Knowledge
is not this organ:--
no knowledge can be its own foundation, its own proof; every
"knowledge presupposes another higher knowledge on which
it is founded, and to this ascent there is no end.
no knowledge can be its own foundation, its own proof; every
"knowledge presupposes another higher knowledge on which
it is founded, and to this ascent there is no end.
Fichte - Nature of the Scholar
Pictures are :--they are the only things
which exist, and they know of themselves after the fashion
of pictures:--pictures which float past without there being
anything past which they float; which, by means of like
pictures, are connected with each other:--pictures without
anything which is pictured in them, without significance
and without aim. I myself am one of these pictures;--nay,
I am not even this, but merely a confused picture of the
pictures. All reality is transformed into a strange dream,
without a life which is dreamed of, and without a mind
which dreams it;--into a dream which is woven together in
a dream of itself. Intuition is the dream; thought,--the
source of all the being and all the reality which I imagine,
of my own being, my own powers, and my own purposes,--
is the dream of that dream.
Spirit. Thou hast well understood it all. Employ the
sharpest expressions to make this result hateful, since thou
must submit to it . And this thou must do. Thou hast
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? 310
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
clearly seen that it cannot be otherwise. Or wilt thou now
retract thy admissions, and justify thy retractation on
principle?
I. By no means. I have seen, and now see clearly, that
it is so;--yet I cannot believe it
.
Spirit. Thou seest it clearly, and yet canst not believe
it? That is a different matter.
I. Thou art a profligate spirit: thy knowledge itself is
profligacy, and springs from profligacy; and I cannot thank
thee for having led me on this path!
Spirit. Short-sighted mortal! When men venture to
look into being, and see as far as themselves, and a little
further,--such as thou art call it profligacy. I have allowed
thee to deduce the results of our inquiry in thine own way,
to analyze them, and to clothe them in hateful expressions.
Didst thou then think that these results were less known to
me than to thyself,--that I did not understand, as well as
thou, how by these principles all reality was thoroughly an-
nihilated, and transformed into a dream? Didst thou then
take me for a blind admirer and advocate of this system, as
a complete system of the human mind?
Thou didst desire to know, and thou hadst taken a wrong
road. Thou didst seek knowledge where no knowledge can
reach; and hadst even persuaded thyself that thou hadst
obtained an insight into something which is opposed to the
very nature of all insight . I found thee in this condition.
I wished to free thee from thy false knowledge; but by no
means to bring thee the true.
Thou didst desire to know of thy knowledge. Art thou
surprised that in this way thou didst discover nothing more
than that of which thou desiredst to know,--thy knowledge
itself; and wouldst thou have had it otherwise? What has
its origin in and through knowledge, is merely knowledge.
All knowledge, however, is but pictures, representations;
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? BOOK II. KNOWLEDGE.
311
and there is always something awanting in it,--that which
corresponds to the representation. This want cannot be
supplied by knowledge; a system of mere knowledge is ne-
cessarily a system of mere pictures, wholly without reality, significance or aim. Didst thou expect anything else?
Wouldst thou change the very nature of thy mind, and
desire thy knowledge to be something more than know-
ledge?
The reality, in which thou didst formerly believe,--a material world existing independently of thee, of which thou
didst fear to become the slave,--has vanished; for this
whole material world arises only through knowledge, and is
itself our knowledge; [but knowledge is not reality, just be-
cause it is knowledge. Thou hast seen through the illusion;
and, without belying thy better insight, thou canst never
again give thyself up to it . This is the sole merit which I
claim for the system which we have together discovered;--it
destroys and annihilates error. It cannot give us truth, for
in itself it is absolutely empty. Thou dost now seek, and
with good right as I well know, something real lying be-
yond mere appearance, another reality than that which has
thus been annihilated. But in vain wouldst thou labour to
create this reality by means of thy knowledge, or out of thy
knowledge; or to embrace it by thy understanding. If thou
hast no other organ by which to apprehend it, thou wilt
never find it.
But thou hast such an organ. Arouse and animate it,
and thou wilt attain to perfect tranquillity. I leave thee
alone with thyself.
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? 312
THE VOCATION OF MAX.
BOOK III.
FAITH.
Terrible Spirit, thy discourse has smitten me to the
ground. But thou referrest me to myself, and what were I
could anything out of myself irrecoverably cast me down? I
will --yes, surely I wilhfollow thy counsel.
What seekest thou, then, my complaining heart? What
is it that excites thee against a system to which my under-
standing cannot raise the slightest objection?
This it is:--I demand something beyond a mere presenta-
tion or conception; something that is, has been, and will be,
even if the presentation were not; and which the presenta-
tion only records, without producing it, or in the smallest
degree changing it. A mere presentation I now see to be a
deceptive show; my presentations must have a meaning be-
neath them, and if my entire knowledge revealed to me
nothing but knowledge, I would be defrauded of my whole
life. That there is nothing whatever but my presentations
or conceptions, is, to the natural sense of mankind, a silly
and ridiculous conceit which no man can seriously entertain,
and which requires no refutation. To the better-informed
judgment, which knows the deep, and, by mere reasoning, ir-
refragable grounds for this assertion, it is a prostrating, an-
nihilating thought.
And what, then, is this something lying beyond all pre-
sentation, towards which I stretch forward with such ardent
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
313
longing? What is the power with which it draws me to-
wards it? What is the central point in my soul to which it
is attached, and with which only it can be effaced?
"Not merely TO know, but according to thy knowledge
TO DO, is thy vocation :"--thus is it loudly proclaimed in the
innermost depths of my soul, as soon as I recollect myself
for a moment, and turn my observation upon myself. "Not
for idle contemplation of thyself, not for brooding over de-
vout sensations;--no, for action art thou here; thine action,
and thine action alone, determines thy worth. "
This voice leads me out from presentation, from mere
cognition, to something which lies beyond it and is entirely
opposed to it; to something which is greater and higher
than all knowledge, and which contains within itself the
end and object of all knowledge. When I act, I doubtless
know that I act, and how I act; nevertheless this knowledge
is not the act itself, but only the observation of it. This
voice thus announces to me precisely that which I sought; a
something lying beyond mere knowledge, and, in its nature,
wholly independent of knowledge.
Thus it is, I know it immediately. But, having once en-
tered within the domain of speculation, the doubt which has
been awakened within me will secretly endure and will
continue to disturb me. Since I have placed myself in this
position, I can obtain no complete satisfaction until every-
thing which I accept is justified before the tribunal of specu-
lation. I have thus to ask myself,--how is it thus? Whence
arises that voice in my soul which directs me to something
beyond mere presentation and knowledge?
There is within me an impulse to absolute, independent
selectivity. Nothing is more insupportable to~me, thanto
~be merely by another, for another, and through another j I must be something for myself and by myself alone, This impulse I feel along with the perception of own existence,
it is inseparably united to my consciousness of myself.
I explain this feeling to myself by reflection; and, as it
were, add to this blind impulse the power of sight by means
of thought. According to this impulse I must act as an
sa
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? 314 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
absolutely independent being:-- thus I understand and
translate the impulse. I must be independent. Who am
I? Subject and object in one,--the conscious being and
that of which I am conscious, gifted with intuitive know-
ledge and myself revealed in that intuition, the thinking
mind and myself the object of the thought--inseparable,
and ever present to each other. As both, must I be what I
am, absolutely by myself alone;--by myself originate con-
ceptions,--by myself produce a condition of things lying be-
yond these conceptions. But how is the latter possible?
With nothing I cannot connect any being whatsoever; from
nothing there can never aiise something; my objective
thought is necessarily mediative only. But any being which
is connected with another being becomes thereby depen-
dent ;--it is no longer a primary, original, and genetic, but
only a secondary and derived being. I am constrained to
connect myself with something;--with another being I can-
not connect myself without losing that independence which
is the condition of my own existence.
My conception and origination of a purpose, however, is,
by its very nature, absolutely free,--producing something
out of nothing. With such a conception I must connect my
activity, in order that it may be possible to regard it as free,
and as proceeding absolutely from myself alone. In the following manner, therefore do I conceive of my
independence as J. 1 ascribe to myself the power of origi-
nating a conception simply because I originate it, of origi-
nating this conception simply because I originate this one,--
by the absolute sovereignty of myself as an intelligence. I
further ascribe to myself the power of manifesting this con-
ception beyond itself by means of an action;--ascribe to
myself a real, actiyej>ower, capable of producing something
beyond itself,--a power which is entirely different from the
mere power of conception. These conceptions, which are
called conceptions of design, or purposes, are not, like the
conceptions of mere knowledge, copies of something already
existing, but rather types of something yet to be; the real
power lies beyond them, and is in itself independent of
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
315
them;--it only receives from them its immediate determi-
nations, which are apprehended by knowledge. Such an
independent power it is that, in consequence of this impulse.
I ascribe to myself.
Here then, it appears, is the point at which consciousness
connects itself with reality;--the real efficiency of my con-
ception, and the real power of action which, in consequence
of it, I am compelled to ascribe to myself, is this point.
Let it be as it may with the reality of a sensible world be-
yond me; I possess reality and comprehend it,--it lies with-
in my own being, it is native to myself.
I conceive this, my real power of action, in thought, but I
do not create it by thought. The immediate feeling of my
impulse to independent activity lies at the foundation of this
thought; the thought does no more than pourtray this feel-
ing, and accept it in its own form,--the form of thought.
This procedure may, I think, be vindicated before the tribu-
nal of speculation.
What! Shall I, once more, knowingly and intentionally
deceive myself? This procedure can by no means be justi-
fied before that strict tribunal.
I feel within me an impulse and an effort towards out-
ward activity; this appears to be true, and to be the only
truth belonging to the matter. Since it is I who feel this
impulse, and since I cannot pass beyond myself, either with
my whole consciousness, or in particular with my capacity
of sensation,--since this / itself is the last point at which I
am conscious of this impulse, it certainly appears to me as
an impulse founded in myself, to an activity also founded in
myself. Might it not be however that this impulse, al-
though unperceived by me, is in reality the impulse of a
foreign power invisible to me, and that notion of indepen-
dence merely a delusion, arising from my sphere of vision
being limited to myself alone? I have no reason to assume
this, but just as little reason to deny it. I must confess
that I absolutely know nothing, and can know nothing,
about it.
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? 31G
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Do I then indeed feel that real power of free action,
which, strangely enough, I ascribe to myself without know-
ing anything of it? By no means;--it is merely the deter-
minable element, which by the well-known laws of thought
whereby all capacities and all powers arise, we are compelled
to add in imagination to the determinate element--the real
action, which itself is, in like manner, only an assumption.
Is that procession, from the mere conception to an imagi-
nary realization of it anything more than the usual and
well-known procedure of all objective thought, which always
strives to be, not mere thought, but something more? By
what dishonesty can this procedure be made of more value
here than in any other case? --can it possess any deeper
significance, when to the conception of a thought it adds a
realization of this thought, than when to the conception of
this table it adds an actual and present table ? " The con-
ception of a purpose, a particular determination of events in
me, appears in a double shape,--partly as subjective--a
Thought; partly as objective--an Action. " What reason,
which would not unquestionably itself stand in need of a
genetic deduction, could I adduce against this explana-
tion? /
I say that I feel this impulse :--it is therefore I myself
who say so, and think so while I say it? Do I then really
feel, or only think that I feel? Is not all which I call feel-
ing only a presentation produced by my objective process of
thought, and indeed the first transition point of all object-
ivity? And then again, do I really think, or do I merely
think that I think? And do I think that I really think, or
merely that I possess the idea of thinking? What can hin-
der speculation from raising such questions, and continuing
to raise them without end? What can I answer, and where
is there a point at which I can command such questionings
to cease? I know, and must admit, that each definite act
of consciousness may be made the subject of reflection, and
a new consciousness of the first consciousness may thus be
created; and that thereby the immediate consciousness is
raised a step higher, and the first consciousness darkened
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? BOOK tit FAITH.
317
and made doubtful; and that to this ladder there is no
highest step, I know that all scepticism rests upon this
process, and that the system which has so violently prostra-
'ted me is founded on the adoption and the clear conscious-
ness of it
.
I know that if I am not merely to play another perplex-
ing game with this system, but intend really and practically
to adopt it, I must refuse obedience to that voice within
me. I cannot will to act, for according to that system I
cannot know whether I can really act or not:--I can never
believe that I truly act; that which seems to be my action
must appear to me as entirely without meaning, as a mere
delusive picture. All earnestness and all interest is with-
drawn from my life; and life, as well as thought, is trans-
formed into a mere play, which proceeds from nothing and
tends to nothing.
Shall I then refuse obedience to that inward voice? I
will not do so. I will freely accept the vocation which this
impulse assigns to me, and in this resolution I will lay hold
at once of thought, in all its reality and truthfulness, and on
the reality of all things which are pre-supposed therein, I
will restrict myself to the position of natural thought in
which this impulse places me, and cast from me all those
over-refined and subtile inquiries which alone could make
me doubtful of its truth.
I understand thee now, sublime Spirit! I have found the
organ by which to apprehend this reality, and, with this,
probably all other reality.
Knowledge is not this organ:--
no knowledge can be its own foundation, its own proof; every
"knowledge presupposes another higher knowledge on which
it is founded, and to this ascent there is no end. It is
Faith, that voluntary acquiescence in the view which is
naturally presented to us, because only through this view
we can fulfil our vocation;--this it is, which first lends a
sanction to knowledge, and raises to certainty and conviction
that which without it might be mere delusion. J. t is not [
knowledge, but a resolution of the will to admit the va-
liditv of knowfoidg" ~
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? 318
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Let me hold fast for ever by this doctrine, which is no
mere verbal distinction, but a true and deep one, bearing
with it the most important consequences for my whole exis-
tence and character. All my conviction is but faith; and
it proceeds foom the will, not from the understanding.
Knowing this, I will enter upon no disputation, because I
foresee that thereby nothing can be gained; I will not suffer
myself to be perplexed by it, for the source of my conviction
lies higher than all disputation; I will not suffer myself to
entertain the desire of pressing this conviction on others by
reasoning, and I will not be surprised if such an undertak-
ing should fail . I have adopted my mode of thinking first
of all for myself, not for others, and before myself only will
I justify it. He who possesses the honest, upright purpose
of which I am conscious, will also attain a similar convic-
tion; but without that, this conviction can in no way be at-
tained. Now that I know this, I also know from what point
all culture of myself and others must proceed; from the will,
not from the understanding. If the former be only fixedly
and honestly directed towards the Good, the latter will of
itself apprehend the True. Should the latter only be exer-
cised, whilst the former remains neglected, there can arise
nothing whatever but a dexterity in groping after vain and
empty refinements, throughout the absolute void inane.
Now that I know this, I am able to confute all false know-
ledge that may rise in opposition to my faith. I know that
every pretended truth, produced by mere speculative
thought, and not founded upon faith, is assuredly false and
surreptitious; for mere knowledge, thus produced, leads only
to the conviction that we can know nothing. I know that
such false knowledge never can discover anything but what
it has previously placed in its premises through faith, from
which it probably draws conclusions which are wholly false.
Now that I know this, I possess the touchstone of all truth
and of all conviction. Conscience alone is the root of all
I truth: whatever is opposed to conscience, or stands in the
way of the fuInTment^r^erlBehests'rs assuredlvjfalse; and
it is impossible for me to arrive at a conviction of its truth,
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
even if I should be unable to discover the fallacies by which
it is produced.
So has it been with all men who have ever seen the light
of this world. Without being conscious of it, they appre-
hend all the reality which has an existence for them,
through faith alone; and this faith forces itself on them
simultaneously with their existence;--it is born with them.
How could it be otherwise? If in mere knowledge, in mere
perception and reflection, there is no ground for regarding
our mental presentations as more than mere pictures which
necessarily pass before our view, why do we yet regard all of them as more than this, and assume, as their foundation,
something which exists independently of all presentation?
If we all possess the capacity and the instinct to proceed be-
yond our first natural view of things, why do so few actually
go beyond it, and why do we even defend ourselves, with a
sort of bitterness, from every motive by which others try to
persuade us to this course? What is it which holds us con-
fined within this first natural belief? Not inferences of rea-
son, for there are none such; it is the interest we have in
a reality which we desire to produce;--the good, absolutely
for its own sake,--the common and sensuous, for the sake
of the enjoyment they afford. No one who lives can divest
himself of this interest, and just as little can he cast off the
faith which this interest brings with it. We are all born in
faith;--he who is blind, follows blindly the secret and irre^
sistible impulse; he who sees, follows by sight, and believes
because he resolves to believe.
What unity and completeness does this view present! --
what dignity does it confer on human nature! Our thought
is not founded on itself alone, independently of our impulses
and affections;--man does not consist of two independent and separate elements; he is absolutely one. All
ht is fouu'1'''1 im our impulses;--as a man's affections
is knowledge. These impulses compel us to a
of thought only so long as we do not perceive
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? 320
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
the constraint; the constraint vanishes the moment it is
perceived; and it is then no longer the impulse by itself,
but we ourselves, according to our impulse, who form our
own system of thought.
ButIshall open my eyes; shall learn thoroughly to know
myself; shall recognise that constraint;--this is my vocation.
I shall thus, and under that supposition I shall necessarily,
form my own mode of thought. Then shall I stand abso-
lutely independent, thoroughly equipt and perfected through
my own act and deed. The primitive source of all my other
thought and of my life itself, that from which everything
proceeds which can have an existence in me, for me, or
through me, the innermost spirit of my spirit,--is no longer
a foreign power, but it is, in the strictest possible sense, the
product of my own will. I_am wbolly my own creation. I
might have followed blindly the leading of my spiritual na-
ture. But I would not be a work of Nature but of myself,
and I have become so even by means of this resolution. By
endless subtilties I might have made the natural conviction
of my own mind dark and doubtful . But I have accepted
it with freedom, simply because I resolved to accept it . I
have chosen the system which I have now adopted with
settled purpose and deliberation from among other possible
modes of thought, because I have recognised in it the only
one consistent with my dignity and my vocation. With free-
dom and consciousness I have returned to the point at
which Nature had left me. I accept that which she an-
nounces ;--but I do not accept it because I must; I believe
it because I wilL
The exalted vocation of my understanding fills me with
reverence. It is no longer the deceptive mirror which re-
flects a series of empty pictures, proceeding from nothing
and tending to nothing; it is bestowed upon me for a great
purpose. Its cultivation for this purpose is entrusted to
me; it is placed in my hands, and at my hands it will be re-
quired. --It is placed in my hands. I know immediately,--
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
321
and here my faith accepts the testimony of my consciousness
without farther criticism,--I know that I am not placed un-
der the necessity of allowing my thoughts to float about
without direction or purpose, but that I can voluntarily a-
rouse and direct my attention to one object, or turn it away
again towards another;--know that it is neither a blind
necessity which compels me to a certain mode of thought,
nor an empty chance which runs riot with my thoughts; but that it is I who think, and that I can think of that whereof I determine to think. Thus by reflection I have discovered
something more; I have discovered that I myself, by my own act alone, produce my whole system of thought and
the particular view which I take of truth in general; since it
remains with me either by over-refinement to deprive myself
of all sense of truth, or to yield myself to it with faithful
obedience. My whole mode of thought, and the cultivation
which my understanding receives, as well as the objects to
which I direct it, depend entirely on myself. True insight
is merit;--the perversion of my capacity for knowledge,
thoughtlessness, obscurity, error, and unbelief, are guilt. There is but one point towards y/hioh T hn. vA nnppggingly
to direct all my attention,--namely, what I ought to do, and and how I may best fuIfiOhlTolaligation. All my thoughts
"must IiaVH'tt burning on my actions, and must be capable of
being considered as means, however remote, to this end;
otherwise they are an idle and aimless show, a mere waste
of time and strength, the perversion of a noble power which
is entrusted to me for a very different end.
I dare hope, I dare surely promise myself, to follow out
this undertaking with good results. The Nature on which
I have to act is not a foreign element, called into existence
without reference to me, into which I cannot penetrate. It
is moulded by my own laws of thought, and must be in har-
mony with them; it must be thoroughly transparent, know-
able and penetrable to me, even to its inmost recesses. In
all its phenomena it expresses nothing but the connexions
and relations of my own being to myself; and as surely as I
may hope to know myself, so surely may I expect to compro-
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? 322
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
hend it. Let me seek only that which I ought to seek, and I
shall find; let me ask only that which I ought to ask, and I
shall receive an answer.
t
That voice within my soul in which I believe, and on ac-
count of which I believe in every other thing to which I
attach credence, does not command me merely to act in gen-
eral. This is impossible; all these general principles are
formed only through my own voluntary observation and re-
flection, applied to many individual facts; but never in
themselves express any fact whatever. This voice of my
conscience announces to mt>> jTrfiriafily nrW. T mifyht tndn
and what leave undone, in every particular situation of life;
it accompanies me, if I will but listen to it with attention,
through all the events of my life, and never refuses me its
reward where I am called upon to act. It carries with it
immediate conviction, and irresistibly compels my assent to
its behests:--it is impossible for me to contend against it
.
To listen to it, to obey it honestly and unreservedly, with-
out fear or equivocation,--this is my true vocation, the
whole end and purpose of my existence. My life ceases to
be an empty play without truth or significance. There is
something that must absolutely be done for its own sake a-
lone;--that which conscience demands of me in this particu-
lar situation of life it is mine to do, for this only I am here;
--to know it, I have understanding; to perform it, I have
power. Through Pfq;ft nf rnnsripnra ,alone, truth and
reality are introduced into my conceptions. I cannot refuse
them my attenTTori' anffTny Obetilence without thereby sur-
rendering the very purpose of my existence.
Hence I cannot withhold my belief from the reality which
they announce, without at the same time renouncing my
vocation. It is absolutely true, without farther proof or
confirmation,--nay, it is the first truth, and the foundation
of all other truth and certainty, that this voice must be
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
323
obeyed; and therefore everything becomes to me true and
certain, the truth and certainty of which is assumed in the
possibility of such obedience.
There appear before me in space, certain phenomena to
which I transfer the idea of myself;--I conceive of them as
beings like myself. Speculation, when carried out to its
last results, has indeed taught me, or would teach me, that
these supposed rational beings out of myself are but the
products of my own presentative power; that, according to
certain laws of my thought, I am compelled to represent out
of myself my conception of myself; and that, according to
the same laws, I can transfer this conception only to certain
definite intuitions. But the voice of my conscience thus
speaks:--" Whatever these beings may be in and for them-
selves, thou shalt act towards them as self-existent, free,
substantive beings, wholly independent of thee. Assume it
as already known, that they can give a purpose to their own
being wholly by themselves, and quite independently of
thee;--never interrupt the accomplishment of this purpose,
but rather further it to the utmost of thy power. Honour
their freedom, lovingly take up their purposes as if they
were thine own. " Thus ought I to act:--by this course of
action ought all my thought to be guided,--nay, it shall and
must necessarily be so, if I have resolved to obey the voice
of my conscience. Hence I shall always regard these be-
ings as in possession of an existence for themselves wholly
independent of mine, as capable of forming and carrying out
their own purposes;--from this point of view, I shall never
be able to conceive of them otherwise, and my previous specu-
lations regarding them shall vanish like an empty dream. --I
think of them as beings like myself, I have said; but strictly
speaking, it is not by mere thought that they are first pre-
sented to me as such. It is by the voice of my conscience,
--by the command:--" Here set a limit to thy freedom;
here recognise and reverence purposes which are not thine
own. "' This it is which is first translated into the thought,
"Here, certainly and truly, are beings like myself, free and
independent. " To view them otherwise, I must in action re-
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? 324
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
nounce, and in speculation disregard, the voice of my con-
science.
Other phenomena present themselves before me which I
do not regard as beings like myself, but as things irrational.
Speculation finds no difficulty in showing how the concep-
tion of such things is developed solely from my own presen-
tative faculty and its necessary modes of activity. But I
apprehend these things, also, through want, desire, and en-
joyment. Not by the mental conception, but by hunger,
thirst, and their satisfaction, does anything become for me
food and drink. I am necessitated to believe in the reality
of that which threatens my sensuous existence, or in that
which alone is able to maintain it. Conscience enters the
field in order that it may at once sanctify and restrain this
natural impulse. "Thou shalt maintain, exercise, and
strengthen thyself and thy physical powers, for they have
been taken account of in the plans of reason. But thou canst
maintain them only by legitimate use, conformable to their
nature. There are also, besides thee, many other beings like
thyself, whose powers have been counted upon like thine
own, and can be maintained only in the same way as thine
own. Concede to them the same privilege that has been
allowed to thee. Respect what belongs to them as their
possession;--use what belongs to thee legitimately as thine
own. " Thus ought I to act,--according to this course of ac-
tion must I think. I am compelled to regard these things
as standing under their own natural laws, independent of,
though perceivable by, me; and therefore to ascribe to them
an independent existence. I am compelled to believe in
such laws; the task of investigating them is set before me,
and that empty speculation vanishes like a mist when the
genial sun appears. In short, there is for me absolutely no such thing as an
existence which has no relation to myself, and which I con-
template merely for the sake of contemplating it;--what-
ever has an existence for me, has it only through its relation
to my own being. But there is, in the highest sense, only
\ one- relation to me possible, all others' are buj^yjwro^mate
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? BOOK XII. FAITH.
325
forms of this:--my vocation rppral q/>>fiYjf. yr. Mv world is
the object and sphere of my duties, and absolutelyjiothing^
more; there is no other world for me, and no other qualities
of my world than what are implied in this;--my whole
united capacity, all finite capacity, is insufficient to compre-
hend any other. Whatever possesses an existence for me,
can bring its existence and reality into contact with me
only through this relation, and only through this relation
do I comprehend it:--for any other existence than this I
have no organ whatever.
To the question, whether, in deed and in fact, such a
world exists as that which I represent to myself, I can give
no answer more fundamental, more raised above all doubt,
than this:--I have, most certainly and truly, these deter-
minate duties, which announce themselves to me as duties
towards certain objects, to be fulfilled by means of certain
materials;--duties which I cannot otherwise conceive of, and
cannot otherwise fulfil, than within such a world as I re-
present to myself. Even to one who had never meditated
on his own moral vocation, if there could be such a one, or
who, if he had given it some general consideration, had, at
least, never entertained the slightest purpose of fulfilling it
at any time within an indefinite futurity,--even for him, his
sensuous world, and his belief in its reality, arises in no
other manner than from his ideas of a moral world. If he
do not apprehend it by the thought of his duties, he cer-
tainly does so by the demand for his rights. What he per-
haps never requires of himself, he does certainly exact from
others in their conduct towards him,--that they should
treat him with propriety, consideration, and respect, not as
an irrational thing, but as a free and independent being;--
and thus, by supposing in them an ability to comply with
his own demands, he is compelled also to regard them as
themselves considerate, free, and independent of the domi-
nion of mere natural power. Even should he never propose
to himself any other purpose in his use and enjoyment of
surrounding objects but simply that of enjoying them, he
at least demands this enjoyment as a right, in the posses-
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? 326
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
sion of which he claims to be left undisturbed by others; and
thus he apprehends even the irrational world of sense by
means of a moral idea. These claims of respect for his ra-
tionality, independence, and preservation, no one can resign
who possesses a conscious existence; and with these claims,
at least, there is united in his soul, earnestness, renuncia-
tion of doubt, and faith in a reality, even if they be not as-
sociated with the recognition of a moral law within him.
Take the man who denies his own moral vocation, and thy
existence, and the existence of a material world, except as a
mere futile effort in which speculation tries her strength,--
approach him practically, apply his own principles to life,
and act as if either he had no existence at all, or were
merely a portion of rude matter,--he will soon lay aside his
scornful indifference, and indignantly complain of thee;
earnestly call thy attention to thy conduct towards him;
maintain that thou oughtst not and darest not so to act;
and thus prove to thee, by deeds, that thou art assuredly
capable of acting upon him; that he is, and that thou art,--
that there is a medium by which thou canst influence him,
and that thou, at least, hast duties to perform towards him. Thus, it is not the operation of supposed external objects,
which indeed exist for us, and we for them, only in so far as
we already know of them; and just as little an empty vision
evoked by our own imagination and thought, the products
of which must, like itself, be mere empty pictures;--it is not
these, but the necessary faith in our own freedom and power,
in our own real activity, and in the definite laws of human ac-
tion, which lies at the root of all our consciousness of a re-
ality external to ourselves;--a consciousness which is itself
but faith, since it is founded on another faith, of which how-
ever it is a necessary consequence. We are compelled to be-
lieve that we act, and that we ought to act in a certain man-
ner; we are compelled to assume a certain sphere for this
action; this sphere is the real, actually present world, such
as we find it;--and on the other hand, the world is abso-
lutely nothing more than, and cannot, in any way, extend
itself beyond, this sphere. From this necessity ofaction
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?
which exist, and they know of themselves after the fashion
of pictures:--pictures which float past without there being
anything past which they float; which, by means of like
pictures, are connected with each other:--pictures without
anything which is pictured in them, without significance
and without aim. I myself am one of these pictures;--nay,
I am not even this, but merely a confused picture of the
pictures. All reality is transformed into a strange dream,
without a life which is dreamed of, and without a mind
which dreams it;--into a dream which is woven together in
a dream of itself. Intuition is the dream; thought,--the
source of all the being and all the reality which I imagine,
of my own being, my own powers, and my own purposes,--
is the dream of that dream.
Spirit. Thou hast well understood it all. Employ the
sharpest expressions to make this result hateful, since thou
must submit to it . And this thou must do. Thou hast
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? 310
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
clearly seen that it cannot be otherwise. Or wilt thou now
retract thy admissions, and justify thy retractation on
principle?
I. By no means. I have seen, and now see clearly, that
it is so;--yet I cannot believe it
.
Spirit. Thou seest it clearly, and yet canst not believe
it? That is a different matter.
I. Thou art a profligate spirit: thy knowledge itself is
profligacy, and springs from profligacy; and I cannot thank
thee for having led me on this path!
Spirit. Short-sighted mortal! When men venture to
look into being, and see as far as themselves, and a little
further,--such as thou art call it profligacy. I have allowed
thee to deduce the results of our inquiry in thine own way,
to analyze them, and to clothe them in hateful expressions.
Didst thou then think that these results were less known to
me than to thyself,--that I did not understand, as well as
thou, how by these principles all reality was thoroughly an-
nihilated, and transformed into a dream? Didst thou then
take me for a blind admirer and advocate of this system, as
a complete system of the human mind?
Thou didst desire to know, and thou hadst taken a wrong
road. Thou didst seek knowledge where no knowledge can
reach; and hadst even persuaded thyself that thou hadst
obtained an insight into something which is opposed to the
very nature of all insight . I found thee in this condition.
I wished to free thee from thy false knowledge; but by no
means to bring thee the true.
Thou didst desire to know of thy knowledge. Art thou
surprised that in this way thou didst discover nothing more
than that of which thou desiredst to know,--thy knowledge
itself; and wouldst thou have had it otherwise? What has
its origin in and through knowledge, is merely knowledge.
All knowledge, however, is but pictures, representations;
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? BOOK II. KNOWLEDGE.
311
and there is always something awanting in it,--that which
corresponds to the representation. This want cannot be
supplied by knowledge; a system of mere knowledge is ne-
cessarily a system of mere pictures, wholly without reality, significance or aim. Didst thou expect anything else?
Wouldst thou change the very nature of thy mind, and
desire thy knowledge to be something more than know-
ledge?
The reality, in which thou didst formerly believe,--a material world existing independently of thee, of which thou
didst fear to become the slave,--has vanished; for this
whole material world arises only through knowledge, and is
itself our knowledge; [but knowledge is not reality, just be-
cause it is knowledge. Thou hast seen through the illusion;
and, without belying thy better insight, thou canst never
again give thyself up to it . This is the sole merit which I
claim for the system which we have together discovered;--it
destroys and annihilates error. It cannot give us truth, for
in itself it is absolutely empty. Thou dost now seek, and
with good right as I well know, something real lying be-
yond mere appearance, another reality than that which has
thus been annihilated. But in vain wouldst thou labour to
create this reality by means of thy knowledge, or out of thy
knowledge; or to embrace it by thy understanding. If thou
hast no other organ by which to apprehend it, thou wilt
never find it.
But thou hast such an organ. Arouse and animate it,
and thou wilt attain to perfect tranquillity. I leave thee
alone with thyself.
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? 312
THE VOCATION OF MAX.
BOOK III.
FAITH.
Terrible Spirit, thy discourse has smitten me to the
ground. But thou referrest me to myself, and what were I
could anything out of myself irrecoverably cast me down? I
will --yes, surely I wilhfollow thy counsel.
What seekest thou, then, my complaining heart? What
is it that excites thee against a system to which my under-
standing cannot raise the slightest objection?
This it is:--I demand something beyond a mere presenta-
tion or conception; something that is, has been, and will be,
even if the presentation were not; and which the presenta-
tion only records, without producing it, or in the smallest
degree changing it. A mere presentation I now see to be a
deceptive show; my presentations must have a meaning be-
neath them, and if my entire knowledge revealed to me
nothing but knowledge, I would be defrauded of my whole
life. That there is nothing whatever but my presentations
or conceptions, is, to the natural sense of mankind, a silly
and ridiculous conceit which no man can seriously entertain,
and which requires no refutation. To the better-informed
judgment, which knows the deep, and, by mere reasoning, ir-
refragable grounds for this assertion, it is a prostrating, an-
nihilating thought.
And what, then, is this something lying beyond all pre-
sentation, towards which I stretch forward with such ardent
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
313
longing? What is the power with which it draws me to-
wards it? What is the central point in my soul to which it
is attached, and with which only it can be effaced?
"Not merely TO know, but according to thy knowledge
TO DO, is thy vocation :"--thus is it loudly proclaimed in the
innermost depths of my soul, as soon as I recollect myself
for a moment, and turn my observation upon myself. "Not
for idle contemplation of thyself, not for brooding over de-
vout sensations;--no, for action art thou here; thine action,
and thine action alone, determines thy worth. "
This voice leads me out from presentation, from mere
cognition, to something which lies beyond it and is entirely
opposed to it; to something which is greater and higher
than all knowledge, and which contains within itself the
end and object of all knowledge. When I act, I doubtless
know that I act, and how I act; nevertheless this knowledge
is not the act itself, but only the observation of it. This
voice thus announces to me precisely that which I sought; a
something lying beyond mere knowledge, and, in its nature,
wholly independent of knowledge.
Thus it is, I know it immediately. But, having once en-
tered within the domain of speculation, the doubt which has
been awakened within me will secretly endure and will
continue to disturb me. Since I have placed myself in this
position, I can obtain no complete satisfaction until every-
thing which I accept is justified before the tribunal of specu-
lation. I have thus to ask myself,--how is it thus? Whence
arises that voice in my soul which directs me to something
beyond mere presentation and knowledge?
There is within me an impulse to absolute, independent
selectivity. Nothing is more insupportable to~me, thanto
~be merely by another, for another, and through another j I must be something for myself and by myself alone, This impulse I feel along with the perception of own existence,
it is inseparably united to my consciousness of myself.
I explain this feeling to myself by reflection; and, as it
were, add to this blind impulse the power of sight by means
of thought. According to this impulse I must act as an
sa
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? 314 THE VOCATION OF MAN.
absolutely independent being:-- thus I understand and
translate the impulse. I must be independent. Who am
I? Subject and object in one,--the conscious being and
that of which I am conscious, gifted with intuitive know-
ledge and myself revealed in that intuition, the thinking
mind and myself the object of the thought--inseparable,
and ever present to each other. As both, must I be what I
am, absolutely by myself alone;--by myself originate con-
ceptions,--by myself produce a condition of things lying be-
yond these conceptions. But how is the latter possible?
With nothing I cannot connect any being whatsoever; from
nothing there can never aiise something; my objective
thought is necessarily mediative only. But any being which
is connected with another being becomes thereby depen-
dent ;--it is no longer a primary, original, and genetic, but
only a secondary and derived being. I am constrained to
connect myself with something;--with another being I can-
not connect myself without losing that independence which
is the condition of my own existence.
My conception and origination of a purpose, however, is,
by its very nature, absolutely free,--producing something
out of nothing. With such a conception I must connect my
activity, in order that it may be possible to regard it as free,
and as proceeding absolutely from myself alone. In the following manner, therefore do I conceive of my
independence as J. 1 ascribe to myself the power of origi-
nating a conception simply because I originate it, of origi-
nating this conception simply because I originate this one,--
by the absolute sovereignty of myself as an intelligence. I
further ascribe to myself the power of manifesting this con-
ception beyond itself by means of an action;--ascribe to
myself a real, actiyej>ower, capable of producing something
beyond itself,--a power which is entirely different from the
mere power of conception. These conceptions, which are
called conceptions of design, or purposes, are not, like the
conceptions of mere knowledge, copies of something already
existing, but rather types of something yet to be; the real
power lies beyond them, and is in itself independent of
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
315
them;--it only receives from them its immediate determi-
nations, which are apprehended by knowledge. Such an
independent power it is that, in consequence of this impulse.
I ascribe to myself.
Here then, it appears, is the point at which consciousness
connects itself with reality;--the real efficiency of my con-
ception, and the real power of action which, in consequence
of it, I am compelled to ascribe to myself, is this point.
Let it be as it may with the reality of a sensible world be-
yond me; I possess reality and comprehend it,--it lies with-
in my own being, it is native to myself.
I conceive this, my real power of action, in thought, but I
do not create it by thought. The immediate feeling of my
impulse to independent activity lies at the foundation of this
thought; the thought does no more than pourtray this feel-
ing, and accept it in its own form,--the form of thought.
This procedure may, I think, be vindicated before the tribu-
nal of speculation.
What! Shall I, once more, knowingly and intentionally
deceive myself? This procedure can by no means be justi-
fied before that strict tribunal.
I feel within me an impulse and an effort towards out-
ward activity; this appears to be true, and to be the only
truth belonging to the matter. Since it is I who feel this
impulse, and since I cannot pass beyond myself, either with
my whole consciousness, or in particular with my capacity
of sensation,--since this / itself is the last point at which I
am conscious of this impulse, it certainly appears to me as
an impulse founded in myself, to an activity also founded in
myself. Might it not be however that this impulse, al-
though unperceived by me, is in reality the impulse of a
foreign power invisible to me, and that notion of indepen-
dence merely a delusion, arising from my sphere of vision
being limited to myself alone? I have no reason to assume
this, but just as little reason to deny it. I must confess
that I absolutely know nothing, and can know nothing,
about it.
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? 31G
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Do I then indeed feel that real power of free action,
which, strangely enough, I ascribe to myself without know-
ing anything of it? By no means;--it is merely the deter-
minable element, which by the well-known laws of thought
whereby all capacities and all powers arise, we are compelled
to add in imagination to the determinate element--the real
action, which itself is, in like manner, only an assumption.
Is that procession, from the mere conception to an imagi-
nary realization of it anything more than the usual and
well-known procedure of all objective thought, which always
strives to be, not mere thought, but something more? By
what dishonesty can this procedure be made of more value
here than in any other case? --can it possess any deeper
significance, when to the conception of a thought it adds a
realization of this thought, than when to the conception of
this table it adds an actual and present table ? " The con-
ception of a purpose, a particular determination of events in
me, appears in a double shape,--partly as subjective--a
Thought; partly as objective--an Action. " What reason,
which would not unquestionably itself stand in need of a
genetic deduction, could I adduce against this explana-
tion? /
I say that I feel this impulse :--it is therefore I myself
who say so, and think so while I say it? Do I then really
feel, or only think that I feel? Is not all which I call feel-
ing only a presentation produced by my objective process of
thought, and indeed the first transition point of all object-
ivity? And then again, do I really think, or do I merely
think that I think? And do I think that I really think, or
merely that I possess the idea of thinking? What can hin-
der speculation from raising such questions, and continuing
to raise them without end? What can I answer, and where
is there a point at which I can command such questionings
to cease? I know, and must admit, that each definite act
of consciousness may be made the subject of reflection, and
a new consciousness of the first consciousness may thus be
created; and that thereby the immediate consciousness is
raised a step higher, and the first consciousness darkened
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? BOOK tit FAITH.
317
and made doubtful; and that to this ladder there is no
highest step, I know that all scepticism rests upon this
process, and that the system which has so violently prostra-
'ted me is founded on the adoption and the clear conscious-
ness of it
.
I know that if I am not merely to play another perplex-
ing game with this system, but intend really and practically
to adopt it, I must refuse obedience to that voice within
me. I cannot will to act, for according to that system I
cannot know whether I can really act or not:--I can never
believe that I truly act; that which seems to be my action
must appear to me as entirely without meaning, as a mere
delusive picture. All earnestness and all interest is with-
drawn from my life; and life, as well as thought, is trans-
formed into a mere play, which proceeds from nothing and
tends to nothing.
Shall I then refuse obedience to that inward voice? I
will not do so. I will freely accept the vocation which this
impulse assigns to me, and in this resolution I will lay hold
at once of thought, in all its reality and truthfulness, and on
the reality of all things which are pre-supposed therein, I
will restrict myself to the position of natural thought in
which this impulse places me, and cast from me all those
over-refined and subtile inquiries which alone could make
me doubtful of its truth.
I understand thee now, sublime Spirit! I have found the
organ by which to apprehend this reality, and, with this,
probably all other reality.
Knowledge is not this organ:--
no knowledge can be its own foundation, its own proof; every
"knowledge presupposes another higher knowledge on which
it is founded, and to this ascent there is no end. It is
Faith, that voluntary acquiescence in the view which is
naturally presented to us, because only through this view
we can fulfil our vocation;--this it is, which first lends a
sanction to knowledge, and raises to certainty and conviction
that which without it might be mere delusion. J. t is not [
knowledge, but a resolution of the will to admit the va-
liditv of knowfoidg" ~
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? 318
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
Let me hold fast for ever by this doctrine, which is no
mere verbal distinction, but a true and deep one, bearing
with it the most important consequences for my whole exis-
tence and character. All my conviction is but faith; and
it proceeds foom the will, not from the understanding.
Knowing this, I will enter upon no disputation, because I
foresee that thereby nothing can be gained; I will not suffer
myself to be perplexed by it, for the source of my conviction
lies higher than all disputation; I will not suffer myself to
entertain the desire of pressing this conviction on others by
reasoning, and I will not be surprised if such an undertak-
ing should fail . I have adopted my mode of thinking first
of all for myself, not for others, and before myself only will
I justify it. He who possesses the honest, upright purpose
of which I am conscious, will also attain a similar convic-
tion; but without that, this conviction can in no way be at-
tained. Now that I know this, I also know from what point
all culture of myself and others must proceed; from the will,
not from the understanding. If the former be only fixedly
and honestly directed towards the Good, the latter will of
itself apprehend the True. Should the latter only be exer-
cised, whilst the former remains neglected, there can arise
nothing whatever but a dexterity in groping after vain and
empty refinements, throughout the absolute void inane.
Now that I know this, I am able to confute all false know-
ledge that may rise in opposition to my faith. I know that
every pretended truth, produced by mere speculative
thought, and not founded upon faith, is assuredly false and
surreptitious; for mere knowledge, thus produced, leads only
to the conviction that we can know nothing. I know that
such false knowledge never can discover anything but what
it has previously placed in its premises through faith, from
which it probably draws conclusions which are wholly false.
Now that I know this, I possess the touchstone of all truth
and of all conviction. Conscience alone is the root of all
I truth: whatever is opposed to conscience, or stands in the
way of the fuInTment^r^erlBehests'rs assuredlvjfalse; and
it is impossible for me to arrive at a conviction of its truth,
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
even if I should be unable to discover the fallacies by which
it is produced.
So has it been with all men who have ever seen the light
of this world. Without being conscious of it, they appre-
hend all the reality which has an existence for them,
through faith alone; and this faith forces itself on them
simultaneously with their existence;--it is born with them.
How could it be otherwise? If in mere knowledge, in mere
perception and reflection, there is no ground for regarding
our mental presentations as more than mere pictures which
necessarily pass before our view, why do we yet regard all of them as more than this, and assume, as their foundation,
something which exists independently of all presentation?
If we all possess the capacity and the instinct to proceed be-
yond our first natural view of things, why do so few actually
go beyond it, and why do we even defend ourselves, with a
sort of bitterness, from every motive by which others try to
persuade us to this course? What is it which holds us con-
fined within this first natural belief? Not inferences of rea-
son, for there are none such; it is the interest we have in
a reality which we desire to produce;--the good, absolutely
for its own sake,--the common and sensuous, for the sake
of the enjoyment they afford. No one who lives can divest
himself of this interest, and just as little can he cast off the
faith which this interest brings with it. We are all born in
faith;--he who is blind, follows blindly the secret and irre^
sistible impulse; he who sees, follows by sight, and believes
because he resolves to believe.
What unity and completeness does this view present! --
what dignity does it confer on human nature! Our thought
is not founded on itself alone, independently of our impulses
and affections;--man does not consist of two independent and separate elements; he is absolutely one. All
ht is fouu'1'''1 im our impulses;--as a man's affections
is knowledge. These impulses compel us to a
of thought only so long as we do not perceive
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? 320
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
the constraint; the constraint vanishes the moment it is
perceived; and it is then no longer the impulse by itself,
but we ourselves, according to our impulse, who form our
own system of thought.
ButIshall open my eyes; shall learn thoroughly to know
myself; shall recognise that constraint;--this is my vocation.
I shall thus, and under that supposition I shall necessarily,
form my own mode of thought. Then shall I stand abso-
lutely independent, thoroughly equipt and perfected through
my own act and deed. The primitive source of all my other
thought and of my life itself, that from which everything
proceeds which can have an existence in me, for me, or
through me, the innermost spirit of my spirit,--is no longer
a foreign power, but it is, in the strictest possible sense, the
product of my own will. I_am wbolly my own creation. I
might have followed blindly the leading of my spiritual na-
ture. But I would not be a work of Nature but of myself,
and I have become so even by means of this resolution. By
endless subtilties I might have made the natural conviction
of my own mind dark and doubtful . But I have accepted
it with freedom, simply because I resolved to accept it . I
have chosen the system which I have now adopted with
settled purpose and deliberation from among other possible
modes of thought, because I have recognised in it the only
one consistent with my dignity and my vocation. With free-
dom and consciousness I have returned to the point at
which Nature had left me. I accept that which she an-
nounces ;--but I do not accept it because I must; I believe
it because I wilL
The exalted vocation of my understanding fills me with
reverence. It is no longer the deceptive mirror which re-
flects a series of empty pictures, proceeding from nothing
and tending to nothing; it is bestowed upon me for a great
purpose. Its cultivation for this purpose is entrusted to
me; it is placed in my hands, and at my hands it will be re-
quired. --It is placed in my hands. I know immediately,--
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
321
and here my faith accepts the testimony of my consciousness
without farther criticism,--I know that I am not placed un-
der the necessity of allowing my thoughts to float about
without direction or purpose, but that I can voluntarily a-
rouse and direct my attention to one object, or turn it away
again towards another;--know that it is neither a blind
necessity which compels me to a certain mode of thought,
nor an empty chance which runs riot with my thoughts; but that it is I who think, and that I can think of that whereof I determine to think. Thus by reflection I have discovered
something more; I have discovered that I myself, by my own act alone, produce my whole system of thought and
the particular view which I take of truth in general; since it
remains with me either by over-refinement to deprive myself
of all sense of truth, or to yield myself to it with faithful
obedience. My whole mode of thought, and the cultivation
which my understanding receives, as well as the objects to
which I direct it, depend entirely on myself. True insight
is merit;--the perversion of my capacity for knowledge,
thoughtlessness, obscurity, error, and unbelief, are guilt. There is but one point towards y/hioh T hn. vA nnppggingly
to direct all my attention,--namely, what I ought to do, and and how I may best fuIfiOhlTolaligation. All my thoughts
"must IiaVH'tt burning on my actions, and must be capable of
being considered as means, however remote, to this end;
otherwise they are an idle and aimless show, a mere waste
of time and strength, the perversion of a noble power which
is entrusted to me for a very different end.
I dare hope, I dare surely promise myself, to follow out
this undertaking with good results. The Nature on which
I have to act is not a foreign element, called into existence
without reference to me, into which I cannot penetrate. It
is moulded by my own laws of thought, and must be in har-
mony with them; it must be thoroughly transparent, know-
able and penetrable to me, even to its inmost recesses. In
all its phenomena it expresses nothing but the connexions
and relations of my own being to myself; and as surely as I
may hope to know myself, so surely may I expect to compro-
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? 322
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
hend it. Let me seek only that which I ought to seek, and I
shall find; let me ask only that which I ought to ask, and I
shall receive an answer.
t
That voice within my soul in which I believe, and on ac-
count of which I believe in every other thing to which I
attach credence, does not command me merely to act in gen-
eral. This is impossible; all these general principles are
formed only through my own voluntary observation and re-
flection, applied to many individual facts; but never in
themselves express any fact whatever. This voice of my
conscience announces to mt>> jTrfiriafily nrW. T mifyht tndn
and what leave undone, in every particular situation of life;
it accompanies me, if I will but listen to it with attention,
through all the events of my life, and never refuses me its
reward where I am called upon to act. It carries with it
immediate conviction, and irresistibly compels my assent to
its behests:--it is impossible for me to contend against it
.
To listen to it, to obey it honestly and unreservedly, with-
out fear or equivocation,--this is my true vocation, the
whole end and purpose of my existence. My life ceases to
be an empty play without truth or significance. There is
something that must absolutely be done for its own sake a-
lone;--that which conscience demands of me in this particu-
lar situation of life it is mine to do, for this only I am here;
--to know it, I have understanding; to perform it, I have
power. Through Pfq;ft nf rnnsripnra ,alone, truth and
reality are introduced into my conceptions. I cannot refuse
them my attenTTori' anffTny Obetilence without thereby sur-
rendering the very purpose of my existence.
Hence I cannot withhold my belief from the reality which
they announce, without at the same time renouncing my
vocation. It is absolutely true, without farther proof or
confirmation,--nay, it is the first truth, and the foundation
of all other truth and certainty, that this voice must be
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? BOOK III. FAITH.
323
obeyed; and therefore everything becomes to me true and
certain, the truth and certainty of which is assumed in the
possibility of such obedience.
There appear before me in space, certain phenomena to
which I transfer the idea of myself;--I conceive of them as
beings like myself. Speculation, when carried out to its
last results, has indeed taught me, or would teach me, that
these supposed rational beings out of myself are but the
products of my own presentative power; that, according to
certain laws of my thought, I am compelled to represent out
of myself my conception of myself; and that, according to
the same laws, I can transfer this conception only to certain
definite intuitions. But the voice of my conscience thus
speaks:--" Whatever these beings may be in and for them-
selves, thou shalt act towards them as self-existent, free,
substantive beings, wholly independent of thee. Assume it
as already known, that they can give a purpose to their own
being wholly by themselves, and quite independently of
thee;--never interrupt the accomplishment of this purpose,
but rather further it to the utmost of thy power. Honour
their freedom, lovingly take up their purposes as if they
were thine own. " Thus ought I to act:--by this course of
action ought all my thought to be guided,--nay, it shall and
must necessarily be so, if I have resolved to obey the voice
of my conscience. Hence I shall always regard these be-
ings as in possession of an existence for themselves wholly
independent of mine, as capable of forming and carrying out
their own purposes;--from this point of view, I shall never
be able to conceive of them otherwise, and my previous specu-
lations regarding them shall vanish like an empty dream. --I
think of them as beings like myself, I have said; but strictly
speaking, it is not by mere thought that they are first pre-
sented to me as such. It is by the voice of my conscience,
--by the command:--" Here set a limit to thy freedom;
here recognise and reverence purposes which are not thine
own. "' This it is which is first translated into the thought,
"Here, certainly and truly, are beings like myself, free and
independent. " To view them otherwise, I must in action re-
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? 324
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
nounce, and in speculation disregard, the voice of my con-
science.
Other phenomena present themselves before me which I
do not regard as beings like myself, but as things irrational.
Speculation finds no difficulty in showing how the concep-
tion of such things is developed solely from my own presen-
tative faculty and its necessary modes of activity. But I
apprehend these things, also, through want, desire, and en-
joyment. Not by the mental conception, but by hunger,
thirst, and their satisfaction, does anything become for me
food and drink. I am necessitated to believe in the reality
of that which threatens my sensuous existence, or in that
which alone is able to maintain it. Conscience enters the
field in order that it may at once sanctify and restrain this
natural impulse. "Thou shalt maintain, exercise, and
strengthen thyself and thy physical powers, for they have
been taken account of in the plans of reason. But thou canst
maintain them only by legitimate use, conformable to their
nature. There are also, besides thee, many other beings like
thyself, whose powers have been counted upon like thine
own, and can be maintained only in the same way as thine
own. Concede to them the same privilege that has been
allowed to thee. Respect what belongs to them as their
possession;--use what belongs to thee legitimately as thine
own. " Thus ought I to act,--according to this course of ac-
tion must I think. I am compelled to regard these things
as standing under their own natural laws, independent of,
though perceivable by, me; and therefore to ascribe to them
an independent existence. I am compelled to believe in
such laws; the task of investigating them is set before me,
and that empty speculation vanishes like a mist when the
genial sun appears. In short, there is for me absolutely no such thing as an
existence which has no relation to myself, and which I con-
template merely for the sake of contemplating it;--what-
ever has an existence for me, has it only through its relation
to my own being. But there is, in the highest sense, only
\ one- relation to me possible, all others' are buj^yjwro^mate
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? BOOK XII. FAITH.
325
forms of this:--my vocation rppral q/>>fiYjf. yr. Mv world is
the object and sphere of my duties, and absolutelyjiothing^
more; there is no other world for me, and no other qualities
of my world than what are implied in this;--my whole
united capacity, all finite capacity, is insufficient to compre-
hend any other. Whatever possesses an existence for me,
can bring its existence and reality into contact with me
only through this relation, and only through this relation
do I comprehend it:--for any other existence than this I
have no organ whatever.
To the question, whether, in deed and in fact, such a
world exists as that which I represent to myself, I can give
no answer more fundamental, more raised above all doubt,
than this:--I have, most certainly and truly, these deter-
minate duties, which announce themselves to me as duties
towards certain objects, to be fulfilled by means of certain
materials;--duties which I cannot otherwise conceive of, and
cannot otherwise fulfil, than within such a world as I re-
present to myself. Even to one who had never meditated
on his own moral vocation, if there could be such a one, or
who, if he had given it some general consideration, had, at
least, never entertained the slightest purpose of fulfilling it
at any time within an indefinite futurity,--even for him, his
sensuous world, and his belief in its reality, arises in no
other manner than from his ideas of a moral world. If he
do not apprehend it by the thought of his duties, he cer-
tainly does so by the demand for his rights. What he per-
haps never requires of himself, he does certainly exact from
others in their conduct towards him,--that they should
treat him with propriety, consideration, and respect, not as
an irrational thing, but as a free and independent being;--
and thus, by supposing in them an ability to comply with
his own demands, he is compelled also to regard them as
themselves considerate, free, and independent of the domi-
nion of mere natural power. Even should he never propose
to himself any other purpose in his use and enjoyment of
surrounding objects but simply that of enjoying them, he
at least demands this enjoyment as a right, in the posses-
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? 326
THE VOCATION OF MAN.
sion of which he claims to be left undisturbed by others; and
thus he apprehends even the irrational world of sense by
means of a moral idea. These claims of respect for his ra-
tionality, independence, and preservation, no one can resign
who possesses a conscious existence; and with these claims,
at least, there is united in his soul, earnestness, renuncia-
tion of doubt, and faith in a reality, even if they be not as-
sociated with the recognition of a moral law within him.
Take the man who denies his own moral vocation, and thy
existence, and the existence of a material world, except as a
mere futile effort in which speculation tries her strength,--
approach him practically, apply his own principles to life,
and act as if either he had no existence at all, or were
merely a portion of rude matter,--he will soon lay aside his
scornful indifference, and indignantly complain of thee;
earnestly call thy attention to thy conduct towards him;
maintain that thou oughtst not and darest not so to act;
and thus prove to thee, by deeds, that thou art assuredly
capable of acting upon him; that he is, and that thou art,--
that there is a medium by which thou canst influence him,
and that thou, at least, hast duties to perform towards him. Thus, it is not the operation of supposed external objects,
which indeed exist for us, and we for them, only in so far as
we already know of them; and just as little an empty vision
evoked by our own imagination and thought, the products
of which must, like itself, be mere empty pictures;--it is not
these, but the necessary faith in our own freedom and power,
in our own real activity, and in the definite laws of human ac-
tion, which lies at the root of all our consciousness of a re-
ality external to ourselves;--a consciousness which is itself
but faith, since it is founded on another faith, of which how-
ever it is a necessary consequence. We are compelled to be-
lieve that we act, and that we ought to act in a certain man-
ner; we are compelled to assume a certain sphere for this
action; this sphere is the real, actually present world, such
as we find it;--and on the other hand, the world is abso-
lutely nothing more than, and cannot, in any way, extend
itself beyond, this sphere. From this necessity ofaction
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?
