No More Learning

If one form of human destiny appears to him superior to
another, it is not because it offers a better field for personal
distinction, but because in it the Divine Idea reveals itself
with greater clearness. Man has no peculiar value beyond
that of faithfully fulfilling his vocation, whatever that may
be; and of this all can partake, irrespective of the different
natures of their callings, v Moreover, the Progressive Scholar
does not even know whether he shall ultimately attain the
proper end of his studies, the possession of the Idea; nor,
therefore, if that noble vocation be really his;--he is only
bound to suppose the possibility of this. The perfect Scho-
lar--of whom we do not now speak--when he has the com-
pleted result in his possession, can then indeed with certain-
ty recognise his vocation; but even in him the cravings of
the Idea for more extended manifestation still continue, and
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? OK INTEGRITY IN STUDY.
173
shall continue while life endures, so that he can never have
time to muse over the superiority of his vocation, even were
such musings not utterly vain in themselves, All pride is
founded on what we think toe are,--are in attained and per- ,
feet being; and thus pride is in itself vain and contradic- ^tory,--for that which is our true being,--that to which end-
less growth belongs,--is precisely that to which we have not
yet attained. Our true and underived being in the Divine
Idea always manifests itself as a desire of progress, and
hence as dissatisfaction with our present state; and thus the
Idea makes us truly modest, and bows us down to the dust
before its majesty. By his pride itself, the proud man
shows that, more than any one else, he has need of humi-
lity | for while he thinks of himself that he is something, he
shows by his pride that he is really nothing.
Hence, in the thought to which we gave utterance, the
Student is holy and honourable to himself above everything
else,--not in respect of what he is, but of what he ought to be,
and what he evermore must strive to become. The peculiar
self-abasement of a man consists in this,--when he makes
himself an instrument of a temporary and perishable purpose,
and deigns to spend care and labour on something else than
the Imperishable and Eternal. In this view, every man
should be honourable and holy to himself,--and so, too,
should the Scholar.
To what end, then, 0 Student, dost thou give to Know- yledge this attention, which, be it great or small, still costs thee some effort,--wherefore concentrate thy thoughts here, when thou wouldst rather let them rove abroad,--wherefore
deny thyself so many enjoyments, for which, nevertheless,
the appetite is not wanting in thee? Dost thou answer,--
"That I may not some day come to want;--that I may ac-
quire a sufficient maintenance, a respectable competency,
whereby I may satisfy myself with good things;--that my
fellow-citizens may respect me, and that I may more easily
move them to the fulfilment of my purposes"? I ask,--Who
then is this thou, in whose future nursing and comfort thou
art so keenly interested, and for whom thou dost now toil so
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? 174
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
hard and sacrifice so much? It is as yet quite uncertain
whether it ever reach this hoped-for land of self-gratifica-
tion :--but suppose it should do so, and even enjoy the pam-
pering thou hast provided for it during a series of years,
what will be the end of it all at last 1 All this nursing will
have an end; the pampered body will sink and crumble into
a heap of ashes; and for this wilt thou begin the monoto-
nous, mechanical, often irksome business of life, and even
add to its inherent bitterness by deliberating beforehand on
the burden which it lays on thee? In such circumstances,
I at least would rather begin at the end of the romance, and
go down this day to the grave, into which sooner or later I
must descend. Or dost thou answer thus, more praise-
worthily in appearance at least, but not more profoundly,--
"I will thereby become useful to my fellow-men and pro-
mote their welfare " 1--then I ask, What end will thy use-
fulness serve? In a few years, of all whom thou desirest to
serve, and whom I freely grant thou mayest serve, not one
shall remain,--not one shall have the least need of thy ser-
vices any more: thou hast spent thy labour on perishable
things;--they disappear, and thou disappearest with them,
and a time comes when every trace of thy existence shall
be utterly effaced. Not so the true Student, who has
brought Integrity with him to his task. "I am," he may
say; "but as surely as I am, is my existence a thought of
God; for He alone is the fountain of all being, and beside
Him there is no being. Whatever I am, in and by this
thought, I am before all Time, and do so remain indepen-
dent of all time and change. This thought will I strive to
know,--to its fulfilment I will apply all my powers;--then
shall they be employed on what is eternal, and their result
shall endure for ever. I am Eternal, and it is below the dig-
nity of the Eternal to waste itself on things that perish. "
By the same principle does Knowledge, the object of his ac-
tivity, become honourable to the Student. At his entrance into
the world of science, he meets with many things which
seem to him strange and unaccountable, insignificant or un-
attractive ;--he cannot conceive the grounds of their neces-
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? OF INTEQKITT IN STUDY.
175
sity, nor their influence on the great whole of Knowledge,
which he is as yet unable to embrace in one view. How
shall the beginner, who must first gather together the dif-
ferent parts,--how shall he see and understand them in the
light of the whole, to which he has not yet attained? Whilst
one man thoughtlessly neglects and despises whatever is
unintelligible to him, and so remains ignorant; whilst
another learns it mechanically, with blind faith, or in the
hope that it may one day prove useful to him in some busi-
ness of life;--the True Scholar worthily and nobly welcomes
it into the general idea of Knowledge which he already pos-
sesses. All which comes before him belongs in every case
to the circle of things out of which the Divine Idea is to
appear to him, and to the material in which the Eternal
Life within him shall reveal itself and assume a definite
form. If Knowledge appears to those who want both
Genius and Integrity, only as a means to the attainment of
certain worldly ends, she reveals herself to him who with
honest heart consecrates himself to her service, not only in
her highest branches which touch closely upon things
divine, but down even to her meanest elements, as some-
thing originating in, and determined by, the Eternal
Thought of God himself,--originated there expressly for,
and in relation to, him,--and destined to be perfected by its
action upon him, and, through him, upon the whole Eternal
Universe.
And so does his own person ever become holier to him
through the holiness of Knowledge, and Knowledge again
holier through the holiness of his person. His whole life,
however unimportant it may outwardly seem, has acquired
an inward meaning,--a new significance. Whatever may
or may not flow from it, it is still a god-like life. And in
order to become a partaker in this life, neither the Student
of science nor the follower of any other human pursuit
needs peculiar talents, but only a living and active Integrity
of Purpose, to which the thought of our high vocation and
of our allegiance to an Eternal Law, with all that flows from
these, will be spontaneously revealed.
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? 176
LECTURE V.
HOW THE INTEGRITf OF THE STUDENT MANIFESTS
ITSELF.
The lectures which I now resume have been begun under
many unfavourable circumstances. In the first place, I have
had to contemplate my subject from a point of view much
higher than the common one,--from an elevation to which
every Student may not have been prepared to rise. A
newly-installed teacher in a University cannot be well ac-
quainted with the extent to which scientific culture has
hitherto been introduced into the public course; and yet it
is naturally expected that he should employ the same
means towards such a culture which have already been long
in use. But could I have known, even to certainty, that
the public as a whole were not sufficiently prepared for
such views, yet I must have treated my subject precisely
in the way in which I have treated it, or else have never
touched it at all. No man should linger about the surface
of a thought, and repeat in another form what has been said
an hundred times before: he who can do no more than this,
had better be silent altogether; but he who can do other-
wise, will never hesitate to do so. Further, the individual
parts of what is in itself a systematic whole, have been ne-
cessarily broken up by intervals of weeks; and propriety
forbade me, in these lectures, strictly to observe the practice
which I have generally adopted in all purely philosophical
instruction,--i. e. before every new lecture to recapitulate
the substance of the previous one in its connexion with the
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? THE NATURE OP THE SCHOLAR.
177
subject at large, and thus conduct the hearer once more
over all that has gone before, and enable him again to
grasp the spirit of the whole. Lastly, in these lectures
my discourse is not, as in my other lectures, entirely free,
descending to the familiar tones of conversation; but is
deliberately composed, and delivered as it is written down.
This too, I conceive, is demanded by propriety,--that I
should give these lectures all the outward polish which is
possible in the only available time which I can spare from
my other duties to devote to them . Public lectures are
the free gifts of an academical teacher; and he who is
not ignoble would wish to make his gifts the best which
he has it in his power to bestow.
The two last-mentioned circumstances are unavoidable,
and nothing remains for you but to change them into
favourable conditions for yourselves. The first is already
obviated, for such of you as attend my private course, by
my last lecture upon the distinction between the philo-
sophical and historical points of view; and I therefore
consider you to be sufficiently prepared by that lecture for
the reception of the views we shall take of our present
subject. To-day I shall, in the first place, survey the whole
of that subject in the form to which you have been accus-
tomed in the other course, and in that form exhibit and
repeat it to you *
Any subject whatever which engages the attention of man, may be considered in a double aspect, and, as it were,
with a double organ of sense; either historically, by mere
outward perception alone; or philosophically, by inward
spiritual vision;--and in this double aspect may the ob-
ject of our present inquiries--the Nature of the Scholar
--be surveyed . The historical view lays hold of existing
opinions about the object, selects from among them the
most common and prevalent, regards these as truth, but
thus obtains mere illusion and not truth. The philoso-
phical view regards things as they are in themselves,--
ie. in the world of pure thought, of which world God is
the essential and fundamental principle,--and thus as God
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? 178 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
himself must have thought of them, could we attribute
thought to him. Hence the inquiry,--What is the Nature
of the Scholar? --as a philosophical question, means the
following:--How must God conceive of the Nature of the
Scholar, were he to conceive of it? In this spirit we have
taken up the question, and in this spirit we have given it
the following answer:--In the first place, God has conceived
of the whole world, not only as it now is, but also as it shall
become by its own spontaneous growth; moreover, what it
now is lies in the original Divine Thought as the germ of
an endless development,--and that a development proceed-
ing from the highest that exists in it, namely, from the
rational beings, by means of their own freedom . If, then,
these rational beings are to realize, by their own free act,
that Divine Thought of the world as it ought to be, they
must before all things comprehend and know this Thought
.
Now, this comprehension and knowledge of the original
Divine Thought is unattainable by them, except on condi-
tion of a second Divine Thought;--this, namely,--that they
who are to be thus gifted should comprehend the Thought.
But those who are so distinguished in the Divine world-
creative Thought, that they should in part comprehend
that original Divine Thought, are therein conceived of as
Scholars; and, on the other hand, Scholars are possible
and actually exist, where they do exist, through the Divine
Thought; and in that Divine Thought they are those who
in part comprehend God in his original Thought of the
world;--Scholars, namely, in so far as they have elevated
themselves to that Divine Thought by the various means
to the attainment of the highest spiritual culture which
exist in every age through the Divine Thought itself.
That Divine Thought of man as a Scholar must now
itself take possession of him, and become his innermost
soul, the true essential life dwelling in his life. This can
happen in two ways, either directly or indirectly. If it lay
hold of the man directly, it will form itself in him, spon-
taneously and without outward aid, into such a knowledge
of the Divine Plan of the universe as can find a place in
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? HOW INTEGRITY MANIFESTS ITSELF. 179
that individual; all his thoughts and impulses will of them-
selves take the most direct way to this end; whatever he
does, prompted by this thought, is good and right, and must
assuredly prosper, for it is an immediately divine act, This
phenomenon we call Genius. In individual cases it can
never be determined whether a man is, or is not, the sub-
ject of this immediate influence of the Divine Thought.
Or, the second and generally applicable case is when the
Divine Thought of man as a Scholar lays hold of, inspires,
and animates him indirectly. He finds himself necessitated
to study by his position, which being determined without his
assistance, he must regard as the purpose of God with him.
He enters upon this vocation, in consequence of the thought
that it is the purpose of God in him and for him, with
Integrity; for so we call the faith that God has a purpose
in our being. By thus embracing his vocation not merely
because it is his, but because it is made his solely by the
Divine Thought and purpose, does his person as well as
knowledge, which is his calling, become to him, before all
other things, honourable and holy. It was this last-men-
tioned thought of which we treated particularly in our
previous lecture, and which we purpose to follow out to-
day.
This thought of the divinity and holiness of his vocation
is the soul of his life, the impulse which produces all that
goes forth from him, the aether in which everything around
him is bathed . His conduct and doings in the outward
world must then harmonise with this thought . He needs
no conscious exertion of his individual will to bring his
actions into harmony with this Divine Thought; he needs
not to exhort, urge, or compel himself to this harmony, for
he cannot possibly act otherwise: were he to endeavour to
act in opposition to it, then he would need to persuade, to
urge, to compel himself to that course, but without success.
Keep this steadfastly in view while we now pass from the
idea of the true-minded Scholar, to its outward manifestation.
Our Morality,-- if it be Morality which we now propound to
you,--our Morality does not enact laws; like all philosophy,
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? 180
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
it confines itself to nature and necessity, and only describes
what does and does not flow from these. Could this Mora-
lity permit itself an external wish, and hope for its realiza-
tion, it would be to strike the hard and barren rock which
confines the fountain of good, so that its waters might
spontaneously gush forth in their original purity to enrich
the inward juices of the tree; but it would never desire
with idle art to engraft thereon foreign fruits which cannot
grow from such a stock. Hence I shall not even touch upon
many things which might seem appropriate in this place;
and upon many others which I do touch, I shall speak
with moderation,--not as if I did not know that these
things have other aspects under which they must be spoken
of with greater severity, but because I shall here judge the
Actual only by the holiness of the Ideal, which must on no
account be dragged down to certain depths of degradation.
Let who will be teacher of external Morality, we shall not
here come into contact with the vulgar who find their
motives to action in impulses from without.
We have already said that the acceptance of his vocation
by the Student as a Divine Thought, makes his own person
holy and honourable to him. This view of his person will
spontaneously manifest itself in his outward life, without
direct thought and will upon his part, as sacred purity and
freedom from all constraint;--not expressly recognised as
such by himself, but because no other mode of life falls
within his range of thought.
To describe his life in one word:--he shuns the contact of
the vulgar and ignoble. Where these meet him, he draws
back, like the well-known sensitive plant which shrinks from
the touch of our finger. Where aught vulgar or ignoble is
present, he is not to be found;--it has forced him from it,
before it came near to him.
What is vulgar and ignoble? So asks not he;--his inward
sense prompts, in every case, an immediate answer. We
put the question only that we may describe his higher life
and delight ourselves in contemplating the picture.
Everything is vulgar and ignoble which degrades the
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? HOW INTEGRITY MANIFKSTS ITSELF. 181
fancy and blunts the taste for the Holy. Tell me what
direction thy thoughts take,--not when thou with tightened
hand constrainest them to a purpose,--but when in thy
hours of recreation thou allowest them freely to rove abroad;
tell me what direction they then take, where they naturally
turn as to their most loved home, in what thou thyself in
the innermost depths of thy soul findest thy chief enjoy-
ment ;--and then I will tell thee what are thy tastes. Are
they directed towards the Godlike, and to those things in
nature and art wherein the Godlike most directly reveals itself in imposing majesty ? --then is the Godlike not dreadful
to thee but friendly; thy tastes lead thee to it,--it is thy
most loved enjoyment . Do they, when released from the
constraint with which thou hast directed them towards a
6erious pursuit, eagerly turn to brood over sensual pleasures,
and find relaxation in the pursuit of these? --then hast thou
a vulgar taste, and thou must invite animalism into the in-
nermost recesses of thy soul before it can seem well with
thee there. Not so the noble Student. His thoughts, when
exhausted by exertion and toil, return in moments of relax-
ation to the Holy, the Great, the Sublime,--there to find re-
pose, refreshment, and new energy for yet higher efforts. In
nature as well as in the Arts, in Poetry and in Music, he
seeks for the Sublime, and that in its great and imposing
style. In Poetry for example, and in Oratory, he delights in
the lofty voices of the ancient world; and, among the mo-
derns, in that only which is produced and interpenetrated
by the spirit of the ancients. Amusements in which the
form of art is thrown around unmeaning emptiness, or even
productions which appeal to the senses alone, and strive to
please man by awakening and exciting his animal nature,--
these have no charms for him. It is not necessary for him
to consider beforehand how hurtful they might prove to
him;--they do not please him, and he can acquire no liking
for them.
The man of mature age may indeed turn his thoughts to
such perversions, that he may discover in themselves the
evidence of their perversion, and so laugh at them: he is
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? 182
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
secure from their contagion. Not so the inexperienced
youth; a secret voice calls him back from them altogether.
The man of ripe years, who is no longer occupied in forming
his Ideal, but now seeks to impress it on the actual world,
--he has to deal with perversion, and must pursue it
through all its doublings and turnings, into its most secret
haunts; and he cannot do this without contemplating it.
Our hatred of the vulgar becomes weakened and blunted by
time, by the experience that the foolishness of the world
suffers no abatement, and that almost the only certain ad-
vantage which can be gained from it is a laugh at its ex-
pense. But the youth cannot thus contemplate life,--he
must not thus contemplate it. Every period of life has its
peculiar calling. Good-natured laughter at vulgarity be-
longs to ripened age; the attitude of youth towards it ought
to be that of stern aversion,--and no one will be able in
after years to look on it, and to laugh at it, and yet remain
truly free and pure from its taint, who does not begin in
youth by avoiding and hating it. Jesting is not suited for
youth,--they know little of man who think so; where youth
is wasted in sport, it will never attain to earnestness and
true existence. The portion of youth in life is the Earnest
and the Sublime;--only after such a youth does maturity
attain to the Beautiful, and with it to sportful enjoyment of
the Vulgar.
Further, everything is vulgar and ignoble which weakens
spiritual power. I shall instance idleness;--to mention
drunkenness or sensuality would be below the dignity
of our subject. To live without active occupation, -- to
cast a dull and unmeaning gaze around us, will soon make
our minds dull and unmeaning. This propensity to non-
existence, to spiritual torpor, becomes a habit, a second
nature; it surprises us in our studies or while listening to
our teacher, creates a chasm in what would otherwise be a
strictly connected whole, interposes itself here and there
between ideas which we should have bound together, so
that we cannot comprehend even those which are most easy
and intelligible. How this propensity should seize upon
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HOW INTEGRITY MANIFESTS ITSELF. 188
youth, may well remain unaccountable even to men of the
deepest penetration and judgment; and in most cases it
would be no delusion to seek its cause in some secret infir-
mity or vice. Youth is the age of newly-developed power;
everywhere there are still impulses and principles destined
to burst forth into new creations;--the peculiar character
of youth is restless and uninterrupted activity; left to itself,
it can never be without occupation. To see it slothful is
the sight of winter in the time of spring, the blight and
withering of a newly-opened flower. Were it naturally pos-
sible that this idleness should attempt to gain dominion
over the true-minded and virtuous Student, he would never
for a moment endure it. In the Eternal Thought of God
his spiritual power has its source; lit is thus his most pre-
cious treasure, and he will not suffer it to fall into impotent
rigidity before it has fulfilled its task. He watches unceas-
ingly over himself, and never allows himself to rest in sloth-
ful inaction. It is only for a short period that this exertion
of the will is needed; afterwards, its result continues of it-
self, for it is happily as easy,--or even more easy because it
is more natural,--for man to accustom himself to industry
than to idleness, and after a time passed in sustained ac-
tivity it even becomes impossible for him to live without
employment.
Lastly, everything is vulgar and ignoble which robs man
of respect for himself, of faith in himself, and of the power
of reckoning with confidence upon himself and his purposes.
Nothing is more destructive of character than for man to
lose all faith in his own resolutions, because he has so often
determined, and again determined, to do that which never-
theless he has never done. Then he feels it necessary to
flee from himself; he can no longer turn inward to his own
thoughts, lest he be covered with shame before them; he
shuns no society so much as his own, and deliberately gives
himself up to dissipation and self-forgetfulness. Not so the
upright Student: he keeps his purpose; and whatever he
has resolved to do, that he does, were it only because he has
resolved to do it. For the same reason,--that he must be
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? 184
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
guided by his own purpose and his own insight,--he will
not become a slave to the opinion of others, or even to the
general opinion. It is doubtless of all things most ignoble,
when man,--out of too great complacency, which at bottom
is cowardice and want of spirit, or out of indolence, which
prevents him from thinking for himself and drawing the
principles of his conduct from his own mind,--gives himself
up to others, and relies upon them rather than upon him-
self. Such an one has indeed no self within him, and be-
lieves in no self within him, but goes as a suppliant to
others, and entreats of them, one after another, to lend him
their personality. How can such an one regard himself as
honourable and holy, when he neither knows nor acknow-
ledges his own being?
I have said that the true-minded Student will not make
himself a slave to common opinion; nevertheless he will
accommodate himself to established customs where these
are in themselves indifferent, simply because he honours
himself. The educated youth grows up amid these cus-
toms; were he to cast them off, he must of necessity deli-
berately resolve to do so, and attract notice and attention to
himself by his singularities and his offences against de-
corum. How should he whose time is occupied with
weightier matters find leisure to ponder such a subject? Is
the matter so important, and is there no other way in which
he can distinguish himself, that he must take refuge in a
petty peculiarity ? " No! " answers the noble-minded Stu-
dent; "I am here to comprehend weightier things than out-
ward manners, and I will not have it appear that I am too
awkward to understand these. I will not by such littleness
cause myself and my class to be despised and hated by the
uncharitable, or good-naturedly laughed at by those of
better disposition; my fellow-citizens of other classes, or of
my own, my teachers, my superiors, shall have it in their
power to honour and respect me as a man, in every relation
of human life. "
And thus in all its relations does the life of the studious
youth, who respects himself, flow on--blameless and lovely.
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? 185
LECTURE VI.
OF ACADEMICAL FREEDOM.
The point which we had attained at the close of last lecture
in our portraiture of the Student to whom his own person
had become holy through the view of his vocation as a
Divine Thought, was the consideration of his outward man-
ners. With this subject is connected an idea, frequently
broached but seldom duly weighed,--the idea of the Aca-
demical Freedom of the Student. Much, indeed, of what
has been said regarding this subject lies below the dignity
of these lectures; and, only in the sequel will we be able to
find a way of elevating it to our own standard . Hence I
not only cheerfully admit that the discussion of this idea,
which I hope to accomplish to-day, is a mere episode in my
general plan; I must even entreat you so to consider it.
But to pass over altogether a subject to which one is led,
almost unconsciously, in a review of the moral behaviour
of the Student, I hold to be all the less legitimate that it is
commonly avoided, and quite properly avoided, since it may
so easily degenerate into polemics or satire, from both of
which we are secured by the tone of these lectures.
What is Academic Freedom? The answer to this question
is our task for to-day. As eveiy object may be looked upon
from a double point of view,--partly historical, partly phi-
losophical,--so may the subject of our present inquiry. Let
us, in the first place survey it from the historical point of
view,--t. e. let us try to discover what they meant by it who
first allowed and introduced Academic Freedom.
Academies have always been considered as higher schools,
Ba
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? 18G
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
in contrast with the lower preparatory schools, or scJwols
properly so called;--hence the student at the academy as
distinguished from the pupil at the school . The freedom of
the former could thus only be understood to be emancipa-
tion from some constraint to which the latter was subject.
The pupil, for example, was compelled to appear at his class
in a particular kind of clothing, which in those days indi-
cated the dignity of the future Scholar; he dared not neglect
his fixed hours of study; and he had many other duties im-
posed upon him, which were then regarded as a sort of
sacred service preparatory to the future spiritual office to
which the Student was usually destined,--as for instance,
choir-singing. In all these respects he was subject to strict
and constant inspection;--the transgressor was often igno-
miniously punished; and indeed the teacher himself was
both overseer and judge. Meanwhile Universities arose;
and the outward, unlearned world would naturally be in-
clined to place them under similar regulations to those
adopted in the only educational institutions with which it
was familiar,--i. e. such as it saw in the schools. But this
did not ensue,--and it was impossible that it should ensue.
The founders of the first Universities were Scholars of dis-
tinguished talent and energy; they had fought their way
through the surrounding darkness of their age to whatever
insight they possessed; they were wholly devoted to their
scientific pursuits, and lived in them alone; they were en-
compassed by a brilliant reputation; in the circles of the
great they were esteemed, honoured, consulted as oracles.
They could never condescend to assume the position of
overseers and pedagogues towards their hearers. Hence it
was, that they held in contempt the teachers of the lower
schools, from whose level they had raised themselves by
their own ability; and for that reason they would neither
practise, nor allow themselves to be distinguished by, those
things which characterized the former. Their call assem-
bled around them hundreds and thousands from all coun-
tries of Europe; the number of their hearers increased both
their importance and their wealth; and it was not to be
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? OF ACADEMICAL FREEDOM.
187
expected that they should expose to annoyance those who
brought such benefits to them. Besides, how was it possible
that young men, with whom they had but a passing ac-
quaintance among hundreds of their fellows,--who in a few
months, a year, or at most a few years, would return to dis-
tant homes,--should interest them closely, or engage their
affections ? --Neither the moral demeanour nor the scientific
progress of their hearers was of any consequence to them;
and in these days a well-known Latin adage which speaks
of "taking gold and sending home," very naturally arose.
Academic Freedom had arisen, as emancipation from the
constraints of school, and from all supervision on the part of
the teacher over the morality, industry, or scientific progress
of the Student, who was to him a hearer and nothing more.
This is one side of the picture. It may easily be ima-
gined, and, where no very high standard of morality existed,
it might very naturally occur, that these founders of the
early universities did so think of this matter, and that a
portion of this mode of thought has come down to us
through past centuries. Let us now look at the other side.
What, then, would be the natural and reasonable effect
of this idea of Academical Freedom on the minds of the
Students? Could they have thought themselves highly
honoured by this indifference on the part of their teacher to
their moral dignity and scientific improvement ? --could
they have demanded this indifference as a sacred right? I
cannot believe it,--for such indifference amounts to disre-
gard and contempt of the Student, and it is surely most of-
fensive to tell him to his face by such conduct--" It is no-
thing to me what becomes of you. "--Or would it have been
natural for them to conclude, from the carelessness of others
about their moral demeanour and regular application to
study, that therefore they themselves were entitled to ne-
glect these things if they chose? --would they have acted
reasonably had they regarded their Academic Freedom as
only a right to be immoral and indolent? I cannot believe it.
Much more reasonable would it have been, had they deter-
mined, because of this want of foreign superintendence, to
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? 188
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
exercise a stricter surveillance over themselves; if out of
this freedom from outward constraint had arisen a clearer
perception of their duty to urge themselves onward so much
the more powerfully, to watch over themselves so much the
more incessantly, and to look upon their Academic Freedom
as liberty to do all that is right and becoming by their own
free determination.
In short, the Academic Freedom of the Student, taken
historically, according to its actual introduction into the
world, exhibits in its origin, in its progress, and in what of it
still exists, an unjust and indecent contempt for the whole
class of Students, as a most insignificant class; and the Stu-
dent who considers himself honoured by this Freedom, and
lays claim to it as a right, has fallen into a most extraordi-
nary delusion ;---he is certainly ill informed, and has never
seriously reflected on the subject. It may indeed become
the well-disposed man of riper years, who is always a lover
of life and youth, to turn aside from the awkwardness, the
rudeness, and the many errors into which unbridled energy
is apt to fall, goodnaturedly to laugh at these, and to think
that wisdom will come with years; but the youth who feels
himself honoured by this judgment, and even demands it as
his due, cannot be supposed to possess a very delicate sense
of honour.
Let us now consider this subject--the Academic Freedom
of the Student--in its philosophical sense; La. as it ought to
be; as, under certain conditions, it may be; and, what fol-
lows from thence, how the actually existing Academic Free-
dom will be accepted by the Student who understands and
honours his vocation. We shall open a way to the attain-
ment of insight into this matter through the following prin-
ciples :--
1. The external freedom of the Citizen is limited, in
every direction and on all possible sides, by Law; and the
more perfect the Law the greater is the limitation,--and so
it ought to be, for this is the proper office of Law. Hence,
there is no sphere remaining in which the inward freedom
and morality of the Citizen can be outwardly exhibited and
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? OF ACADEMICAL FREEDOM.
189
demonstrated,--and there ought to be no such sphere. All
that is to be done is commanded, under penalties; all that
is not to be done is forbidden, likewise under penalties.
Every inward temptation to neglect what is commanded, or
to do what is forbidden, is counterbalanced in the con-
science of the Citizen by the firm conviction, that should he
give way to the temptation, he must in consequence suffer
a certain amount of evil. Let it not be said,--" There is no
existing legislation so all-comprehensive, nor is the sagacity
and vigilance of any tribunal so infallible, that every offence
is sure to meet its punishment. " I know this; but as I said
before, it ought to be thus, and this is what we should regu-
larly and constantly approximate to. Legislation cannot
calculate on the morality of men; for its object--the free-
dom and security of all within their respective spheres--
cannot be left to depend on so uncertain a thing. For the
just man there is indeed no law under any possible legisla-
tion; he will commit no evil even although it were not for-
bidden, and whatsoever is good and right, that he will do
without reference to the command of authority; he is never
tempted to crime, and therefore the idea of its attendant
punishment never enters his mind. He is conscious of his
virtue, and in this consciousness he has his reward within
himself. But externally there is no distinction between him
and the unjust man who is withheld from the commission
of wrong and impelled to the performance of duty only by
the threatenings of the law:--the former cannot do any-
thing more or leave undone anything more than the latter,
but only does or leaves undone the same things from a dif-
ferent motive, which is not outwardly apparent
.
2. Under this legislation, the Scholar and the unlearned
person stand, and ought to stand, on common ground,--as
Citizens. Both can raise themselves above the law in the
same way,--by integrity of purpose;--but this is not cal-
culated upon in either of them, and in neither can this in-
tegrity become apparent in the sphere of external legisla-
tion. And since the Scholar is further a member of a cer-
tain class in the State, and practises in it a certain calling,
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? 190
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
he lies also under the compulsory obligations belonging to
that class and calling;--and here once more it cannot be
apparent whether he fulfils his duties in this sphere from
integrity of purpose or from fear of punishment; nor does
it in any way concern the community by what motive he is
actuated so that his duties are fulfilled. Lastly, in those
regions which have either not yet been reached by an im-
perfect legislation, or which cannot be reached at all by an
external legislation, he is still accompanied by the fear of
disgrace; -- and here again it cannot be seen whether he
does his duty in consequence of this fear or from inward
integrity of purpose.
3. But, besides these, there are yet other relations of the
Scholar, with which external legislation cannot interfere
and in which it cannot watch over the fulfilment of his
duty,--where the Scholar must be a law to himself and
hold himself to its fulfilment. In the Divine Idea he
carries in himself the form of the future Age which one
day must clothe itself with reality; and he must show an
example and lay down a law to coming generations, for
which he will seek in vain either in present or in past
times. In every age that Idea clothes itself in a new form,
and seeks to shape the surrounding world in its image, and
thus do continually arise new relations of the world to the
Idea, and a new mode of opposition of the former to the
latter. It is the business of the Scholar so to interpose in
this strife as to reconcile the activity with the purity of his
Idea, its influence with its dignity. His Idea must not lie
concealed within him; it must go forth and lay hold upon
the world, and he is urged to this activity by the deepest
impulses of his being. But the world is incapable of receiv-
ing this Idea in its purity; on the contrary, it strives to
drag down the Idea to the level of its own vulgar thought.
Could he forego aught of this purity, his task would be an
easy one; but he is filled with reverence for the Idea, and he
can give up no part of its perfection. Hence he has to set
before him the difficult task of reconciling these purposes.
No law,--but why do I speak oilawsf--no example of the
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? OF ACADEMICAL FREEDOM.
191
fore-world or of his own time can reveal to him the means
of this union,--for so surely as the Idea has assumed a new
form in him has his case never before occurred. Even re-
flection, of itself, cannot give him this point of union; for
although, by reflection, the Idea itself in all its purity is re-
vealed as the first point of the union, yet much more is
needed before the second point--the mental condition of
the surrounding world, and what may safely be expected
from it--can be clearly and fully comprehended in the same
thought . Well may those who have wrought most mightily
upon their age have closed their career with the inward
confession that their reliance on the spirit of their time had
ever proved fallacious, that they never supposed it to be so
perverse and imbecile as it afterwards proved, and that
while they accurately estimated one of its aberrations and
avoided it, another, hitherto unperceived, revealed itself.
To succeed at all at any time, there is needed, in addition
to reflection, a certain tact, which can only be acquired by
early exercise and habit . s
Farther, it is clear that in this matter--in doing every-
thing possible to reconcile the opposition between the in-
ward purity of the Idea and its external activity -- the
Scholar can be guided only by his own determination, can
have no other judge but himself, and no motive external
to himself. In this no stranger can judge him--in this no
stranger can even wholly understand him, nor divine the
deep purpose of his actions. In this region, so far is respect
for the judgment of others from aiding his intention, that
on the contrary he must here cast aside foreign opinion
altogether, and look upon it as if it were not. He must
be guided and upheld by his own purpose alone;--and tru-
ly he needs a mighty and immovable purpose to keep his
ground against the temptations which arise even from his
noblest inclinations. What is more noble than the impulse
to action, to sway the minds of men, and to compel their
thoughts to the Holy and Divine ? --and yet this impulse
may become a temptation to represent the Holy in a com-
mon and familiar garb for the sake of popularity, and so to
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? 192
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
desecrate it. What is more noble than the deepest rever-
ence for the Holy, and disdain and abnegation of every-
thing vulgar and opposed to it ? --and yet this very rever-
ence might tempt some one to reject his age altogether,--
to cast it from him and avoid intercourse with it. A
mighty and good will is needed to resist the first of these
temptations, and the mightiest of all to overcome the
second.
It is evident from these considerations, that, for his pecu-
liar vocation, the Scholar needs shrewd practical wisdom, a
profound morality, strict watchfulness over himself, and a
fine delicacy of feeling. It follows, that at an early age he
ought to be placed in a position where it is possible and
necessary for him to acquire this practical wisdom and deli-
cacy of feeling, and that this cultivation of mind and cha-
racter should be a peculiar element in the education of the
future Scholar. Every Citizen, without exception, may cul-
tivate these qualities, and must have it in his power to do
so; legislation must leave this possibility open to him,--it
is compelled to do so by its very nature. But it does not
concern the legislature or the commonwealth whether the
Citizen does or does not elevate himself to this vocation, be-
cause his calling will still remain within the range of exter-
nal jurisdiction. But as for the Scholar, it is of importance
to the Commonwealth, and to the whole Human Race, that
he should both raise himself to the purest morality and ac-
quire sound practical wisdom, since he is destined one day
to enter a sphere where he absolutely leaves behind him all
external judgment. The legislation for him, therefore,
should not merely allow him the possibility of moral culti-
vation like every other Citizen, but, so far as in it lies, it
should place him under the outward necessity of acquiring
this cultivation.
And how can it do this? Evidently only by leaving him
to his own judgment as to what is becoming, seemly, and
appropriate, and to his own superintendence of himself. Is
he to create for himself an independent sense of what is
proper and becoming? How can he do so if the law accom-
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