Yet I
may perhaps be permitted to mention one error not quite
so ignoble and vulgar, and to hold up its opposite to your
view.
may perhaps be permitted to mention one error not quite
so ignoble and vulgar, and to hold up its opposite to your
view.
Fichte - Nature of the Scholar
)
bring the small injustice which is done to himself as an of-
fering to the general support of justice among men.
The Divine Idea, ruling in the Ruler, and through him
moulding the condition of his age and nation, now becomes
his sole and peculiar Life ;--which indeed is the case with
the Idea under any form in which it may enter the soul of
man;--he cannot have, nor permit, nor endure, any Life
within him except this Life. He comprehends this Life
with clear consciousness as the immediate life and energy
of God within him, as the fulfilment of the Divine Will in
and by his person. It is unnecessary to repeat the proofs
which we have already adduced in general, that through
this consciousness his thought is sanctified, transfigured,
and bathed in the Divinity. Every man needs Religion,
--every man may acquire it,--and with it every man
may obtain Blessedness;--most of all, as we have seen
above, does the Ruler need it. Unless he clothe his
calling in the light of Religion, he can never pursue it with
a good conscience. Without this, nothing remains for him
but either thoughtlessness and a mere mechanical fulfilment
of his vocation, without giving account to himself of its rea-
sonableness or justice; or if not thoughtlessness,--then
want of principle, obduracy, insensibility, hatred and con-
tempt of the Human Race.
The Idea, thus moulded on the Divine Life, lives in his
life instead of his own personality. It alone moves him,--
nothing else in its room. His personality has long since dis-
appeared in the Idea,--how then can any motive now arise
from it 1 He lives in honour, transfused in God to work His
Eternal Will,--how then can fame, the judgment of mortal
and perishable men, have any significance for him 1 Devoted
to the Idea with his whole being,--how can he ever seek to
pamper or to spare himself? His person,--all personality,
--has disappeared in the Divine Idea of universal order.
That order is his ever-present thought; only through it does
he conceive of individual men: hence neither friend nor foe,
neither favourite nor adversary, finds a plaoe before him;
Ea
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? 210
THK NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
but all alike, and be himself with them, are lost for ever
in the thought of the independence and equality of alL
The Idea alone moves him,--and where it does not move
him, there he has no life, but remains quiescent and inactive.
He will never rouse himself to energy and labour merely
that something may come to pass, or that he may gain a re-
putation for activity; for his desire is not merely that some-
thing may come to pass, but that the will of the Idea may
be accomplished. Until it speaks, he too is silent;--he has
no voice but for it . He does not respect old things because
they are old;--but as little does he desire novelty for its own
sake. He looks for what is better and more perfect than the
present; until this rises before him clearly and distinctly,--
so long as change would lead only to difference, not im-
provement,--he remains inactive, and concedes to the old
the privilege it derives from ancient possession.
In this way does the Idea possess and pervade him with-
out intermission or reserve, and there remains nothing
either of his person or his life that does not burn a perpe-
tual offering before its altar. And thus is he the most di-
rect manifestation of God in the world.
That there is a God, is made evident by a very little
serious reflection upon the outward world. We must end
at last by resting all existence which demands an extrinsic
foundation, upon a Being the fountain of whose life is with-
iu Himself; by allying the fugitive phenomena which colour
the stream of time with ever-changing hues to an eter-
nal and unchanging essence. But in the life of Divine Men
the Godhead is manifest in the flesh, reveals itself to im-
mediate vision, and is perceptible even to outward sense.
In their life the unchangeableness of God manifests itself in
the firmness and intrepidity of human will which no power
can force from its destined path. In it the essential light
of the Divinity manifests itself in human comprehension of
all finite things in the One which endures for ever. In it
the energy of God reveals itself, not in directly surrounding
the Human Race with happiness--which is not its object--
but in ordering, elevating, and ennobling it . A Godlike
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS RULER.
211
life is the most decisive proof which man can give of the
being of a God.
It is the business of all mankind to see that the convic-
tion of the Divine Existence, without which the very essence
of their own being passes away into nothing, shall never
perish and disappear from among them;--above all, it is
the business of the Rulers as the highest disposers of hu-
man affairs. It is not their part to bring forward the theo-
retical proof from human reason, or to regulate the mode in
which this proof shall be adduced by the second class of
Scholars; but the practical proof, in their own lives, and
that in the highest degree, devolves peculiarly upon them.
If firm and intrepid will,--if clear and all-comprehending
vision,--if a spirit of order and nobility speak to us in their
conduct, then in their works do we see God face to face, and
need no other proof:--God is, we will say,--for they are,
and He in them.
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? 212
LECTURE IX.
OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
Besides those possessors of the Idea, whose business it is,
by guiding and ordering the affairs of men, to introduce the
Idea immediately into life, there is yet another class--those,
namely, who are peculiarly and by preeminence called Scho-
lars, who manifest the Idea directly in spiritual conceptions,
and whose calling it is to maintain among men the convic-
tion that there is, in truth, a Divine Idea accessible to hu-
man thought, to raise this Idea unceasingly to greater clear-
ness and precision, and thus to transmit it from generation
to generation fresh and radiant in ever-renewed youth.
This latter Vocation again divides itself into two very
different callings, according to the primary object contem-
plated by them, and the mode of its attainment. Either
the minds of men are to be trained and cultivated to a
capacity for receiving the Idea; or the Idea itself is to be
produced in a definite form for those who are already pre-
pared for its reception. The first calling has particular men
for its primary and immediate objects;--in it the only use
which is made of the Idea is as a means of training and cul-
tivating these men so that they may become capable of
comprehending the Idea by their own independent effort.
It follows that, in this calling, regard must be had solely to
the men who are to be cultivated, the degree of their culti-
vation, and their capacity of being cultivated; and that an
influence is valuable here only in so far as it may be ef-
ficiently applied to those individuals upon whom it is di-
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? THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
213
recteA The second has for its object the Idea itself, and the
fashioning of the Idea into distinct conceptions, and has no
reference whatever to any subjective disposition or capacity
of men; its business is prosecuted with no view to any but
those who are capable of comprehending the Idea in the
form thus given to it; the work itself settles and deter-
mines who shall receive it, and it is only addressed to those
who can comprehend it. The first object will be best and
most fitly attained by the verbal discourses of the Teacher;
the second by literary writings.
Both these callings belong to the vocation of the Scho-
lar in its proper and highest sense, and not to the subordi-
nate Scholar-occupations, which devolve upon a man only
because he has not attained the proper end of his studies.
He who prosecutes his studies conscientiously, and so ac-
quires a conviction of the importance of the vocation of the
Scholar, but yet does not feel within himself a clear con-
sciousness of the capacity to fulfil it, shows that he recog-
nises its sacred character by not undertaking it;--he who
does undertake it, manifests the same conviction by exercis-
ing it worthily. In the next lecture we shall speak of the
true Author; to-day we shall discourse of the upright
Teacher of future Scholars.
The Teachers and Educators of those who devote them-
selves to the occupation of the Scholar may be divided into
two classes:--they are Teachers either in the lower Schools
of learning, or in the higher or Universities. Not without
deliberation do I class the Teachers in the lower Schools
among true and not subaltern Scholars, and therefore de-
mand of them that they attain possession of the Idea, and
be penetrated by it,--if not with perfect light, yet with liv-
ing warmth. He who is destined to study will, even while
a boy, surround himself invisibly with the Idea and with its
sanctity, and bathe his whole being in its influence. No-
thing from which any ideal result may one day unfold it-
self will be pursued by him as a piece of vulgar handicraft,
or used as a means to the attainment of a partial object.
Happily the objects which are peculiar to these Schools are
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? 214
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
of such a nature as to elevate him who pursues them tho-
roughly and conscientiously, and through him those who
are committed to his care, above vulgar modes of thought;
--did but the outward circumstances of the Teacher answer
to his dignity, and his independence and station in society
correspond with his most honourable calling. The objects of
school-instruction, I said. In a fundamental study of Lan-
guage, pursued, as it must be, amid old modes of speech, far
removed from our habits of thought, a deeper insight into
ideas is gained; and from the works of the Ancients, by
means of which this study is pursued, an excellent and en-
nobling spirit speaks to the youthful mind. For this reason,
the Teacher in these lower Schools should be a partaker of
the Idea, because it is his task imperceptibly to familiarize
the youth with the high and noble before he is able to dis-
tinguish these from the vulgar,--to accustom him to these,
and to estrange him from the low and ignoble. Thus
guarded in his early years, and thus prepared for higher
progress, the youth enters the University. Here, for the
first time, can he be clearly taught, and led to comprehend
and acknowledge--that which I have endeavoured to utter
to you in these lectures,--that our whole race has its only
true existence in the Divine Thought,--that its only worth
consists in its harmony with this Divine Thought,--and that
the class of Scholars has therein an existence only to the
end that they may comprehend this Divine Thought and im-
print it on the world. At the University the Student first
receives a clear idea of the nature and dignity of that voca-
tion to which his life has been devoted beforehand. He
must obtain that clear idea here :--the Teacher in the lower
Schools may look forward to another education for his pu-
pils, and he counts upon that; but the Academic Teacher
has no higher instruction to calculate upon, except that
which the Progressive Scholar may bestow upon himself,--
to the capacity for which, however, the Teacher must train
him so that he may have it in his power to become his own
instructor;--once released from the lecture-room he is com-
mitted to himself and to the world. Herein, therefore, lies
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
215
the characteristic difference between the lower and the
higher Schools,--that at the lower School the youth has
only a presentiment of his vocation, while at the University
he clearly comprehends and recognises it;--and from this
distinction the specific duties of the Teacher in the respec-
tive institutions may easily be deduced.
The Academic Teacher, of whom chiefly we have to speak,
ought to train the Student who has already been made ac-
quainted with the nature and dignity of his calling, to the
capacity of receiving the Idea, and the power of developing
it from his own consciousness, and giving it a form peculiar
to himself:--he should do all this if he can. But in every
case, and unconditionally, he must fill the Student with res-
pect and veneration for the proper calling of the Scholar.
The first object of all study,--to lay hold of the Idea from a
new and peculiar point of view, is by no means to be given
up either by the Student himself, or by the Teacher on his
behalf; but it is nevertheless possible that it may not be
attained, and both must reconcile themselves beforehand to
this possibility. Should this first object of study remain
unaccomplished, the Student may still become a useful,
worthy, and upright man. But the second object of study,
--that he acquire a reverence for the Idea during his efforts
to attain it,--that on account of this reverence he forbear
from undertaking anything for which he does not know
himself to be qualified,--that he consecrate himself to the
service of the Idea, at least by permanently cherishing this
reverence for what is unattainable by him, and contributing
to the extent of his ability to maintain such a reverence
among men;--this object is never to be relinquished; for
were it not attained, then, through the very fact of his hav-
ing studied, would his dignity as a man be lost, and he
would sink the deeper in consequence of the height to
which he ought to have risen. The attainment by the Stu-
dent of the first object of study is, to the Academic Teacher,
a conditional duty,--conditioned by the possibility of its ful-
filment. The attainment of the second he must ever look
upon and acknowledge as his unconditional duty, which he
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? 21G
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
must never deliberately relinquish. It may indeed happen
that he cannot accomplish even this, but he must never
admit a doubt of its ultimate attainment.
What, then, can the Academic Teacher do for the attain-
ment of this second object? I answer, he can do nothing
for it exclusively; he can do nothing else than that which
he must do for the first and higher object by itself. In pur-
suing and attaining the second, he is advancing to the at-
tainment of the first. Would he inculcate upon his pupils
reverence for Knowledge ? --they will not believe him if he
do not himself exhibit in his whole life the deep reverence
which he recommends to them. Would he thoroughly im-
press them with this reverence ? --let him teach it, not in
words only, but in deeds; let him be himself the living ex-
ample, the abiding illustration, of the principles which he
desires them to accept as the guides of their life. He has
described to them the Nature of the Scholar's vocation as a
manifestation of the Divine Idea,--he has told them that
this Idea entirely pervades the True Scholar, and establishes
its peculiar life, in place of his own, within him ;--perhaps
he has even told them by what precise way he himself, for
his part, has to fulfil the purposes of Knowledge, and in
what his peculiar calling, as an Academic Teacher, consists.
Let him show himself before them in his proper and essen-
tial character,--as devoted to his vocation,--as a perpetual
offering before its altar,--and they will learn to comprehend
that Knowledge is a sacred thing.
The duties of the Academic Teacher are not indeed
changed by this aspect of his vocation; for, as we have said,
he can do nothing for the attainment of the latter object
but what he must have done for the former and higher, by
itself;--but his own view of his calling becomes thereby
more confirmed and immovable. Although it should not
immediately become visible and evident to him that he has
attained his peculiar object,--of leading those who are en-
trusted to his care from mere passive dependence to spon-
taneous activity, from the dead letter to the living spirit;--
yet will he not suppose that he has laboured in vain. To
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER . 217
Academic Study must succeed that peculiar and essential
study to which the first is but a preparative. He can never
know that he has not roused a powerful determination to
this study,--that he has not thrown into the soul some
sparks which, though now unapparent, will blaze forth at the
proper time. Even in the worst possible event,--that he
has not accomplished even so much as this,--his activity
has still another object; and if he has done something for it,
his labour has not been utterly lost. If he has, at least, up-
held, and in some breasts quickened or renewed, the faith
that there is something worthy of the reverence of men; that
by industry and faithfulness men may elevate themselves to
the contemplation of this object of reverence, and in this
contemplation become strong and blessed; if some have only
had their occupation made holier in their eyes, so that they
may approach it with somewhat less levity than before; if
he can venture to hope that some have left his hall, if not
precisely with more light, yet with more modesty than they
entered it;--then he has not laboured wholly in vain.
We said, that the Academic Teacher becomes an example
of reverence for Knowledge, by showing himself to be
thoroughly and entirely penetrated by and devoted to his
calling,--an instrument consecrated to its service.
What does this calling demand? Is the Academic
Teacher to prepare men for the reception of the Idea? --then
he must himself know the Idea, have attained it, and be
possessed by it; otherwise how could he recognise in others
the capacity for receiving that to which he himself is a
stranger? He must first have cultivated this capacity in
himself, and have a distinct and clear consciousness of pos-
sessing it; for it can be recognised only by him who truly
and immediately possesses it, and the art of acquiring it can
be understood only by him who has personally acquired it.
He can cultivate this capacity in men only by means of the
Idea itself, by presenting it to them, and accustoming them
to it, in all its varied forms and applications. The nature of
the Idea is peculiar to itself, and differs wholly from all that
is merely mechanical in knowledge;--only by its reception
Fa
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? 218
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
can man cultivate the power of receiving it. By the me-
chanical communication of knowledge man may become
versed in such mechanism, but can never be raised to the
Idea. It is an obligation from which the Academic Teacher
cannot be released, that he shall have comprehended the
Idea with perfect clearness as Idea; that, in the Idea, he
shall have also comprehended the particular branch of
Knowledge which he cultivates, and through the Idea have
understood the true nature, meaning, and purpose of this
branch of Knowledge;--and even his particular science is on
no account to be taught merely for its own sake, but be-
cause it is a form or aspect of the one Idea; and in order
that this form may be tested by the Student, and he be
tested by it. If, at the conclusion of his university training
it were found that even then the Student could not be made
to comprehend the true nature of study, then study would
altogether disappear from the world ;--there would be study
no longer, but the number of handicrafts would be in-
creased. He who is not conscious of a living and clear com-
prehension of the Idea, and is at the same time an upright
and honourable man, will forbear to assume the vocation of
the Academic Teacher. He will thus show his respect for
that vocation the nature of which he must have learned in
the course of his studies.
The vocation of the Academic Teacher requires him to
communicate the Idea,--not as the Author does, abstractly,
and in the one perfect conception under which it presents
itself to his own mind,--but he must mould, express, and
clothe it in an infinite variety of forms, so that he may bring
it home, under some one or other of those adventitious ves-
tures, to those by whose present state of culture he must be
guided in the exercise of his calling. He must thus possess
the Idea, not as a mere abstraction, but in great vitality,
power, and flexibility. Above all, he must possess that
which we have already described as the creative or artist-
talent of the Scholar; namely, a perfect readiness and capa-
city to recognise, under any circumstances, the first germ of
the Idea as it begins to unfold itself;--in each individual
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
219
case to discover the most suitable means of aiding it to the
attainment of perfect life, and in all cases to associate it
with a kindred form. The Author may possess only one
form for his Idea,--if that form be perfect, he has fulfilled
his duty;--the Academic Teacher must possess an infinite
multiplicity of forms,--it is not his business to discover the
most perfect form, but to find that which is most suitable to
particular circumstances. A good Academic Teacher must
be capable of being also an excellent Author if he choose;
but it does not follow that, on the other hand, a good
Author should also be a good Academic Teacher. Yet this
skill and versatility exist in different degrees, and he is not
to be entirely excluded from the Academic calling who does
not possess them in the highest degree.
From this skill which is required of the Academic
Teacher in the embodiment of the Idea, there arises another
demand upon him,--this, namely, that his mode of commu-
nication shall be always new, and bear upon it the mark of
fresh and present life. Only living and present thought can
enter other minds and quicken other thought: a dead, worn-
out form, let it have been ever so living at a former time,
must be called back to life by the power of others as well as
its own;--the Author has a right to require this from his
readers, but the Academic Teacher, who in this matter is
not an Author, has no right to demand it.
The upright and conscientious man, as surely as he ac-
cepts this calling, and so long as he continues to practise it,
gives himself up entirely to its fulfilment; willing, thinking,
desiring nothing else than to be that which, according to
his own conviction, he ought to be; and thus he shows
openly his reverence for Knowledge.
For Knowledge, I say, as such, and because it is Know-
ledge,--for Knowledge in the abstract,--as the Divine Idea
one and homogeneous through all the different forms and
modes in which it is revealed. It is quite possible that a
Scholar who has devoted his life to a particular department
of knowledge may entertain a prepossession in favour of
that department and be apt to esteem it above all others,--
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? 220 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
either because he has accustomed himself to it, or because
he thinks that his more distinguished calling may reflect
some of its lustre upon himself. Whatever ability such an
one may bring to the cultivation of his own department, he
will never present to the unprejudiced spectator the picture
of one who reveres Knowledge for its own sake, and will
never persuade the acute observer that he does so, whilst
he shows less respect for other departments of knowledge
which are as essential as his own. It will only thereby be-
come evident that he has never conceived of Knowledge as
one perfect whole,--that he does not think of his own de-
partment as a portion of this whole,--hence that he does not
love his own department as Knowledge, but only as a handi-
craft; which love for a handicraft may indeed be praise-
worthy enough elsewhere, but in the domain of Knowledge
excludes him entirely from any right to the name of a Scho-
lar. He who, although labouring in a limited province, has
become a partaker of Knowledge as a whole, and accepts his
own calling as but a part thereof, may perhaps have little
even historical acquaintance with other provinces, but he
has a general conception of the nature of all others, and will
constantly exhibit an equal reverence for all.
Let this love of his vocation and of Knowledge be the
sole guide of his life, visible to all men;--let him be moved
by nothing else; regarding no personal interest either of
himself or of others. Here as elsewhere, I shall say nothing
of the common and vulgar desires which may not enter the
circle of him who has approached and handled the sacred
things of Knowledge. I shall not suppose it possible, for
instance, that a Priest of Knowledge, who seeks to conse-
crate other Priests to her service, should refrain from saying
to them something which they do not hear willingly, in
order that they may continue to hear him willingly.
Yet I
may perhaps be permitted to mention one error not quite
so ignoble and vulgar, and to hold up its opposite to your
view. In every word uttered by the Academic Teacher in
the exercise of his calling, let it be Knowledge that speaks,
--let it be his longings to extend her dominions,--let it be
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
221
his deep love for his hearers, not as his hearers, but as the
future ministers of Knowledge:--Knowledge, and these liv-
ing desires to extend her dominion, let these speak, not the
Teacher. An effort to speak for the mere sake of speaking,
--to speak finely for the sake of fine speaking, and that
others may know of it,--the disease of word-making,--
sounding words, in which nevertheless no idea is audible,--
is consistent with no man's dignity, and least of all with
that of the Academic Teacher, who represents the dignity of
Knowledge to future generations.
Let him resign himself entirely to this love of his voca-
tion and of Knowledge. The peculiar nature of his occupa-
tion consists in this,--that Knowledge, and especially that
side of Knowledge from which he conceives of the whole,
shall continually burst forth from him in new and fairer
forms. Let this fresh spiritual youth never grow old within
him; let no form become fixed and rigid; let each sunrise
bring him new love for his vocation, new joy in its exercise,
and wider views of its significance. The Divine Idea is
fixed and determined in his mind,--all its individual parts
are likewise determined. The particular form of its expres-
sion for a particular Age may also be determined; but the
living movement of its communication is infinite as the
growth of the Human Race. Let no one continue in this
calling in whom the mode of this communication, although
it may have been the most perfect of his Age, begins to grow
old and formal,--none in whom the fountain of youth does
not still flow on with unimpaired vigour. Let him faithfully
trust himself to its current so long as it will bear him for-
ward: when it leaves him, then let him be content to retire
from this ever-shifting scene of onward being;--let him
separate the dead from the living.
It was a necessary part of the plan which I marked out
to you, to treat of the dignity of the Academic Teacher. I
hope that in doing so I have exhibited the same strictness
with which I have spoken of the other subjects which have
fallen under our notice,--without allowing myself to be se-
duced into any lenity towards it by the consideration that I
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? 222
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
myself practise the calling of which I have spoken, and that
I have practised it even in speaking of it. Whence I have
derived this firmness,--on what feeling it rests,--you may
inquire at another time; it is sufficient for you now to un-
derstand clearly, that Truth, in every possible application
of it, still remains true.
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? 228
LECTURE X.
OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR.
To complete our survey of the vocation of the Scholar, we
have to-day only to consider that department of it which
belongs to the Author.
I have hitherto contented myself with clearly setting
forth the True Idea of the special subjects of our inquiry,
without turning aside to cast a single glance at the actual
state of things in the present age. It is almost impossible
to proceed in this way with the subject which I am to dis-
cuss to-day. The Idea of the Author is almost unknown in
our age, and something most unworthy usurps its name.
This is the peculiar disgrace of the age,-- the true source of
all its other scientific evils. The inglorious has become
glorious, and is encouraged, honoured, and rewarded.
According to the almost universally received opinion, it is
a merit and an honour for a man to have printed something
merely because he has printed it, and without any regard to
what it is which he has printed, and what may be its result.
They, too, lay claim to the highest rank in the republic of
letters who announce the fact that somebody has printed
something and what that something is; or, as the phrase
goes, who "review" the works of others. It is almost inex-
plicable how such an absurd opinion could have arisen and
taken root when we consider the subject in its true light.
Thus stands the matter: In the latter half of the past
century Reading took the place of some other amusements
which had gone out of fashion. This new luxury demanded,
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
from time to time, new fancy goods; for it is of course quite
impossible that one should read over again what one has
read already, or those things which our forefathers have read
before us; just as it would be altogether unbecoming to
appear frequently in fashionable society in the same cos-
tume, or to dress according to the notions of one's grand-
father. The new want gave birth to a new trade, striving
to nourish and enrich itself by purveying the wares now in
demand,--namely, Bookselling. The success of those who
first undertook this trade encouraged others to engage in it,
until, in our own days, it has come to this, that this mode
of obtaining a livelihood is greatly overstocked and the
quantity of these goods produced is much too large in pro-
portion to the consumers. The book-merchant, like the
dealer in any other commodity, orders his goods from the
manufacturer, solely with the view of bringing them to the
market ;. --at times also he buys uncommissioned goods
which have been manufactured only on speculation; and
the Author who writes for the sake of writing is this manu-
facturer. It is impossible to conceive why the book-manu-
facturer should take predecence of any other manufacturer;
he ought rather to feel that he is far inferior to any other
manufacturer, inasmuch as the luxury to which he ministers
is more pernicious than any other. That he find a mer-
chant for his wares may indeed be useful and profitable to
him, but how it should be an honour is not readily discover-
able. Of course, on the judgment of the publisher, which is
only a judgment on the saleableness or unsaleableness of
the goods, no value can be set.
Amid this bustle and pressure of the literary trade, a
happy thought struck some one;--this, namely, out of all
the books which were printed, to make one periodical book,
so that the reader of this book might be spared the trouble
of reading any other. It was fortunate that this last pur-
pose was not completely successful, and that everybody did
not take to reading this book exclusively, since then no
others would have been purchased, and consequently no
others printed; so that this book too, being constantly de-
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR
225
pendent upon other books for the possibility of its own exis-
tence, must likewise have remained unprinted.
He who undertook such a work, which is commonly
called a Literary Journal, Literary Gazette, &c. &c. , had the
advantage of seeing his work increase by the charitable
contributions of many anonymous individuals, and of thus
earning honour and profit by the labour of others. To veil
his own poverty of ideas, he pretended to pass judgment on
the authors whom he quoted,--a shallow pretence to the
thinker who looks below the surface. For either the book
is--as most books are at present--a bad book, printed only
that there might be one more book in the world; and in
this case it ought never to have been written, and is a nul-
lity, and consequently the judgment upon it is a nullity
also;--or, the book is a true Literary Work, such as we
shall presently describe; and then it is the result of a whole
powerful life devoted to Art or Science, and so would re-
quire another whole life as powerful as the first to be em-
ployed in its judgment. On such a work it is not alto-
gether possible to pass a final judgment in a couple of
sheets, within three or six months after its appearance.
How can there be any honour in contributing to such col-
lections? True genius, on the contrary, will rather employ
itself on a connected work, originated and planned out by
itself, than allow the current of its thoughts to be interrupt-
ed by every accident of the day until that interruption is
again broken by some new occurrence. The disposition con-
tinually to watch the thoughts of others, and on these
thoughts, please God, to hang our own attempts at thinking,
--is a certain sign of immaturity, and of a weak and depen-
dent mind. Or does the honour consist in this,--that the
conductors of such works should consider us capable of fill-
ing the office of judge and actually make it over to us? In
reality their opinion goes no deeper than that of a common
unlettered printer,--of the saleableness or unsaleableness of
the goods, and of the outward reputation which may there-
by accrue to their critical establishment
.
I am aware that what I have now said may seem very
oa
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
paradoxical. All of us who are connected in any way with
Knowledge, which in this connexion may be termed Litera-
ture, grow up in the notion that literary industry is a bless-
ing,--an advantage,--an honourable distinction of our culti-
vated and philosophical age; and but few have power to see
through its supposed advantages and resolve them into
their essential nothingness. The only apparent reason
which can be adduced in defence of such perverted industry
is, in my opinion, this:--that thereby an extensive literary
public is kept alive, roused to attention, and, as it were,
held together; so that, should anything of real value and
importance be brought before it, this public shall be found
already existing, and not have to be first called together.
But I answer, that, in the first place, the means appear
much too extensive for the end contemplated,--it seems too
great a sacrifice that many generations should spend their
time upon nothing, in order that some future generation
may be enabled to occupy itself with something;--and
further, it is by no means true that a public is only kept
alive by this perverse activity; it is at the same time per-
verted, vitiated, and ruined for the appreciation of anything
truly valuable. Much that is excellent has made its appear-
ance in our age,--I shall instance only the Kantian Philo-
sophy,--but this very activity of the literary market has
destroyed, perverted, and degraded it, so that its spirit has
fled, and now only a ghost of it stalks about which no one
can venerate.
The Literary History of our own day shows the real
thinker how writing for writing's sake may be honoured and
applauded. A few Authors only excepted, our Literary Men
have in their own writings borne worse testimony against
themselves than any one else could have given against
them; and no even moderately well-disposed person would
be inclined to consider the writers of our day so shallow,
perverse, and spiritless, as the majority show themselves in
their works. The only way to retain any respect for the age,
any desire to influence it, is this,--to assume that those who
proclaim their opinions aloud are inferior men, and that
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR.
227
only among those who keep silence some may be found
who are capable of teaching better things.
Thus, when I speak of the Literary Vocation, it is not the
Literary Trade of the age which I mean, but something
quite other than that
.
I have already set forth the Idea of the Author when dis-
tinguishing it from that of the Oral Teacher of Progressive
Scholars. Both have to express and communicate the Idea
in language: the latter, for particular individuals by whose
capacity for receiving it he must be guided; the former,
without regard to any individual and in the most perfect
form which can be given to it in his age.
The Author must embody the Idea,--he must therefore
be a partaker of the Idea. All Literary Works are either
works of Art or of Science. Whatever may be the subject
of a work of the first class, it is evident that since it has no
direct significance of its own, and thus teaches the reader
nothing, it can only awaken the Idea itself within him and
furnish it with a fitting embodiment; otherwise it would be
but an empty play of words and have no real meaning. What-
ever may be the subject of a scientific work, the Author of such
a work must not conceive of Knowledge in a mere histori-
cal fashion, and only as received from others;--he must for
himself have spiritually penetrated to the Idea of Know-
ledge on some one of its sides, and produce it in a self-crea-
tive, new, and hitherto unknown form. If he be but a link
in the chain of historical tradition, and can do no more than
hand down to others the knowledge which he himself has
received, and only in the form in which it already exists in
some work whence he has obtained it,--then let him leave
others in peace to draw from this fountain whence he al-
so has drawn. What need is there of his officious inter-
meddling? To do over again that which has been done
already, is to do nothing; and no man who possesses com-
mon honesty and conscientiousness will allow himself to in-
dulge in such idleness. Can the Age, then, furnish him with
no occupation which is suited to his powers, that he must
thus employ himself in doing what he ought not to do? It
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? 228
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR,
is not necessary that he should write an entirely new work in
any branch of Knowledge, but only a better work than any
hitherto existing. He who cannot do this should absolutely
not write;--it is a crime--a want of honesty to do so, which
at the most can only be excused by his thoughtlessness and
utter want of any true understanding of the vocation which
he assumes.
He must express the Idea in language, in a generally in-
telligible manner, in a perfect form. The Idea must there-
fore have become in him so clear, living, and independent,
that it already clothes itself to him in words; and, penetrat-
ing to the innermost spirit of his language, frames from
thence a vesture for itself by its own inherent power. The
Idea itself must speak, not the Author. His will, his indi-
viduality, his peculiar method and art, must disappear from
his page, so that only the method and art of his Idea may
live the highest life which it can attain in his language and
in his time. As he is free from the obligation under which the
Oral Teacher lies,--to accommodate himself to the capacities
of others,--so he has not this apology to plead before him-
self. He has no specific reader in view,--he himself must
mould his reader and lay down to him the law which he
must obey. There may be printed productions addressed
only to a certain age and a certain circle,--we shall see
afterwards under what conditions such writings may be
necessary; but these do not belong to the class of essentially
Literary Works of which we now speak, but are printed dis-
courses,--printed because the circle to which they are ad-
dressed cannot be brought together.
In order that in this way the Idea may in his person be-
come master of his language, it is necessary that he shall
first have acquired a mastery over that language. The Idea
does not rule the language directly, but only through him as
possessor of the language. This indispensable mastery of
the Author over his language is only acquired by prepara-
tory exercises, long continued and persevered in, which are
studies for future works but have no essential value in
themselves,--which the conscientious Scholar writes indeed,
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR
229
but will never allow to be printed. It requires, I say, long
and persevering exercise; but, happily, these conditions mu-
tually promote each other;--as the Idea becomes more
vivid language spontaneously appears, and as facility of
expression is increased the Idea flows forth in greater
clearness.
These are the first and most necessary conditions of all
true Authorship. The Idea itself,--that of expressing his
Idea in true and appropriate language,--is that which lives,
and alone lives in him within whom the presentiment has
arisen that he may one day send forth a Literary Work;--
it is this which animates him in his preparations and
studies for that work, as well as in the future completion of
his design.
By this Idea he is inspired with a dignified and sacred
conception of the Literary calling. The work of the Oral
Teacher is, in its immediate application, only a work for the
time, modified by the degree of culture possessed by those
who are entrusted to his care. Only in so far as he can
venture to suppose that he is moulding future Teachers
worthy of their calling, who, in their turn, will train others
for the same task, and so on without end, can he regard
himself as working for Eternity. But\the work of the
Author is in itself a. work for Eternity. Even should future
ages transcend the Knowledge which is revealed in his
work, still in that work he has not recorded his knowledge
alone, but also the fixed and settled character of a certain
age in its relation to Knowledge; and this will preserve its
interest so long as the human race endures. Independent
of all vicissitude and change, his pages speak in every age
to all men who are able to realize his thought; and thus
continue their inspiring, elevating, and ennobling work, even
to the end of time.
The Idea, in this its acknowledged sacredness, moves him,
--and it alone moves him. He does not believe that he
has attained anything until he has attained all,--until his
work stands before him in the purity and perfectness which
he has striven to attain. Devoid of love for his own person,
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? 230
THE NATURE OP THE SCHOLAR
faithfully devoted to the Idea by which he is constantly
guided, he recognises with certain glance, and in its true
character, every trace of his former nature which remains in
his expression of the Idea, and unceasingly strives to free
himself from it. So long as he is not conscious of this abso-
lute freedom and purity, he has not attained his end, but
still works on. In such an age as we have already de-
scribed, in which the communication of Knowledge has
greatly increased, and has even fallen into the hands of
some who are better fitted for any other occupation than
for this, it may be necessary for bini to give some prelimi-
nary account of his labours;--other modes of communica-
tion, too, that of the Teacher for instance, may present
themselves to him; but he will never put forth these occa-
sional writings for anything else than what they are,--pre-
liminary announcements adapted to a certain age and cer-
tain circumstances; he will never regard them as finished
works, destined for immortality.
The Idea alone urges him forward;--nothing else. All
personal regards have disappeared from his view. I do not
speak of his own person,--of his having entirely forgotten
himself in his vocation;--this has been already sufficiently
set forth. The personality of others has no more weight
with him than his own when opposed to the truth and the
Idea. I do not mention that he will not encroach upon the
rights of other Scholars or Authors in their civic or personal
relations: that is altogether below his dignity who has to do
only with realities;--it is also below the dignity of these dis-
courses to make mention of that . But this I will remark,
that he will not allow himself to be restrained, by forbear-
ance towards any person whatever, from demolishing error
and establishing truth in its place. The worst insult that
can be offered, even to a half-educated man, is to suppose
that he can be offended by the exposure of an error which
he has entertained or the proclamation of a truth which
has escaped his notice. From this bold and open profession
of truth, as he perceives it, without regard to any man, he
will suffer nothing to lead him astray, not even the politely
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? OF THE SCHOLAB AS AUTHOR. 231
expressed contempt of the so-called fashionable world, which
can conceive of the Literary Vocation only by analogy with
its own social circles, and would impose the etiquette of the
Court upon the conduct of the Scholar.
Here I close these Lectures. If a thought of mine have
entered into any now present, and shall abide there as a
guide to higher truth, perhaps it may sometimes awaken
the memory of these lectures and of me,--and only in this
way do I desire to live in your recollection.
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bring the small injustice which is done to himself as an of-
fering to the general support of justice among men.
The Divine Idea, ruling in the Ruler, and through him
moulding the condition of his age and nation, now becomes
his sole and peculiar Life ;--which indeed is the case with
the Idea under any form in which it may enter the soul of
man;--he cannot have, nor permit, nor endure, any Life
within him except this Life. He comprehends this Life
with clear consciousness as the immediate life and energy
of God within him, as the fulfilment of the Divine Will in
and by his person. It is unnecessary to repeat the proofs
which we have already adduced in general, that through
this consciousness his thought is sanctified, transfigured,
and bathed in the Divinity. Every man needs Religion,
--every man may acquire it,--and with it every man
may obtain Blessedness;--most of all, as we have seen
above, does the Ruler need it. Unless he clothe his
calling in the light of Religion, he can never pursue it with
a good conscience. Without this, nothing remains for him
but either thoughtlessness and a mere mechanical fulfilment
of his vocation, without giving account to himself of its rea-
sonableness or justice; or if not thoughtlessness,--then
want of principle, obduracy, insensibility, hatred and con-
tempt of the Human Race.
The Idea, thus moulded on the Divine Life, lives in his
life instead of his own personality. It alone moves him,--
nothing else in its room. His personality has long since dis-
appeared in the Idea,--how then can any motive now arise
from it 1 He lives in honour, transfused in God to work His
Eternal Will,--how then can fame, the judgment of mortal
and perishable men, have any significance for him 1 Devoted
to the Idea with his whole being,--how can he ever seek to
pamper or to spare himself? His person,--all personality,
--has disappeared in the Divine Idea of universal order.
That order is his ever-present thought; only through it does
he conceive of individual men: hence neither friend nor foe,
neither favourite nor adversary, finds a plaoe before him;
Ea
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? 210
THK NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
but all alike, and be himself with them, are lost for ever
in the thought of the independence and equality of alL
The Idea alone moves him,--and where it does not move
him, there he has no life, but remains quiescent and inactive.
He will never rouse himself to energy and labour merely
that something may come to pass, or that he may gain a re-
putation for activity; for his desire is not merely that some-
thing may come to pass, but that the will of the Idea may
be accomplished. Until it speaks, he too is silent;--he has
no voice but for it . He does not respect old things because
they are old;--but as little does he desire novelty for its own
sake. He looks for what is better and more perfect than the
present; until this rises before him clearly and distinctly,--
so long as change would lead only to difference, not im-
provement,--he remains inactive, and concedes to the old
the privilege it derives from ancient possession.
In this way does the Idea possess and pervade him with-
out intermission or reserve, and there remains nothing
either of his person or his life that does not burn a perpe-
tual offering before its altar. And thus is he the most di-
rect manifestation of God in the world.
That there is a God, is made evident by a very little
serious reflection upon the outward world. We must end
at last by resting all existence which demands an extrinsic
foundation, upon a Being the fountain of whose life is with-
iu Himself; by allying the fugitive phenomena which colour
the stream of time with ever-changing hues to an eter-
nal and unchanging essence. But in the life of Divine Men
the Godhead is manifest in the flesh, reveals itself to im-
mediate vision, and is perceptible even to outward sense.
In their life the unchangeableness of God manifests itself in
the firmness and intrepidity of human will which no power
can force from its destined path. In it the essential light
of the Divinity manifests itself in human comprehension of
all finite things in the One which endures for ever. In it
the energy of God reveals itself, not in directly surrounding
the Human Race with happiness--which is not its object--
but in ordering, elevating, and ennobling it . A Godlike
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS RULER.
211
life is the most decisive proof which man can give of the
being of a God.
It is the business of all mankind to see that the convic-
tion of the Divine Existence, without which the very essence
of their own being passes away into nothing, shall never
perish and disappear from among them;--above all, it is
the business of the Rulers as the highest disposers of hu-
man affairs. It is not their part to bring forward the theo-
retical proof from human reason, or to regulate the mode in
which this proof shall be adduced by the second class of
Scholars; but the practical proof, in their own lives, and
that in the highest degree, devolves peculiarly upon them.
If firm and intrepid will,--if clear and all-comprehending
vision,--if a spirit of order and nobility speak to us in their
conduct, then in their works do we see God face to face, and
need no other proof:--God is, we will say,--for they are,
and He in them.
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? 212
LECTURE IX.
OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
Besides those possessors of the Idea, whose business it is,
by guiding and ordering the affairs of men, to introduce the
Idea immediately into life, there is yet another class--those,
namely, who are peculiarly and by preeminence called Scho-
lars, who manifest the Idea directly in spiritual conceptions,
and whose calling it is to maintain among men the convic-
tion that there is, in truth, a Divine Idea accessible to hu-
man thought, to raise this Idea unceasingly to greater clear-
ness and precision, and thus to transmit it from generation
to generation fresh and radiant in ever-renewed youth.
This latter Vocation again divides itself into two very
different callings, according to the primary object contem-
plated by them, and the mode of its attainment. Either
the minds of men are to be trained and cultivated to a
capacity for receiving the Idea; or the Idea itself is to be
produced in a definite form for those who are already pre-
pared for its reception. The first calling has particular men
for its primary and immediate objects;--in it the only use
which is made of the Idea is as a means of training and cul-
tivating these men so that they may become capable of
comprehending the Idea by their own independent effort.
It follows that, in this calling, regard must be had solely to
the men who are to be cultivated, the degree of their culti-
vation, and their capacity of being cultivated; and that an
influence is valuable here only in so far as it may be ef-
ficiently applied to those individuals upon whom it is di-
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? THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
213
recteA The second has for its object the Idea itself, and the
fashioning of the Idea into distinct conceptions, and has no
reference whatever to any subjective disposition or capacity
of men; its business is prosecuted with no view to any but
those who are capable of comprehending the Idea in the
form thus given to it; the work itself settles and deter-
mines who shall receive it, and it is only addressed to those
who can comprehend it. The first object will be best and
most fitly attained by the verbal discourses of the Teacher;
the second by literary writings.
Both these callings belong to the vocation of the Scho-
lar in its proper and highest sense, and not to the subordi-
nate Scholar-occupations, which devolve upon a man only
because he has not attained the proper end of his studies.
He who prosecutes his studies conscientiously, and so ac-
quires a conviction of the importance of the vocation of the
Scholar, but yet does not feel within himself a clear con-
sciousness of the capacity to fulfil it, shows that he recog-
nises its sacred character by not undertaking it;--he who
does undertake it, manifests the same conviction by exercis-
ing it worthily. In the next lecture we shall speak of the
true Author; to-day we shall discourse of the upright
Teacher of future Scholars.
The Teachers and Educators of those who devote them-
selves to the occupation of the Scholar may be divided into
two classes:--they are Teachers either in the lower Schools
of learning, or in the higher or Universities. Not without
deliberation do I class the Teachers in the lower Schools
among true and not subaltern Scholars, and therefore de-
mand of them that they attain possession of the Idea, and
be penetrated by it,--if not with perfect light, yet with liv-
ing warmth. He who is destined to study will, even while
a boy, surround himself invisibly with the Idea and with its
sanctity, and bathe his whole being in its influence. No-
thing from which any ideal result may one day unfold it-
self will be pursued by him as a piece of vulgar handicraft,
or used as a means to the attainment of a partial object.
Happily the objects which are peculiar to these Schools are
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? 214
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
of such a nature as to elevate him who pursues them tho-
roughly and conscientiously, and through him those who
are committed to his care, above vulgar modes of thought;
--did but the outward circumstances of the Teacher answer
to his dignity, and his independence and station in society
correspond with his most honourable calling. The objects of
school-instruction, I said. In a fundamental study of Lan-
guage, pursued, as it must be, amid old modes of speech, far
removed from our habits of thought, a deeper insight into
ideas is gained; and from the works of the Ancients, by
means of which this study is pursued, an excellent and en-
nobling spirit speaks to the youthful mind. For this reason,
the Teacher in these lower Schools should be a partaker of
the Idea, because it is his task imperceptibly to familiarize
the youth with the high and noble before he is able to dis-
tinguish these from the vulgar,--to accustom him to these,
and to estrange him from the low and ignoble. Thus
guarded in his early years, and thus prepared for higher
progress, the youth enters the University. Here, for the
first time, can he be clearly taught, and led to comprehend
and acknowledge--that which I have endeavoured to utter
to you in these lectures,--that our whole race has its only
true existence in the Divine Thought,--that its only worth
consists in its harmony with this Divine Thought,--and that
the class of Scholars has therein an existence only to the
end that they may comprehend this Divine Thought and im-
print it on the world. At the University the Student first
receives a clear idea of the nature and dignity of that voca-
tion to which his life has been devoted beforehand. He
must obtain that clear idea here :--the Teacher in the lower
Schools may look forward to another education for his pu-
pils, and he counts upon that; but the Academic Teacher
has no higher instruction to calculate upon, except that
which the Progressive Scholar may bestow upon himself,--
to the capacity for which, however, the Teacher must train
him so that he may have it in his power to become his own
instructor;--once released from the lecture-room he is com-
mitted to himself and to the world. Herein, therefore, lies
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
215
the characteristic difference between the lower and the
higher Schools,--that at the lower School the youth has
only a presentiment of his vocation, while at the University
he clearly comprehends and recognises it;--and from this
distinction the specific duties of the Teacher in the respec-
tive institutions may easily be deduced.
The Academic Teacher, of whom chiefly we have to speak,
ought to train the Student who has already been made ac-
quainted with the nature and dignity of his calling, to the
capacity of receiving the Idea, and the power of developing
it from his own consciousness, and giving it a form peculiar
to himself:--he should do all this if he can. But in every
case, and unconditionally, he must fill the Student with res-
pect and veneration for the proper calling of the Scholar.
The first object of all study,--to lay hold of the Idea from a
new and peculiar point of view, is by no means to be given
up either by the Student himself, or by the Teacher on his
behalf; but it is nevertheless possible that it may not be
attained, and both must reconcile themselves beforehand to
this possibility. Should this first object of study remain
unaccomplished, the Student may still become a useful,
worthy, and upright man. But the second object of study,
--that he acquire a reverence for the Idea during his efforts
to attain it,--that on account of this reverence he forbear
from undertaking anything for which he does not know
himself to be qualified,--that he consecrate himself to the
service of the Idea, at least by permanently cherishing this
reverence for what is unattainable by him, and contributing
to the extent of his ability to maintain such a reverence
among men;--this object is never to be relinquished; for
were it not attained, then, through the very fact of his hav-
ing studied, would his dignity as a man be lost, and he
would sink the deeper in consequence of the height to
which he ought to have risen. The attainment by the Stu-
dent of the first object of study is, to the Academic Teacher,
a conditional duty,--conditioned by the possibility of its ful-
filment. The attainment of the second he must ever look
upon and acknowledge as his unconditional duty, which he
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? 21G
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
must never deliberately relinquish. It may indeed happen
that he cannot accomplish even this, but he must never
admit a doubt of its ultimate attainment.
What, then, can the Academic Teacher do for the attain-
ment of this second object? I answer, he can do nothing
for it exclusively; he can do nothing else than that which
he must do for the first and higher object by itself. In pur-
suing and attaining the second, he is advancing to the at-
tainment of the first. Would he inculcate upon his pupils
reverence for Knowledge ? --they will not believe him if he
do not himself exhibit in his whole life the deep reverence
which he recommends to them. Would he thoroughly im-
press them with this reverence ? --let him teach it, not in
words only, but in deeds; let him be himself the living ex-
ample, the abiding illustration, of the principles which he
desires them to accept as the guides of their life. He has
described to them the Nature of the Scholar's vocation as a
manifestation of the Divine Idea,--he has told them that
this Idea entirely pervades the True Scholar, and establishes
its peculiar life, in place of his own, within him ;--perhaps
he has even told them by what precise way he himself, for
his part, has to fulfil the purposes of Knowledge, and in
what his peculiar calling, as an Academic Teacher, consists.
Let him show himself before them in his proper and essen-
tial character,--as devoted to his vocation,--as a perpetual
offering before its altar,--and they will learn to comprehend
that Knowledge is a sacred thing.
The duties of the Academic Teacher are not indeed
changed by this aspect of his vocation; for, as we have said,
he can do nothing for the attainment of the latter object
but what he must have done for the former and higher, by
itself;--but his own view of his calling becomes thereby
more confirmed and immovable. Although it should not
immediately become visible and evident to him that he has
attained his peculiar object,--of leading those who are en-
trusted to his care from mere passive dependence to spon-
taneous activity, from the dead letter to the living spirit;--
yet will he not suppose that he has laboured in vain. To
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER . 217
Academic Study must succeed that peculiar and essential
study to which the first is but a preparative. He can never
know that he has not roused a powerful determination to
this study,--that he has not thrown into the soul some
sparks which, though now unapparent, will blaze forth at the
proper time. Even in the worst possible event,--that he
has not accomplished even so much as this,--his activity
has still another object; and if he has done something for it,
his labour has not been utterly lost. If he has, at least, up-
held, and in some breasts quickened or renewed, the faith
that there is something worthy of the reverence of men; that
by industry and faithfulness men may elevate themselves to
the contemplation of this object of reverence, and in this
contemplation become strong and blessed; if some have only
had their occupation made holier in their eyes, so that they
may approach it with somewhat less levity than before; if
he can venture to hope that some have left his hall, if not
precisely with more light, yet with more modesty than they
entered it;--then he has not laboured wholly in vain.
We said, that the Academic Teacher becomes an example
of reverence for Knowledge, by showing himself to be
thoroughly and entirely penetrated by and devoted to his
calling,--an instrument consecrated to its service.
What does this calling demand? Is the Academic
Teacher to prepare men for the reception of the Idea? --then
he must himself know the Idea, have attained it, and be
possessed by it; otherwise how could he recognise in others
the capacity for receiving that to which he himself is a
stranger? He must first have cultivated this capacity in
himself, and have a distinct and clear consciousness of pos-
sessing it; for it can be recognised only by him who truly
and immediately possesses it, and the art of acquiring it can
be understood only by him who has personally acquired it.
He can cultivate this capacity in men only by means of the
Idea itself, by presenting it to them, and accustoming them
to it, in all its varied forms and applications. The nature of
the Idea is peculiar to itself, and differs wholly from all that
is merely mechanical in knowledge;--only by its reception
Fa
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? 218
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR
can man cultivate the power of receiving it. By the me-
chanical communication of knowledge man may become
versed in such mechanism, but can never be raised to the
Idea. It is an obligation from which the Academic Teacher
cannot be released, that he shall have comprehended the
Idea with perfect clearness as Idea; that, in the Idea, he
shall have also comprehended the particular branch of
Knowledge which he cultivates, and through the Idea have
understood the true nature, meaning, and purpose of this
branch of Knowledge;--and even his particular science is on
no account to be taught merely for its own sake, but be-
cause it is a form or aspect of the one Idea; and in order
that this form may be tested by the Student, and he be
tested by it. If, at the conclusion of his university training
it were found that even then the Student could not be made
to comprehend the true nature of study, then study would
altogether disappear from the world ;--there would be study
no longer, but the number of handicrafts would be in-
creased. He who is not conscious of a living and clear com-
prehension of the Idea, and is at the same time an upright
and honourable man, will forbear to assume the vocation of
the Academic Teacher. He will thus show his respect for
that vocation the nature of which he must have learned in
the course of his studies.
The vocation of the Academic Teacher requires him to
communicate the Idea,--not as the Author does, abstractly,
and in the one perfect conception under which it presents
itself to his own mind,--but he must mould, express, and
clothe it in an infinite variety of forms, so that he may bring
it home, under some one or other of those adventitious ves-
tures, to those by whose present state of culture he must be
guided in the exercise of his calling. He must thus possess
the Idea, not as a mere abstraction, but in great vitality,
power, and flexibility. Above all, he must possess that
which we have already described as the creative or artist-
talent of the Scholar; namely, a perfect readiness and capa-
city to recognise, under any circumstances, the first germ of
the Idea as it begins to unfold itself;--in each individual
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
219
case to discover the most suitable means of aiding it to the
attainment of perfect life, and in all cases to associate it
with a kindred form. The Author may possess only one
form for his Idea,--if that form be perfect, he has fulfilled
his duty;--the Academic Teacher must possess an infinite
multiplicity of forms,--it is not his business to discover the
most perfect form, but to find that which is most suitable to
particular circumstances. A good Academic Teacher must
be capable of being also an excellent Author if he choose;
but it does not follow that, on the other hand, a good
Author should also be a good Academic Teacher. Yet this
skill and versatility exist in different degrees, and he is not
to be entirely excluded from the Academic calling who does
not possess them in the highest degree.
From this skill which is required of the Academic
Teacher in the embodiment of the Idea, there arises another
demand upon him,--this, namely, that his mode of commu-
nication shall be always new, and bear upon it the mark of
fresh and present life. Only living and present thought can
enter other minds and quicken other thought: a dead, worn-
out form, let it have been ever so living at a former time,
must be called back to life by the power of others as well as
its own;--the Author has a right to require this from his
readers, but the Academic Teacher, who in this matter is
not an Author, has no right to demand it.
The upright and conscientious man, as surely as he ac-
cepts this calling, and so long as he continues to practise it,
gives himself up entirely to its fulfilment; willing, thinking,
desiring nothing else than to be that which, according to
his own conviction, he ought to be; and thus he shows
openly his reverence for Knowledge.
For Knowledge, I say, as such, and because it is Know-
ledge,--for Knowledge in the abstract,--as the Divine Idea
one and homogeneous through all the different forms and
modes in which it is revealed. It is quite possible that a
Scholar who has devoted his life to a particular department
of knowledge may entertain a prepossession in favour of
that department and be apt to esteem it above all others,--
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? 220 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
either because he has accustomed himself to it, or because
he thinks that his more distinguished calling may reflect
some of its lustre upon himself. Whatever ability such an
one may bring to the cultivation of his own department, he
will never present to the unprejudiced spectator the picture
of one who reveres Knowledge for its own sake, and will
never persuade the acute observer that he does so, whilst
he shows less respect for other departments of knowledge
which are as essential as his own. It will only thereby be-
come evident that he has never conceived of Knowledge as
one perfect whole,--that he does not think of his own de-
partment as a portion of this whole,--hence that he does not
love his own department as Knowledge, but only as a handi-
craft; which love for a handicraft may indeed be praise-
worthy enough elsewhere, but in the domain of Knowledge
excludes him entirely from any right to the name of a Scho-
lar. He who, although labouring in a limited province, has
become a partaker of Knowledge as a whole, and accepts his
own calling as but a part thereof, may perhaps have little
even historical acquaintance with other provinces, but he
has a general conception of the nature of all others, and will
constantly exhibit an equal reverence for all.
Let this love of his vocation and of Knowledge be the
sole guide of his life, visible to all men;--let him be moved
by nothing else; regarding no personal interest either of
himself or of others. Here as elsewhere, I shall say nothing
of the common and vulgar desires which may not enter the
circle of him who has approached and handled the sacred
things of Knowledge. I shall not suppose it possible, for
instance, that a Priest of Knowledge, who seeks to conse-
crate other Priests to her service, should refrain from saying
to them something which they do not hear willingly, in
order that they may continue to hear him willingly.
Yet I
may perhaps be permitted to mention one error not quite
so ignoble and vulgar, and to hold up its opposite to your
view. In every word uttered by the Academic Teacher in
the exercise of his calling, let it be Knowledge that speaks,
--let it be his longings to extend her dominions,--let it be
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS TEACHER.
221
his deep love for his hearers, not as his hearers, but as the
future ministers of Knowledge:--Knowledge, and these liv-
ing desires to extend her dominion, let these speak, not the
Teacher. An effort to speak for the mere sake of speaking,
--to speak finely for the sake of fine speaking, and that
others may know of it,--the disease of word-making,--
sounding words, in which nevertheless no idea is audible,--
is consistent with no man's dignity, and least of all with
that of the Academic Teacher, who represents the dignity of
Knowledge to future generations.
Let him resign himself entirely to this love of his voca-
tion and of Knowledge. The peculiar nature of his occupa-
tion consists in this,--that Knowledge, and especially that
side of Knowledge from which he conceives of the whole,
shall continually burst forth from him in new and fairer
forms. Let this fresh spiritual youth never grow old within
him; let no form become fixed and rigid; let each sunrise
bring him new love for his vocation, new joy in its exercise,
and wider views of its significance. The Divine Idea is
fixed and determined in his mind,--all its individual parts
are likewise determined. The particular form of its expres-
sion for a particular Age may also be determined; but the
living movement of its communication is infinite as the
growth of the Human Race. Let no one continue in this
calling in whom the mode of this communication, although
it may have been the most perfect of his Age, begins to grow
old and formal,--none in whom the fountain of youth does
not still flow on with unimpaired vigour. Let him faithfully
trust himself to its current so long as it will bear him for-
ward: when it leaves him, then let him be content to retire
from this ever-shifting scene of onward being;--let him
separate the dead from the living.
It was a necessary part of the plan which I marked out
to you, to treat of the dignity of the Academic Teacher. I
hope that in doing so I have exhibited the same strictness
with which I have spoken of the other subjects which have
fallen under our notice,--without allowing myself to be se-
duced into any lenity towards it by the consideration that I
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? 222
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
myself practise the calling of which I have spoken, and that
I have practised it even in speaking of it. Whence I have
derived this firmness,--on what feeling it rests,--you may
inquire at another time; it is sufficient for you now to un-
derstand clearly, that Truth, in every possible application
of it, still remains true.
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? 228
LECTURE X.
OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR.
To complete our survey of the vocation of the Scholar, we
have to-day only to consider that department of it which
belongs to the Author.
I have hitherto contented myself with clearly setting
forth the True Idea of the special subjects of our inquiry,
without turning aside to cast a single glance at the actual
state of things in the present age. It is almost impossible
to proceed in this way with the subject which I am to dis-
cuss to-day. The Idea of the Author is almost unknown in
our age, and something most unworthy usurps its name.
This is the peculiar disgrace of the age,-- the true source of
all its other scientific evils. The inglorious has become
glorious, and is encouraged, honoured, and rewarded.
According to the almost universally received opinion, it is
a merit and an honour for a man to have printed something
merely because he has printed it, and without any regard to
what it is which he has printed, and what may be its result.
They, too, lay claim to the highest rank in the republic of
letters who announce the fact that somebody has printed
something and what that something is; or, as the phrase
goes, who "review" the works of others. It is almost inex-
plicable how such an absurd opinion could have arisen and
taken root when we consider the subject in its true light.
Thus stands the matter: In the latter half of the past
century Reading took the place of some other amusements
which had gone out of fashion. This new luxury demanded,
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? 224
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
from time to time, new fancy goods; for it is of course quite
impossible that one should read over again what one has
read already, or those things which our forefathers have read
before us; just as it would be altogether unbecoming to
appear frequently in fashionable society in the same cos-
tume, or to dress according to the notions of one's grand-
father. The new want gave birth to a new trade, striving
to nourish and enrich itself by purveying the wares now in
demand,--namely, Bookselling. The success of those who
first undertook this trade encouraged others to engage in it,
until, in our own days, it has come to this, that this mode
of obtaining a livelihood is greatly overstocked and the
quantity of these goods produced is much too large in pro-
portion to the consumers. The book-merchant, like the
dealer in any other commodity, orders his goods from the
manufacturer, solely with the view of bringing them to the
market ;. --at times also he buys uncommissioned goods
which have been manufactured only on speculation; and
the Author who writes for the sake of writing is this manu-
facturer. It is impossible to conceive why the book-manu-
facturer should take predecence of any other manufacturer;
he ought rather to feel that he is far inferior to any other
manufacturer, inasmuch as the luxury to which he ministers
is more pernicious than any other. That he find a mer-
chant for his wares may indeed be useful and profitable to
him, but how it should be an honour is not readily discover-
able. Of course, on the judgment of the publisher, which is
only a judgment on the saleableness or unsaleableness of
the goods, no value can be set.
Amid this bustle and pressure of the literary trade, a
happy thought struck some one;--this, namely, out of all
the books which were printed, to make one periodical book,
so that the reader of this book might be spared the trouble
of reading any other. It was fortunate that this last pur-
pose was not completely successful, and that everybody did
not take to reading this book exclusively, since then no
others would have been purchased, and consequently no
others printed; so that this book too, being constantly de-
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR
225
pendent upon other books for the possibility of its own exis-
tence, must likewise have remained unprinted.
He who undertook such a work, which is commonly
called a Literary Journal, Literary Gazette, &c. &c. , had the
advantage of seeing his work increase by the charitable
contributions of many anonymous individuals, and of thus
earning honour and profit by the labour of others. To veil
his own poverty of ideas, he pretended to pass judgment on
the authors whom he quoted,--a shallow pretence to the
thinker who looks below the surface. For either the book
is--as most books are at present--a bad book, printed only
that there might be one more book in the world; and in
this case it ought never to have been written, and is a nul-
lity, and consequently the judgment upon it is a nullity
also;--or, the book is a true Literary Work, such as we
shall presently describe; and then it is the result of a whole
powerful life devoted to Art or Science, and so would re-
quire another whole life as powerful as the first to be em-
ployed in its judgment. On such a work it is not alto-
gether possible to pass a final judgment in a couple of
sheets, within three or six months after its appearance.
How can there be any honour in contributing to such col-
lections? True genius, on the contrary, will rather employ
itself on a connected work, originated and planned out by
itself, than allow the current of its thoughts to be interrupt-
ed by every accident of the day until that interruption is
again broken by some new occurrence. The disposition con-
tinually to watch the thoughts of others, and on these
thoughts, please God, to hang our own attempts at thinking,
--is a certain sign of immaturity, and of a weak and depen-
dent mind. Or does the honour consist in this,--that the
conductors of such works should consider us capable of fill-
ing the office of judge and actually make it over to us? In
reality their opinion goes no deeper than that of a common
unlettered printer,--of the saleableness or unsaleableness of
the goods, and of the outward reputation which may there-
by accrue to their critical establishment
.
I am aware that what I have now said may seem very
oa
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? 226
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
paradoxical. All of us who are connected in any way with
Knowledge, which in this connexion may be termed Litera-
ture, grow up in the notion that literary industry is a bless-
ing,--an advantage,--an honourable distinction of our culti-
vated and philosophical age; and but few have power to see
through its supposed advantages and resolve them into
their essential nothingness. The only apparent reason
which can be adduced in defence of such perverted industry
is, in my opinion, this:--that thereby an extensive literary
public is kept alive, roused to attention, and, as it were,
held together; so that, should anything of real value and
importance be brought before it, this public shall be found
already existing, and not have to be first called together.
But I answer, that, in the first place, the means appear
much too extensive for the end contemplated,--it seems too
great a sacrifice that many generations should spend their
time upon nothing, in order that some future generation
may be enabled to occupy itself with something;--and
further, it is by no means true that a public is only kept
alive by this perverse activity; it is at the same time per-
verted, vitiated, and ruined for the appreciation of anything
truly valuable. Much that is excellent has made its appear-
ance in our age,--I shall instance only the Kantian Philo-
sophy,--but this very activity of the literary market has
destroyed, perverted, and degraded it, so that its spirit has
fled, and now only a ghost of it stalks about which no one
can venerate.
The Literary History of our own day shows the real
thinker how writing for writing's sake may be honoured and
applauded. A few Authors only excepted, our Literary Men
have in their own writings borne worse testimony against
themselves than any one else could have given against
them; and no even moderately well-disposed person would
be inclined to consider the writers of our day so shallow,
perverse, and spiritless, as the majority show themselves in
their works. The only way to retain any respect for the age,
any desire to influence it, is this,--to assume that those who
proclaim their opinions aloud are inferior men, and that
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR.
227
only among those who keep silence some may be found
who are capable of teaching better things.
Thus, when I speak of the Literary Vocation, it is not the
Literary Trade of the age which I mean, but something
quite other than that
.
I have already set forth the Idea of the Author when dis-
tinguishing it from that of the Oral Teacher of Progressive
Scholars. Both have to express and communicate the Idea
in language: the latter, for particular individuals by whose
capacity for receiving it he must be guided; the former,
without regard to any individual and in the most perfect
form which can be given to it in his age.
The Author must embody the Idea,--he must therefore
be a partaker of the Idea. All Literary Works are either
works of Art or of Science. Whatever may be the subject
of a work of the first class, it is evident that since it has no
direct significance of its own, and thus teaches the reader
nothing, it can only awaken the Idea itself within him and
furnish it with a fitting embodiment; otherwise it would be
but an empty play of words and have no real meaning. What-
ever may be the subject of a scientific work, the Author of such
a work must not conceive of Knowledge in a mere histori-
cal fashion, and only as received from others;--he must for
himself have spiritually penetrated to the Idea of Know-
ledge on some one of its sides, and produce it in a self-crea-
tive, new, and hitherto unknown form. If he be but a link
in the chain of historical tradition, and can do no more than
hand down to others the knowledge which he himself has
received, and only in the form in which it already exists in
some work whence he has obtained it,--then let him leave
others in peace to draw from this fountain whence he al-
so has drawn. What need is there of his officious inter-
meddling? To do over again that which has been done
already, is to do nothing; and no man who possesses com-
mon honesty and conscientiousness will allow himself to in-
dulge in such idleness. Can the Age, then, furnish him with
no occupation which is suited to his powers, that he must
thus employ himself in doing what he ought not to do? It
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? 228
THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR,
is not necessary that he should write an entirely new work in
any branch of Knowledge, but only a better work than any
hitherto existing. He who cannot do this should absolutely
not write;--it is a crime--a want of honesty to do so, which
at the most can only be excused by his thoughtlessness and
utter want of any true understanding of the vocation which
he assumes.
He must express the Idea in language, in a generally in-
telligible manner, in a perfect form. The Idea must there-
fore have become in him so clear, living, and independent,
that it already clothes itself to him in words; and, penetrat-
ing to the innermost spirit of his language, frames from
thence a vesture for itself by its own inherent power. The
Idea itself must speak, not the Author. His will, his indi-
viduality, his peculiar method and art, must disappear from
his page, so that only the method and art of his Idea may
live the highest life which it can attain in his language and
in his time. As he is free from the obligation under which the
Oral Teacher lies,--to accommodate himself to the capacities
of others,--so he has not this apology to plead before him-
self. He has no specific reader in view,--he himself must
mould his reader and lay down to him the law which he
must obey. There may be printed productions addressed
only to a certain age and a certain circle,--we shall see
afterwards under what conditions such writings may be
necessary; but these do not belong to the class of essentially
Literary Works of which we now speak, but are printed dis-
courses,--printed because the circle to which they are ad-
dressed cannot be brought together.
In order that in this way the Idea may in his person be-
come master of his language, it is necessary that he shall
first have acquired a mastery over that language. The Idea
does not rule the language directly, but only through him as
possessor of the language. This indispensable mastery of
the Author over his language is only acquired by prepara-
tory exercises, long continued and persevered in, which are
studies for future works but have no essential value in
themselves,--which the conscientious Scholar writes indeed,
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? OF THE SCHOLAR AS AUTHOR
229
but will never allow to be printed. It requires, I say, long
and persevering exercise; but, happily, these conditions mu-
tually promote each other;--as the Idea becomes more
vivid language spontaneously appears, and as facility of
expression is increased the Idea flows forth in greater
clearness.
These are the first and most necessary conditions of all
true Authorship. The Idea itself,--that of expressing his
Idea in true and appropriate language,--is that which lives,
and alone lives in him within whom the presentiment has
arisen that he may one day send forth a Literary Work;--
it is this which animates him in his preparations and
studies for that work, as well as in the future completion of
his design.
By this Idea he is inspired with a dignified and sacred
conception of the Literary calling. The work of the Oral
Teacher is, in its immediate application, only a work for the
time, modified by the degree of culture possessed by those
who are entrusted to his care. Only in so far as he can
venture to suppose that he is moulding future Teachers
worthy of their calling, who, in their turn, will train others
for the same task, and so on without end, can he regard
himself as working for Eternity. But\the work of the
Author is in itself a. work for Eternity. Even should future
ages transcend the Knowledge which is revealed in his
work, still in that work he has not recorded his knowledge
alone, but also the fixed and settled character of a certain
age in its relation to Knowledge; and this will preserve its
interest so long as the human race endures. Independent
of all vicissitude and change, his pages speak in every age
to all men who are able to realize his thought; and thus
continue their inspiring, elevating, and ennobling work, even
to the end of time.
The Idea, in this its acknowledged sacredness, moves him,
--and it alone moves him. He does not believe that he
has attained anything until he has attained all,--until his
work stands before him in the purity and perfectness which
he has striven to attain. Devoid of love for his own person,
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? 230
THE NATURE OP THE SCHOLAR
faithfully devoted to the Idea by which he is constantly
guided, he recognises with certain glance, and in its true
character, every trace of his former nature which remains in
his expression of the Idea, and unceasingly strives to free
himself from it. So long as he is not conscious of this abso-
lute freedom and purity, he has not attained his end, but
still works on. In such an age as we have already de-
scribed, in which the communication of Knowledge has
greatly increased, and has even fallen into the hands of
some who are better fitted for any other occupation than
for this, it may be necessary for bini to give some prelimi-
nary account of his labours;--other modes of communica-
tion, too, that of the Teacher for instance, may present
themselves to him; but he will never put forth these occa-
sional writings for anything else than what they are,--pre-
liminary announcements adapted to a certain age and cer-
tain circumstances; he will never regard them as finished
works, destined for immortality.
The Idea alone urges him forward;--nothing else. All
personal regards have disappeared from his view. I do not
speak of his own person,--of his having entirely forgotten
himself in his vocation;--this has been already sufficiently
set forth. The personality of others has no more weight
with him than his own when opposed to the truth and the
Idea. I do not mention that he will not encroach upon the
rights of other Scholars or Authors in their civic or personal
relations: that is altogether below his dignity who has to do
only with realities;--it is also below the dignity of these dis-
courses to make mention of that . But this I will remark,
that he will not allow himself to be restrained, by forbear-
ance towards any person whatever, from demolishing error
and establishing truth in its place. The worst insult that
can be offered, even to a half-educated man, is to suppose
that he can be offended by the exposure of an error which
he has entertained or the proclamation of a truth which
has escaped his notice. From this bold and open profession
of truth, as he perceives it, without regard to any man, he
will suffer nothing to lead him astray, not even the politely
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? OF THE SCHOLAB AS AUTHOR. 231
expressed contempt of the so-called fashionable world, which
can conceive of the Literary Vocation only by analogy with
its own social circles, and would impose the etiquette of the
Court upon the conduct of the Scholar.
Here I close these Lectures. If a thought of mine have
entered into any now present, and shall abide there as a
guide to higher truth, perhaps it may sometimes awaken
the memory of these lectures and of me,--and only in this
way do I desire to live in your recollection.
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