, with superior power, employs for its own purpose that which was under taken for other ends.
Thus, even if the attainment of this earthly end could be the purpose of our existence, and every doubt which reason could start with regard to it were si lenced, yet would this end not be ours, but the end of that unknown power. We do not know, even for a moment, what is conducive to this end; and nothing is left to us but to give by our actions some material, no matter what, for this power to work upon, and to leave to it the task of elaborating this material to its own purposes. It would, in that case, be our high est wisdom not to trouble ourselves about matters that do not concern us; to live according to our own fancy or inclinations, and quietly leave the conse quences to that unknown power. The moral law within us would be void and superfluous, and absolutely un fitted to a being destined to nothing higher than this.
In order to be at one with ourselves, we should have to refuse obedience to that law, and to suppress it as a perverse and foolish fanaticism.
No! — I will not refuse obedience to the law of duty; — as surely as I live and am, I will obey, absolutely because it commands. This resolution shall be first and highest in my mind; that by which everything else is determined, but which is itself determined by nothing else; — this shall be the innermost principle of my spiritual life.
But, as a reasonable being, before whom a purpose must be set solely by its own will and determination, it is impossible for me to act without a motive and without an end. If this obedience is to be recognised by me as a reasonable service, — if the voice which de mands this obedience be really that of the creative reason within me, and not a mere fanciful enthusiasm, invented by my own imagination, or communicated to me somehow from without, — this obedience must have some consequences, must serve some end. It is evident that it does not serve the purpose of the world of sense; — there must, therefore, be a supersensual world, whose purposes it may promote.
The mist of delusion clears away from before my sight! I receive a new organ, and a new world opens before me. It is disclosed to me only by the law of reason, and answers only to that law in my spirit. I apprehend this world, — limited as I am by my sen suous view, I must thus name the unnameable — I apprehend this world merely in and through the end which is promised to my obedience; — it is in reality nothing else than this necessary end itself which reason annexes to the law of duty.
Setting aside everything else, how could I suppose that this law had reference to the world of sense, or that the whole end and object of the obedience which it demands is to be found within that world, since that which alone is of importance in this obedience serves no purpose whatever in that world, can never become a cause in it, and can never produce results. In the world of sense, which proceeds on a chain of material causes and eifects, and in which whatever happens depends merely on that which preceded it, it is never of any moment how, and with what motives and intentions, an action is performed, but only what the action is.
Had it been the whole purpose of our existence to produce an earthly condition of our race, there would only have been required an unerring mechanism by which our outward actions might have been deter mined, and we would not have needed to be more than wheels well fitted to the great machine. Free dom would have been, not merely in vain, but even obstructive; a virtuous will wholly superfluous. The world would, in that case, be most unskilfully directed, and attain the purposes of its existence by wasteful extravagance and circuitous byeways. Hadst thou, mighty World-Spirit! withheld from us this freedom, which thou art now constrained to adapt to thy plans with labour and contrivance; hadst thou rather at once compelled us to act in the way in which thy plans required that we should act, thou wouldst have at- Y y MO THE VOCATION OF MAN.
tained thy purposes by a much shorter way, as the humblest of the dwellers in these thy worlds can tell thee. But I am free; and therefore such a chain of causes and effects, in which freedom is absolutely superfluous and without aim, cannot exhaust my whole nature. I must be free; for it is not the mere me chanical act, but the free determination of free will, for the sake of duty and for the ends of duty only, — thus speaks the voice of conscience within us, — this alone it is which constitutes our true worth. The bond with which this law of duty binds me is a bond for living spirits only; it disdains to rule over a dead mechanism, and addresses its decrees only to the living and the free. It requires of me this obedience; — this obedience therefore cannot be nugatory or superfluous.
And now the Eternal World rises before me more brightly, and the fundamental law of its order stands clearly and distinctly apparent to my mental vision. In this world, will alone, as it lies concealed from mortal eye in the secret obscurities of the soul, is the first link in a chain of consequences that stretches through the whole invisible realms of spirit; as, in the physical world, action — a certain movement of matter — is the first link in a material chain that runs through the whole system of nature. The will is the efficient, living principle of the world of reason, as motion is the ef ficient, living principle of the world of sense. I stand in the centre of two entirely opposite worlds: — a visi ble world, in which action is the only moving power; and an invisible and absolutely incomprehensible world, in which will is the ruling principle. I am one of the primitive forces of both these worlds. My will embraces both. This will is, in itself, a constituent element of the super-sensual world; for as I move it by my several successive resolutions, I move and change something in that world, and my activity thus extends itself throughout the whole, and gives birth to new and ever-enduring results, which henceforward possess a real existence and need not again to be produced. This will may break forth in a material act, and this act belongs to the world of sense, and does there that which pertains to a material act to do.
It is not necessary that I should first be severed from this terrestrial world before I can obtain admis sion into the celestial one; — I am, and live in it even now, far more truly than in the terrestrial; even now it is my only sure foundation, and the eternal life on the possession of which I have already entered is the only ground why I should still prolong this earthly one. That which we call heaven does not lie beyond the grave; it is even here diffused around us, and its light arises in every pure heart. My will is mine, and it is the only thing that is wholly mine and entirely dependent on myself; and through it I have already become a citizen of the realm of freedom and of pure spiritual activity. What determination of my will— of the only thing by which I am raised from the dust into this region — is best adapted to its order, is pro claimed to me, at every moment, by my conscience, the bond that constantly unites me to this world; — and it depends solely on myself to give my activity the appointed direction. Thus I cultivate myself for this world; labour in it, and for it, in cultivating one of its members; in it, and only in it, pursue my purpose according to a settled plan, without doubt or hesitation, certain of the result, since here no foreign power stands opposed to my free will. That, in the world of sense, my will, in so far as it is actually determined as it ought to be, comes forth into action, is but the law of this sensuous world. I did not send forth the act as I did the will; only the latter was wholly and purely my work, — it was all that proceeded forth from me. It was not even necessary that there should be another particular act on my part to unite the deed to the will; the deed unites itself to it according to the law of that second world with which I am connected through my will, and in which this will is likewise an original force, as it is in the first. I am indeed compelled, when I regard my will, determined according to the dictates of conscience, as a fact, and an efficient cause in the world of sense, to refer it to that earthly purpose of humanity as a means to the accomplishment of an end; — not as if I should first survey the plan of the world, and from this knowledge calculate what I had to do; but the specific action, which conscience directly enjoins me to do, reveals itself to me at once as the only means by which, in my position, I can contribute to the attainment of that end. Even if it should afterwards appear as if this end had not been promoted — nay, if it should even seem to have been hindered — by my action, yet I can never regret it, nor perplex myself about it, so surely as I have only obeyed my conscience in performing this act. Whatever consequences it may have in this world, in the other world there can nothing but good result from it. And even in this world, should my action appear to have failed of its purpose, my con science for that very reason commands me to repeat it in a manner that may more effectually reach its end; or, should it seem to have hindered that purpose, for that very reason to make good the detriment, and annihilate the untoward result. I will as I ought, and the new deed follows. It may happen that the consequences of this new action, in the world of sense, may appear to me not more beneficial than those of the first; but, with respect to the other world, I retain the same calm assurance as before; and, in the present, it is again my bounden duty to make good my pre vious failure by new action. And thus, should it still appear that, during my whole earthly life, I have not advanced the good cause a single hair's-breadth in this world, yet I dare not cease my efforts: — after every unsuccessful attempt, I must still believe that the next will be successful. But in the spiritual world no step is ever lost. In short, I do not pursue the earthly purpose for its own sake alone, or as a final aim; but only because my true final aim, obedience to the law of conscience, does not present itself to me in this world in any other shape than as the advancement of this end.
I may not cease to pursue it, unless I were to deny the law of duty, or unless that law were to manifest itself to me, in this life, in some other shape than as a commandment to promote this purpose in my own place; — I shall actually cease to pursue it in another life in which that commandment shall have set before me some other purpose wholly incomprehensible to me here. In this life, I must will to promote it, be cause I must obey; whether it be actually promoted by the deed that follows my will thus fittingly directed is not my care; I am responsible only for the will, but not for the result. Previous to the actual deed, Y y 2 I can never resign this purpose; the deed, when it is completed, I may resign, and repeat it, or improve it. Thus do I live and labour, even here, in my most essential nature and in my nearest purposes, only for the other world; and my activity for it is the only thing of which I am completely certain; — in the world of sense I labour only for the sake of the other, and only because I cannot work for the other without at least willing to work for it.
I will establish myself firmly in this, to me, wholly new view of my vocation. The present life cannot be rationally regarded as the whole purpose of my exist ence, or of the existence of a human race in general; — there is something in me, and there is something required of me, which finds in this life nothing to which it can be applied, and which is entirely super fluous and unnecessary for the attainment of the highest objects that can be attained on earth. There must therefore be a purpose in human existence which lies beyond this life. But should the present life, which is nevertheless imposed upon us, and which cannot be designed solely for the development of reason, since even awakened reason commands us to maintain it and to promote its highest purposes with all our powers, — should this life not prove entirely vain and ineffectual, it must at least have relation to a future life, as means to an end. Now there is nothing in this present life, the ultimate consequences of which do not remain on earth, — nothing whereby we could be connected with a future life — but only our virtuous will, which in this world, by the fundamental laws thereof, is entirely fruitless. Only our virtuous will can it, must it be, by which we can labour for another life, and for the first and nearest objects which are there revealed to us; and it is the consequences, invisible to us, of this virtuous will, through which we first acquire a firm standing point in that life from whence we may then advance in a farther course of progress.
That our virtuous will, in and for and through itself, must have consequences, we know already in this life, for reason cannot command anything which is without a purpose; but what these consequences may be, — nay, how it is even possible for a mere will to produce any effect at all, — as to this we can have no concep tion whatever, so long as we are still confined within this material world; and it is true wisdom not to undertake an inquiry in which we know beforehand that we shall be unsuccessful. With respect to the nature of these consequences, the present life is there fore, in relation to the future, a life in faith. In the future life, we shall possess these consequences, for we shall then proceed from them as our starting-point, and build upon them as our foundation; and this other life will thus be, in relation to the consequences of our virtuous will in the present, a life in sight. In that other life, we shall also have an immediate purpose set before us, as we have in the present; for our ac tivity must not cease. But we remain finite beings, — and for finite beings there is but finite, determinate activity; and every determinate act has a determinate end. As, in the present life, the actually existing world as we find it around us, the fitting adjustment of this world to the work we have to do in it, the degree of culture and virtue already attained by men, and our own physical powers, — as these stand related to the purposes of this life, — so, in the future life, the consequences of our virtuous will in the present shall stand related to the purposes of that other existence. The present is the commencement of our existence; the endowments requisite for its purpose, and a firm footing in it, have been freely bestowed on us: — the future is the continuation of this existence, and in it we must acquire for ourselves a commencement, and a definite standing-point.
And now the present life no longer appears vain and useless; for this and this alone it is given to us — that we may acquire for ourselves a firm foundation in the future life, and only by means of this foundation is it connected with our whole eternal existence. It is very possible, that the immediate purpose of this se cond life may be as unattainable by finite powers, with certainty and after a fixed plan, as the purpose of the present life is now, and that even there a virtuous will may appear superfluous and without result. But it can never be lost there, any more than here, for it is the unalterable command of reason and inseparable from her existence. Its necessary efficacy would, in that case, direct us to a third life, in which the con sequences of our virtuous will in the second life would become visible; — a life which during the second life would again be believed in through faith, but with firmer, more unwavering confidence, since we should already have had practical experience of the truthfulness of reason, and have regained the fruits of a pure heart which had been faithfully garnered up in a previously completed life.