No More Learning

their lineage from us; others have received from us religion
and all other culture. Those plead with us, by the common
soil of our Fatherland, the cradle of their infancy, which they
have left to us free,--these by the culture which they have
accepted from us as the pledge of a higher good,--to main-
tain, for their sakes, the proud position which has hitherto
been ours, to guard with jealous watchfulness against even
the possible disappearance, from the great confederation of
a newly-arisen humanity, of that member which is to them
more important than all others; so that when they shall
need our counsel, our example, our cooperation in the pur-
suit and attainment of the true end of this Earthly Life,
they shall not look around for us in vain.
"All Ages,--all the Wise and Good who have ever breathed
the air of this world of ours,--all their thoughts and aspi-
rations towards a Higher Good,--mingle with these voices,
and encompass you about, and raise supplicating hands to-
wards you;--Providence itself, if we may venture so to speak,
and the Divine Plan in the creation of a Human Race,--
which indeed exists only that it may be understood of men,
and by men be wrought out into reality,--plead with you
to save their honour and their existence. Whether those
who have believed that Humanity must ever advance in a
course of ceaseless improvement, and that the great ideas of
its order and dignity were not empty dreams, but the pro-
phetic announcement and pledge of their own future reali-
zation ;--whether those--or they who have slumbered on in
the sluggish indolence of a mere vegetable or animal exis-
tence, and mocked every aspiration towards a higher World
--have had the right,--this is the question upon which it
has fallen to your lot to furnish a last and decisive answer.
The ancient world, with all its nobility and greatness, as well
as all its deficiencies, has fallen,--through its own unworthi-
ness and the might of your forefathers. If there has been
truth in that which I have spoken to you in these Addresses,
then it is you to whom, out of all other modern nations, the
germs of human perfection are especially committed, and on
whom the foremost place in the onward advance towards
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? "REDEN AN DIE DEUTSCHEN. "
123
their development is conferred. If you sink to nothing in
this your peculiar office, then with you the hopes of Hu-
manity for salvation out of all its evils are likewise over-
thrown. Hope not, console not yourselves with the vain
delusion, that a second time, after the destruction of an
ancient civilization, a new culture will arise upon the ruins
of the old, from a half-barbaric people. In ancient times,
such a people existed fully provided with all the requisites
for this mission; they were well known to the cultivated
nation, and were described in its literature; and that na-
tion itself, had it been able to suppose the case of its own
downfall, might have discovered the means of renovation in
this people. To us also the whole surface of the earth is
well known, and all the nations who dwell upon it. Do we
know one, like the ancestral tribe of modern Europe, of
whom like hopes may be entertained? I think that every
man who does not give himself up to visionary hopes and
fancies, but desires only honest and searching inquiry,
must answer this question--No! There is, then, no way
of escape :--if ye sink, Humanity sinks with you, without
hope of future restoration! "--Seldom indeed has the cause
of a nation's independence been pled on grounds so truly
noble and elevating as these!
This spirit-stirring course of public activity was inter-
rupted by a severe illness, which attacked him in the spring
of 1808. It was his first illness, and it took so determined
a hold of his powerful constitution, that he never thoroughly
got rid of its effects. Deep-seated nervous disease, and par-
ticularly an affection of the liver, reduced him to great
weakness, and for a time it seemed doubtful whether his
life could be saved. It was only after some months of suf-
fering that the disease settled down upon a particular limb,
and left him with a rheumatic lameness of the left arm and
right foot, which, with an accompanying inflammation in
the eyes, hindered him for a long time from resuming his
habits of active life. He was removed several times to the
baths of Teplitz with beneficial effect. The tedium of con-
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? 124
MEMOIR OV KICHTE.
valescence was relieved by study of the great authors of
Italy, Spain, and Portugal. At an earlier period of his life
he had made himself acquainted with the languages of these
countries, and had produced many translations from their
poets, particularly an entire version of the first canto of
Dante's Divina Commedia,* and one of the most beautiful
episodes in the Lusiad of Camoens. And now, in the sea-
son of debility and pain, the noble thoughts handed down by
the great poets of the south as an everlasting possession to
the world, became to him the springs of new strength and
dignity. Nor did he cease altogether from literary exer-
tion. During his confinement he undertook a thorough re-
vision of his philosophical lectures, and made extensive pre-
paration for his future academical labours. Much of his
time, too, was occupied in the education of his only son, who
speaks with deep reverence and thankfulness of the instruc-
tions thus imparted to him. Amongst his letters written
during his sickness, we find a touching correspondence with
Ernst Wagner, a true and warm-hearted friend of his coun-
try and of all good men, but whose spirit was crushed al-
most to hopelessness by the pressure of disease and penury.
To him Fichte found means of affording such relief and en-
couragement as prolonged, for some short period at least,
a valuable and upright life.
Of his domestic life during this period, and the manner
in which it too bore the impress of his high soul-elevating
philosophy, we obtain the following interesting and in-
structive glimpse:--" We had a family meeting for worship
every evening, which closed the day worthily and solemnly;
in this the domestics also were accustomed to take a part.
When some verses of a chorale had been sung to the accom-
paniment of the piano, my father began, and discoursed upon
a passage or chapter of the New Testament, especially from
his favourite Evangelist John; or, when particular household
circumstances gave occasion for it, he spoke also a word of
reproof or of comfort. But, as far as I remember, he never
* Printed in the "Vesta" for 1807.
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? UNIVERSITY OF BERLIN.
125
made use of ordinary practical applications of his subject, or
laid down preceptive regulations for conduct; but the ten-
dency of his teaching appeared rather to be to purify the
spirit from the distractions and vanities of common life, and
to elevate it to the Imperishable and Eternal. "--So truly
was his life, in all its relations, the faithful counterpart of
the noble doctrine which he taught.
On Fichte's return to active life he found himself placed,
almost at once, in a position from which he could influence
in no slight degree the destinies of his fatherland. Doubts
had arisen as to the propriety of placing the new University
in a large city like Berlin. It was urged that the metropolis
presented too many temptations to idleness and dissipation
to render it an eligible situation for a seminary devoted to
the education of young men. This was the view entertained
by the Minister Stein, but warmly combated by Wolff,
Fichte, and others. Stein was at length won over, and the
University was opened in 1810. The King gave one of the
finest palaces in Berlin for the purpose, and all the appli-
ances of mental culture were provided on the most liberal
scale. Learned men of the greatest eminence in their re-
spective departments were invited from all quarters,--Wolff,
Fichte, Muller, Humboldt, De Wette, Schleiermacher, Nean-
der, Klaproth, and Savigny,--higher names than these cannot
easily be found in their peculiar walks of literature and
science. By the suffrages of his fellow-teachers, Fichte was
unanimously elected Kector.
Thus placed at the head of an institution from which so
much was expected, Fichte laboured unceasingly to establish
a high tone of morality in the new University, convinced
that thereby he should best promote the dignity as well as
the welfare of his country. His dearest wish was to see
Germany free,--free alike from foreign oppression and from internal reproach. He longed to see the stern sublimity of
old Greek citizenship reappear among a people whom the
conquerors of Greece had failed to subdue. And therefore
it was before all things necessary that they who were to go
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? 126
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
forth as the apostles of truth and virtue, who were to be
the future representatives among the people of all that is
dignified and sacred, should themselves be deeply impressed
with the high nature of their calling, and keep unsullied the
honour which must guide and guard them in the discharge
of its duties. He therefore applied himself to the reforma-
tion of such features in the student-life as seemed irrecon-
cilable with its nobleness,--to the suppression of the Lands-
mannschaften, and of the practice of duelling. Courts of
honour, composed of the students themselves, decided upon
all such quarrels as had usually led to personal encounters.
During his two years' rectorship, Fichte laboured with un-
remitting perseverance to render the University in every
respect worthy of the great purposes which had called it
into existence, and laid the foundation of the character
which it still maintains, of being the best regulated, as well
as one of the most efficient, schools in Germany.
The year of 1812 was an important one for Europe, and
particularly for Germany. The gigantic power of Napoleon
had now reached its culminating point. Joseph Bonaparte
reigned at Madrid, and Murat at Naples;--Austria was sub-
dued, and the fair daughter of the House of Hapsburg had
united her fate to that of the conqueror of her race;--Prus-
sia lay at his mercy;--Holland and the Free Towns were
annexed to the territory of France, which now extended from
Sicily to Denmark. One thing alone was wanting to make
him sole master of the continent of Europe, and that was
the conquest of Russia. His passion for universal dominion
led him into the great military error of his life,--the at-
tempt to conquer a country defended by its climate from
foreign invasion, and which, even if subdued, could never
have been retained. He rushed on to the fate which sooner
or later awaits unbridled ambition. The immense armies of
France were poured through Germany upon the North, to
find a grave amid the snows of Smolensk and in the waters
of the Berezina.
And now Prussia resolved to make a decisive effort to
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? WAR OF LIBERATION.
127
throw off a yoke which had always been hateful to her. The
charm was now broken which made men look on the might
of Napoleon as invincible;--the unconquerable battalions
had been routed; fortune had turned against her former
favourite. The King entered into an alliance with the Rus-
sian Emperor, and in January 1813, having retired from
Berlin to Breslau, he sent forth a proclamation calling upon
the youth of the country to arm themselves in defence of
its liberty. Nobly was his appeal responded to. The nation
rose as one man; all distinctions were forgotten in the high
enthusiasm of the time; prince and peasant, teacher and
scholar, artizan and merchant, poet and philosopher, swelled
the ranks of the army of liberation.
Fichte now renewed his former application to be permit-
ted to accompany the troops in the capacity of preacher or
orator, that he might share their dangers and animate their
courage. Difficulties, however, arose in the way of this ar-
rangement, and he resolved to remain at his post in Berlin,
and to continue his lectures until he and his scholars should
be called personally to the defence of their country. The
other professors united with him in a common agreement
that the widows and children of such of their number as fell
in the war should be provided for by the cares of the survi-
vors. It is worthy of remark, that amid this eager enthu-
siasm Fichte resolutely opposed the adoption of any proceed-
ings against the enemy which might cast dishonour on the
sacred cause of freedom . While a French garrison still held
Berlin, one of his students revealed to him a plan, in which
he himself was engaged, for firing their magazine during the
night. Doubts had arisen in his mind as to the lawfulness
of such a mode of aiding his country's cause, and he had
resolved to lay the scheme before the teacher for whose
opinion he entertained an almost unbounded reverence.
Fichte immediately disclosed the plot to the superintendent
of police, by whose timely interference it was defeated. The
same young man, who acted so honourably on this occasion,
afterwards entered the army as a volunteer in one of the
grenadier battalions. At the battle of Dennewitz his life
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? 128
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
was preserved in a very remarkable manner. A musket
ball, which struck him during the fight, was arrested in its
fatal progress by encountering a copy of Fichte's "Religions-
lehre," his constant companion and moral safeguard, which
on this occasion served him likewise as a physical ^Egidus.
On examining the book, he found that the ball had been
stopped at these words (p. 249)--"denn alles, was da kommt,
ist der Wille Gottes mit ihm, und drum das Allerbeste,
was da kommen konnte "--(" for everything that comes to
pass is the Will of God with him, and therefore the best that
can possibly come to pass. ")
During the summer of 1813, Fichte delivered from the
Academical chair those views of the existing circumstances
of his country, and of the war in which it was engaged, which
he was prevented from communicating to the army directly.
These lectures were afterwards printed under the title of
"Ueber den Begriff des wahren Kriegs"--(On the Idea of a
true War. ) With a clearness and energy of thought which
seemed to increase with the difficulties and dangers of his
country, he roused an irresistible opposition to proposals of
peace which, through the mediation of Austria, were offered
during the armistice in June and July. The demands of
Napoleon left Germany only a nominal independence; a
brave and earnest people sought for true freedom. "A
stout heart and no peace," was Fichte's motto, and his
countrymen agreed with him. Hostilities were recom-
menced in August 1813.
In the beginning of the winter half-year, Fichte resumed
his philosophical prelections at the University. His subject
was an introduction to philosophy upon an entirely new
plan, which should render a knowledge of his whole sys-
tem much more easily attainable. It is said that this, his
last course of academical lectures, was distinguished by un-
usual freshness and brilliancy of thought, as if he were ani-
mated once more by the energy of youthful enthusiasm,
even while he stood, unconsciously, on the threshold of an-
other world. He had now accomplished the great object of
his life,--the completion, in his own mind, of that scheme
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? WAR OF LIBERATION.
129
of knowledge by which his name was to be known to pos-
terity. Existing in his own thought as one clear and com-
prehensive whole, he believed that he could now communi-
cate it to others, in a simpler and more intelligible form
than it had yet assumed. It was his intention to devote the
following summer to this purpose, and, in the solitude of
some country retreat, to prepare a finished record of his phi-
losophy in its maturity and completeness. But fate had
ordered otherwise.
The vicinity of Berlin to the seat of the great struggle on
which the liberties of Germany were depending rendered it
the most eligible place for the reception of the wounded and
and diseased. The hospitals of the city were crowded, and
the ordinary attendants of these establishments were found
insufficient in number to supply the wants of the patients.
The authorities therefore called upon the inhabitants for
their assistance, and Fichte's wife was one of the first who
responded to the calL The noble and generous disposition
which had rendered her the worthy companion of the philo-
sopher, now led her forth, regardless of danger, to give all
her powers to woman's holiest ministry. Not only did she
labour with unwearied assiduity to assuage the bodily suf-
ferings of the wounded, and to surround them with every
comfort which their situation required and which she had
the power to supply; she likewise poured words of consola-
tion into many a breaking heart, and awakened new strength
and faithfulness in those who were "ready to perish. "
For five months she pursued with uninterrupted devotion
her attendance at the hospitals, and although not naturally
of a strong constitution, she escaped the contagion which
surrounded her. But on the 3d of January 1814 she was
seized with a nervous fever, which speedily rose to an alarm-
ing height, so that almost every hope of her recovery was
lost . Fichte's affection never suffered him to leave her side,
except during the time of his lectures. It is an astonishing
proof of his self-command, that after a day of anxious
watching at the deathbed, as it seemed, of her he held
s
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? 130
MEMOIR OF FICHTE.
dearest on earth, he should be able to address his class in
the evening, for two consecutive hours, on the most pro-
found and abstract subjects of human speculation, uncertain
whether, on his return, he might find that loved one still
alive. At length the crisis of the fever was past, and Fichte
received again the faithful partner of his cares, rescued from
the grave.
But even in this season of joy, in the embrace of gratula-
tion he received the seeds of death. Scarcely was his wife
pronounced out of danger than he himself caught the in-
fection, and was attacked by the insidious disease. Its first
symptom was nervous sleeplessness, which resisted the ef-
fects of baths and the other usual remedies. Soon, however,
the true nature of the malady was no longer doubtful, and
during the rapid progress of his illness, his lucid moments
became shorter and less frequent. In one of these he was
told of Blucher's passage of the Rhine, and the final expul-
sion of the French from Germany. That spirit-stirring in-
formation touched a chord which roused him from his un-
consciousness, and he awoke to a bright and glorious vision
of a better future for his fatherland. The triumphant ex-
citement mingled itself with his fevered fancies:--he ima-
gined himself in the midst of the victorious struggle, strik-
ing for the liberties of Germany; and then again it was
against his own disease that he fought, and power of will
and firm determination were the arms by which he was to
conquer it. Shortly before his death, when his son ap-
proached him with medicine, he said, with his usual look of
deep affection--" Leave it alone; I need no more medicine:
I feel that I am well. " On the eleventh day of his illness,
on the night of the 27th January 1814, he died. The last
hours of his life were passed in deep and unbroken sleep.
Fichte died in his fifty-second year, with his bodily and
mental faculties unimpaired by age; scarcely a grey hair
shaded the deep black upon his bold and erect head. In
stature he was low, but powerful and muscular. His step
was firm, and his whole appearance and address bespoke the
rectitude, firmness, and earnestness of his character.
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? ESTIMATE OF HIS CHARACTER.
131
His widow survived him for five years. By the kindness
of the Monarch she was enabled to pass the remainder of
her life in ease and competence, devoting herself to the
superintendence of her son's education. She died on the
29th January 1819, after an illness of seven days.
Fichte died as he had lived,--the priest of knowledge, the apostle of freedom, the martyr of humanity. He belongs to
those Great Men whose lives are an everlasting possession
to mankind, and whose words the world does not willingly
let die. His character stands written in his life, a massive
but severely simple whole. It has no parts;--the depth
and earnestness on which it rests, speak forth alike in his
thoughts, words, and actions. No man of his time--few
perhaps of any time--exercised a more powerful, spirit-stir-
ring influence over the minds of his fellow-countrymen.
The impulse which he communicated to the national
thought extended far beyond the sphere of his personal in-
fluence ;--it has awakened,--it will still awaken,--high
emotion and manly resolution in thousands who never
heard his voice. The ceaseless effort of his life was to rouse men to a sense of the divinity of their own nature;--to fix
their thoughts upon a spiritual life as the only true and real
life;--to teach them to look upon all else as mere show and
unreality; and thus to lead them to constant effort after the
highest Ideal of purity, virtue, independence, and self-denial.
To this ennobling enterprise he consecrated his being;--to it
he devoted his gigantic powers of thought, his iron will, his
resistless eloquence. But he taught it also in deeds more
eloquent than words. In the strong reality of his life,--in
his intense love for all things beautiful and true,--in his in-
corruptible integrity and heroic devotion to the right, we
see a living manifestation of his principles.
His life is the
true counterpart of his philosophy;--it is that of a strong,
free, incorruptible man. And with all the sternness of his
morality, he is full of gentle and generous sentiments; of
deep, overflowing sympathies. No tone of love, no soft
breathing of tenderness, fall unheeded on that high royal
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? 132
MEMOIR OF FICIITE.
soul, but in its calm sublimity find a welcome and a home.
Even his hatred is the offspring of a higher love. Truly in-
deed has he been described by one of our own country's
brightest ornaments as a "colossal, adamantine spirit, stand-
ing erect and clear, like a Cato Major among degenerate
men; fit to have been the teacher of the Stoa, and to have
discoursed of beauty and virtue in the groves of Academe. " But the sublimity of his intellect casts no shade on the soft
current of his affections, which flows, pure and unbroken,
through the whole course of his life, to enrich, fertilize, and
adorn it. In no other man of modern times do we find the
stern grandeur of ancient virtue so blended with the kind-
lier humanities of our nature, which flourish best under a
gentler civilization. We prize his philosophy deeply,--it is
to us an invaluable possession, for it seems the noblest ex-
position to which we have yet listened of human nature and
divine truth,--but with reverent thankfulness we acknow-
ledge a still higher debt, for he has left behind him the best
gift which man can bequeath to man,--a brave, heroic
human life.
In the first churchyard from the Oranienburg gate of Ber-
lin, stands a tall obelisk with this inscription:--
THE TEACHERS SHALL SHINE
AS THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE FIRMAMENT;
AND THEY THAT TURN MANY TO RIGHTEOUSNESS
AS THE STARS FOR EVER AND EVER.
It marks the grave of FlCHTE. The faithful partner of his
life sleeps at his feet.
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? ON
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
MANIFESTATIONS:
LECTURES
DELIVERED AT ERLANGEN
1805.
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? CONTENTS.
Lecture I. -- General Plan.
II. -- Closes Definition of the Meaning of the Divine Idea.
III. -- Of the Progressive Scholar generally, and in particular
of Genius and Industry.
IV. -- Of Integrity in Study.
V. -- How the Integrity of the Student manifests itself.
VI. -- Of Academical Freedom.
VII. -- Of the Finished Scholar in general.
VIII. -- Of the Scholar as Ruler.
IX. --Of the Scholar as Teacher.
X. -- Of the Scholar as Author.
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? 137
LECTURE I.
GENERAL PLAN.
I NOW open the course of public lectures which I have an-
nounced on the roll under the title "De Moribus Erudito-
rum. " This inscription may be translated--" Morality for
the Scholar,"--" On the Vocation of the Scholar,"--" On the
Duty of the Scholar," &c. ;--but in what way soever the title
may be translated and understood, the idea itself demands a
deeper investigation. I proceed to this preliminary inquiry.
Generally speaking, when we hear the word Morality the
the idea is suggested of a formation of character and conduct
according to rule and precept. But it is true only in a
limited sense, and only as seen from a lower point of en-
lightenment, that man is formed by precept, or can form
himself upon precept. On the contrary, from the highest
point--that of absolute truth, on which we here take our
stand,--whatever is to be manifested in the thought or deed
of man, must first be inwardly present in his Nature, and
indeed itself constitute his Nature, being, and life; for that
which lies in the essential Nature of man must necessarily re-
veal itself in his outward life, shine forth in all his thoughts,
desires, and acts, and become his unvarying and unalterable
character. How the freedom of man, and all the efforts by
means of culture, instruction, religion, legislation, to form him
to goodness, are to be reconciled with this truth, is the object
of an entirely different inquiry, into which we do not now
enter. We can here only declare in general, that the two
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? 138 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
principles may be thoroughly reconciled, and that a deeper
study of philosophy will clearly show the possibility of their
union.
The fixed disposition and modes of action, or in a word,
the character, of the true Scholar, when contemplated from
the highest point of view, can, properly speaking, only be de-
scribed, not by any means enacted or imposed. On the con-
trary, this apparent and outwardly manifest character of the
true Scholar is founded upon that which already exists with-
in him in his own Nature, independently of all manifesta-
tion and before all manifestation; and it is necessarily
produced and unchangeably determined by this inward
Nature. Hence, if we are to describe his character, we
must first unfold his Nature:--only from the idea of the
latter, can the former be surely and completely deduced. To
make such a deduction from this pre-supposed Nature, is
the proper object of these lectures. Their contents may
therefore be briefly stated: they are--a description of the
Nature of the Scholar, and of its manifestations in the world
of freedom.
The following propositions will aid us in attaining some
insight into the Nature of the Scholar :--
1. The whole material world, with all its adaptations and
ends, and in particular the life of man in this world, are by
no means, in themselves and in deed and truth, that which
they seem to be to the uncultivated and natural sense of
man; but there is something higher, which lies concealed
behind all natural appearance. This concealed foundation
of all appearance may, in its greatest universality, be aptly
named the Divine Idea; and this expression, "Divine Idea,"
shall not in the meantime signify anything more than this
higher ground of appearance, until we shall have more clear-
ly defined its meaning.
2. A certain part of the meaning of this Divine Idea of
the world is accessible to, and conceivable by, the cultivated
mind; and, by the free activity of man, under the guidance
of this Idea, may be impressed upon the world of sense and
represented in it.
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? GENERAL PLAN.
139
3. If there were among men some individuals who had
attained, wholly or partially, to the possession of this last-
mentioned or attainable portion of the Divine Idea of the
world,--whether with the view of maintaining and extend-
ing the knowledge of the Idea among men by communicat-
ing it to others, or of imaging it forth in the world of sense
by direct and immediate action thereon,--then were these
individuals the seat of a higher and more spiritual life in the
world, and of a progressive development thereof according
to the Divine Idea.
4. In every age, that kind of education and spiritual cul-
ture by means of which the age hopes to lead mankind to
the knowledge of the ascertained part of the Divine Idea, is
the Learned Culture of the age; and every man who par-
takes in this culture is the Scholar of the age.
From what has now been said, it clearly follows that the
whole of the training and education which an age calls
Learned Culture, is only the means towards a knowledge of
the attainable portion of the Divine Idea, and is only
valuable in so far as it actually is such a means, and truly
fulfils its purpose. Whether in any given case this end has
been attained or not, can never be determined by common
observation, for it is quite blind to the Idea, and can do no
more than recognise the merely empirical fact whether a
man has enjoyed, or has not enjoyed, the advantage of what
is called Learned Culture. Hence there are two very dif-
ferent notions of a Scholar :--the one, according to appearance
and mere intention; and in this respect, every one must be
considered a Scholar who has gone through a course of
Learned Culture, or as it is commonly expressed, who has
studied or who still studies :--the other according to truth;
and in this respect, he only is to be looked upon as a Scholar
who has, through the Learned Culture of his age, arrived
at a knowledge of the Idea. Through the Learned Culture
of his age, I say; for if a man, without the use of this means,
can arrive at a knowledge of the Idea by some other way
(and I am far from denying that he may do so), yet surh
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? 140
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
an one will be unable either to communicate his knowledge
theoretically, or to realize it immediately in the world, ac-
cording to any well-defined rule, because he must want that
knowledge of his age, and of the means of influencing it,
which can be acquired only in schools of learning. Hence
there may indeed be a higher life alive within him, but not
such a life as can grasp the rest of the world and call forth
its powers;--he may display all the special results of Learn-
ed Culture, but without this plastic power;--and hence we
may have a most excellent Man indeed, but not a Scholar.
As for us, we have here no thought of considering this
matter by outward seeming, but only according to truth.
Henceforward, throughout the whole course of these lectures,
he only will be esteemed a Scholar who, through the Learn-
ed Culture of his age, has actually attained a knowledge of
the Idea, or at least strives with life and strength to attain
it . He who has received this culture without thereby
attaining to the Idea, is in truth (as we are now to look
upon the matter) nothing;--he is an equivocal mongrel
between the possessor of the Idea and him who derives his
strength and confidence from common reality;--in his vain
struggles after the Idea, he has lost the power to lay hold of
and cultivate reality, and now wavers between two worlds
without properly belonging to either of them.
The distinction which we have already noticed in the
modes of the direct application of the Idea in general, is
obviously also applicable in particular to him who comes to
the possession of this Idea through Learned Culture;--that
is, to the Scholar. Either, it is his special and peculiar ob-
ject to communicate to others the Ideas of which he has
himself attained a living knowledge;--and then his proper
business is the theory of Ideas, general or particular,--he is a
teacher of knowledge. But it is only as distinguished from,
and contrasted with the second application of Ideas, that the
business of the scientific teacher is characterized as mere
theory; in a wider sense it is as practical as that of the
more directly active man. The object of his activity is the
human mind and spirit; and it is a most ennobling employ-
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? GENERAL PLAN.
141
ruent systematically to prepare these for, and elevate them to, the reception of Ideas. Or,\it may be the peculiar busi-
ness of him who through Learned Culture has obtained
possession of Ideas, to fashion the world (which, as regards
his design, is a passive world) after these Ideas; perhaps to
model the Legislation,--the legal and social relations of
men to each other,--or even that all-surrounding nature
which constantly presses upon their higher being,--after the
Divine Idea of justice or of beauty, so far as that is possible
in the age and under the conditions in which he is placed;
while he reserves to himself his own original conceptions,
as well as the art with which he impresses them on the
world. In this case he is a pragmatic Scholar. No one, I
may remark in passing, ought to intermeddle in the direct
guidance and ordering of human affairs, who is not a Scho-
lar in the true sense of the word; that is, who has not by
means of Learned Culture become a participator in the
Divine Idea With labourers and hodmen it is otherwise:
--their virtue consists in punctual obedience, in the careful
avoidance of all independent thought, and in confiding the
direction of their occupations to other men.
From a different point of view arises another significant
distinction in the idea of the Scholar: this, namely,--either
the Scholar has actually laid hold of the whole Divine Idea
in so far as it is attainable by man, or of a particular part
of it,--which last indeed is not possible without having first
a clear survey of the whole;--either he has actually laid
hold of it, and penetrated into its significance until it now
stands lucid and distinct before him, so that it has become
his own possession, to be recalled at any time in the same
shape,--an element in his personality;--and then he is a
complete and Finished Scholar, a man who has studied:--or,
he as yet only strives and struggles to attain a clear insight
into the Idea generally, or into that particular portion or
point of it from which he, for his part, will penetrate the
whole:--already, one by one, sparks of light arise on every
side, and disclose a higher world before him; but they do
not yet unite into one indivisible whole,--they vanish as
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? H2
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
they came without his bidding, and he cannot as yet bring
them under the dominion of his will;--and then he is a
Progressive, a self-forming Scholar--a Student. That it
be really the Idea which is either possessed or struggled
after is common to both of these: if the striving be only
after the outward form--the mere letter of Learned Culture,
then we have, if the round be finished--the complete,--if it
be unfinished--the progressive, bungler. The latter is al-
ways more tolerable than the former, for it may still be
hoped that in pursuing his course he may perhaps at some
future point be laid hold of by the Idea; but of the for-
mer all hope is lost.
This, gentlemen, is our conception of the Nature of the
Scholar; and these are all the possible modifications of that
conception--not in any respect changing, but rather wholly
arising out of the original,--the conception, namely, of fixed
and definite being which alone furnishes a sufficient answer
to the question,--What is the Scholar?
But philosophical knowledge, such as we are now seek-
ing, is not satisfied with answering the question, What is ? --
philosophy asks also for the How, and, strictly speaking, asks
for this only, as for that which is already implied in the
What. All philosophical knowledge is, by its nature, not
empiric, but genetic,--not merely apprehending existing
being, but producing and constructing this being from the
very root of its life. Thus, with respect to the Scholar, the
determinate form of whose being we have now described,
there still remains the question,--How does he become a
Scholar? --and since his being and growth is an uninter-
rupted, living, constantly self-producing being,--How does
he maintain the life of a Scholar?
I answer shortly,--by his inherent, characteristic, and all-
engrossing love for the Idea. Consider it thus:--Every
form of existence holds and upholds itself; and in living
existences this self-support, and the consciousness of it, is
self-love. In individual human beings the Eternal Divine
Idea takes up its abode, as their spiritual nature; this in-
dwelling Divine Idea encircles itself in them with unspeak-
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? GENEHAL PLAN.
143
able love; and then we say, adapting our language to com-
mon appearance, this man loves the Idea, and lives in the
Idea,--when in truth it is the Idea itself which, in his place
and in his person, lives and loves itself; and his person is
but the sensible manifestation of this existence of the Idea,
and has, in and for itself alone, neither significance nor life.
This strictly framed definition or formula lays open the
whole matter, and we may now proceed once more to adopt
the language of appearance without fear of misapprehen-
sion. In the True Scholar the Idea has acquired a personal
existence which has entirely superseded his own, and ab-
sorbed it in itself. He loves the Idea, not before all else, for
he loves nothing else beside it,--he loves it alone;--it alone
is the source of all his joys, of all his pleasures; it alone is
the spring of all his thoughts, efforts, and deeds; for it alone
does he live, and without it life would be to him odious and
unmeaning. In both--in the Finished as well as in the
Progressive Scholar--does the Idea reside, with this differ-
ence only,--that in the former it has attained all the clear-
ness and firm consistency which was possible in that indi-
vidual and under existing circumstances, and having now
a settled abode within him, seeks to expatiate abroad, and
strives to flow forth in living words and deeds;--while in
the latter it is still active only within himself, striving after
the development and strengthening of such an existence as it
may attain under the circumstances in which he is placed.
To both alike would their life be valueless, could they not
fashion either others or themselves after the Idea.
This is the sole and unvarying life-principle of the Scho-
lar,--of him to whom we give that name. All his deeds
and efforts, under all possible conditions in which he can be
supposed to exist, spring with absolute necessity from this
principle. Hence, we have only to contemplate him in
those relations which are requisite for our purpose, and we
may calculate with certainty both his inward and outward
life, and describe it beforehand. And in this way it is
possible to deduce with scientific accuracy, from the essential
Nature of the Scholar, its manifestations in the world of
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