No More Learning

The Idea is not the ornament of the individual (for,
strictly speaking, there is no such thing as individuality in
the Idea), but it seeks to flow forth in the whole human
race, to animate it with new life, and to mould it after its
own image. This is the distinctive character of the Idea;
and whatever is without this character is not the Idea.
Wherever, therefore, it attains an existence, it irresistibly
strives after this universal activity, not through the life of
the individual, but through its own essential life. It thus
impels every one in whom it has an abode, even against the
will and wish of his sensuous, personal nature, and as
thou^h hejwere a passive instrument,--impels him forward
to this universal activity, to the skill which is demanded in
its exercise, and to the Industry which is necessary for the
acquisition of that skilL Without need of outward incen-
tive, it never ceases from spontaneous activity and self-de-
velopment until it has attained such a living and efficient
form as is possible for it under the conditions by which it is
surrounded. Wherever a man, after having availed himself
of the existing and accessible means for the acquirement of
Learned Culture--(for the second case, where those means
do not exist, or are inaccessible, does not belong to our pre-
sent subject)--wherever, I say, in the first case, a man re-
mains inactive, satisfied with the persuasion that he is in
possession of something resembling the Idea or Genius,--
then in him there is neither Idea or Genius, but only a vain
ostentatious disposition, which assumes a singular and fan-
tastic costume in order to attract notice. Such a disposition
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
shows itself at once in self-gratulatory contemplation of its
own parts and endowments, dwelling on these in compla-
cent indolence, commonly accompanied by contemptuous dis-
paragement of the personal qualities and gifts of others;--
while, on the contrary, he who is constantly urged on by
the Idea has-no time left to think of his own personality;--
lost with all his powers in the object he has in view, he
never weighs his own capacities of grasping it against those
of other men. Genius, where it is present, sees its object only
--never sees itself;--as the sound eye fixes itself upon some-
thing beyond it, but never looks round upon its own bright-
-ness. In such an one the Idea does certainly not abide.
What is it, then, that animates him,--that moves him to
those eager and restless efforts which we behold? It is mere
pride and self-conceit, and the desperate purpose, despite of
natural disqualification, to assume a character which does
not belong to him;--these animate, impel, and spur him on,
and stand to him in the room of Genius. And what is it
which he produces, which appears to the common eye (itself
neither clear nor pure, and in particular incapable of appre-
ciating the sole criteria of all true Ideals--clearness, free-
dom, depth, artistic form) as if it were the Idea ? --what is
it? Either something which he has himself imagined or
which has occurred to him by accident,--which, indeed, he
does not understand, but which he hopes, nevertheless, may
appear new, striking, paradoxical, and therefore blaze forth
far and wide;--with this he commits himself to the chance
of fortune, trusting that in the sequel he himself or some
one else may discover a meaning therein. Or else he has
borrowed it from others,--cunningly distorting, disarrang-
ing, and unsettling it, so that its original form cannot easily
be recognised; and by way of precaution depreciating the
source whence it came, as utterly barren and unprofitable,
lest the unprejudiced observer might be led to inquire
whether he has not possibly obtained from thence that
which he calls his own.
In one word,--self-contemplation, self-admiration, and
self-flattery, although the last may remain unexpressed, and
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? OF THE PROGRESSIVE SCHOLAR.
165
even carefully shrouded from the eye of every beholder,--
these, and the indolence and disdain of the treasures al-
ready gathered together in the storehouses of learning
which spring from these, are sure signs of the absence of
true Genius; whilst forgetfulness of self in the object pur-
sued, entire devotion to that object, and inability to entertain
any thought of self in its presence, are the inseparable accom-
paniments of true Genius. It follows that true Genius in
every stage of its growth, but particularly during its early
development, is marked by amiable modesty and retiring
bashfulness. Genius knows least of all about itself; it is
there, and works and rules with silent power, long before it
comes to consciousness of its own nature. Whoever is con-
stantly looking back upon himself to see how it stands
with him, of what powers he can boast, and who is himself
the first discoverer of these,--in him truly there is nothing
great
.
Should there then be here among you any opening
Genius, far be it from me to wound its native modesty and
diffidence by any general invitation to you to examine
yourselves, and see whether or not you are in possession of
the Idea,--I would much rather earnestly dissuade you
from such self-examination. And that this advice may not
seem to you the suggestion of mere pedantic school-wisdom,
and perhaps of extravagant caution, but may approve itself
to your minds as arising from absolute necessity, I would
add that this question can neither be answered by your-
selves, nor can you obtain any sure answer to it from any
one else;--that therefore truth is not elicited by such a pre-
meditated self-examination, but, on the contrary, the youth
is taught a self-contemplation and conceited brooding over
his own nature, through which the man becomes at length
an intellectual and moral ruin. There are many signs by
which we may know'that the Genius which possibly lies con-
cealed in a Student has not yet declared itself,--and we
shall afterwards find occasion in the sequel to point out the
most remarkable of these;--but there is only one decisive cri-
terion by which we may determine whether Genius has exis-
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
ted or has never existed in him; and that one decisive cri-
terion can be applied only after the result has become ap-
parent. Whoever has really become a perfect Scholar and
Artist, in the sense in which we have used these words,--
grasping the world in his clear, penetrating Idea, and able
to impress that Idea upon the world at every point -- he
has had Genius, he has been inspired by the Idea; and this
may now confidently be said of him. He who, nothwith-
standing the most diligent study, has come to years of ma-
turity without having raised himself to the Idea--he has
been without Genius, without communion with the Idea;
and this may henceforth be said of him. But of him who
is still upon the way, neither of these judgments can be
pronounced.
This disposition of things, which is as wise as it is neces-
sary, leaves but one course open to the youthful student
who cannot know with certainty whether or not Genius
dwells within him;--this, namely, that he continue to act as
though there were latent within him that which must at
last come to light; that he subject himself to all conditions,
and place himself in all circumstances in which, if present,
it may come to light; that, with untiring Industry and true
devotion of his whole mind, he avail himself of all the
means which Learned Culture offers to him. In the worst
case,--if at the termination of his studies he find that out
of the mass of learning which he has accumulated not one
spark of the Idea has beamed upon him, there yet remains
for him this consciousness at least,--which is more indispen-
sable to man than even Genius itself, and without which the
possesor of the greatest Genius is far less worthy than he,--
the consciousness that if he has not risen higher, no blame
can attach to him,--that the point at which he has stopped
short is the place which God has assigned to him, whose law
he will joyfully obey. No one need pride himself upon
Genius, for it is the free gift of God; but of honest Industry
and true devotion to his destiny any man may well be
proud ;indeed this thorough Integrity of Purpose is itself
the Divine Idea in its most common form, and no really
honest mind is without communion with God.
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? OF THE PROGRESSIVE SCHOLAR.
167
Farther:--the knowledge which he has acquired by
means of this sincere effort after something higher, will ren-
der him always a suitable instrument in the hands of the
more perfect Scholar,--of him who has attained possession
of the Idea. To him he will unhesitatingly submit without
grudge or jealousy,--without any unsatisfied struggle after
an elevation for which he was not formed; his guidance he
will follow with a true loyalty which shall have become to
him a second nature, and thus he will obtain a sure con-
sciousness of having fulfilled his vocation, as the last and
highest destiny to which, in any sphere of life, man can at-
tain.
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LECTURE IV.
OF INTEGRITY IN STUDY.
He who is to become a True Scholar, so that in him the
Divine Idea of the world may attain to such a measure of
clearness and influence over the surrounding world as is
possible in his circumstances, must be laid hold of by the
Idea itself through its own inherent power, and by it be
urged forward unceasingly towards the wished-for end.
In our portraiture of the Nature of the True Scholar, we
are now engaged with the Progressive Scholar, or the Stu-
dent.
If the Student is really inspired by the Idea,--or, what is
the same thing, if he possesses Genius and true talent, he is
already far above all our counsels; Genius will fulfil its vo-
cation in him without our aid, and even without his own
concurrence:--of this we have spoken sufficiently in our
last lecture.
But, as we have likewise seen in the same lecture, the
Progressive Scholar can never determine for himself whe-
ther or not he possesses Genius in our sense of the term, nor
can any one else determine this for him:--hence there is
nothing left for him but with sincere and perfect Integrity
so to act as if there lay within him Genius which must ul-
timately come to light. True Genius, when present, mani-
fests itself precisely in the same way as does this Integrity
in Study; in appearance, both assume the same form, and
cannot be distinguished the one from the other.
Turning away from the tests of Genius which, in the Pro-
gressive Scholar at least, are inscrutable, we have now only
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? THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
1G9
to exhaust the indications of Integrity in Study, and we
shall then have completed the portraiture of the true fol-
lower of learning. The honest Scholar is to us the only
True Scholar: the two ideas flow into each other.
Integrity in the abstract, as we have also remarked be-
fore, is itself a Divine Idea; it is the Divine Idea in its most
general form, embracing all men. Hence, like the Idea it-
self it acts by its own inherent power;--it forms itself, as
we said before of Genius, without aid from personal feeling,
--nay, even annihilating self-love as far as possible,--into
an independent life in man, irresistibly urging him forward
and pervading all his thoughts and actions. His actions, I
say; for the idea of Integrity is an immediately practical
idea, determining the outward, visible, free doings of man;
--whereas the influence of Genius is, in the first place, in-
ternal,--affecting spiritual insight . He who truly possesses
Genius must be successful in his studies: to him light and
knowledge will spring up on all sides from the objects of his
contemplation. He who possesses Integrity in Study, of him
this success cannot be so surely predicted; but should it not
follow, he will at least be blameless, for he will neglect no-
thing within his power which may enable him to attain it;
and even if he be not at last a sharer in the triumph, he
shall at all events have deserved to be so.
Integrity, as a living and governing principle, rises above
the person of him who is animated by it, and regards this
person as standing under a definite law,--as existing only
for a certain purpose, and as a means to a higher end. Man
shall be and do something; his temporal life shall leave be-
hind it in the spiritual world an imperishable and eternal
result,--a particular result arising from the life of each in-
dividual, belonging to him alone and demanded of him
alone. It is thus that the true-minded man looks upon all
personal Life in Time, and particularly on that life which
lies nearest to him,--namely, his own. He in whom this
Integrity has become a living'idea cannot conceive of
human life in any other way than this;--from this prin-
ciple he sets forth, to it he constantly returns, and by it he
z
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
regulates all his other modes of thought. Only in so far as
he obeys this law and fulfils this purpose, which he recog-
nises as his being's end and aim, is he satisfied with him-
self: everything in him which is not directed to this high
end,--which is not evidently a means to its attainment, he
despises, hates, desires to have swept away. He looks upon
his individual person as a thought of the Deity; and thus
his vocation--the design of his being--is to him as a pur-
pose of God himself. This, and nothing else, is the idea of
Integrity, whether he who is ruled by it calls it by this
name or by another.
Success cannot indeed be certainly predicted of mere In-
tegrity as such, either in study or in any other purpose
which it may propose to itself; but in all its pursuits it will
surely display the independent power of the Idea pressing
steadily forward to its mark; and of the true-minded man
it may confidently be said, that in Integrity itself, his de-
fence and support, he will find a noble reward. In advanc-
ing on the path of rectitude, it will become continually less
needful for him to admonish, to arouse himself to the strug-
gle against recurring evil desires; for the true feeling, the
legitimate mode of thought, will spontaneously reveal itself to
him, and become his ruling principle,--his second nature.
Whatever thou doest, do it with Integrity: if thou studiest,
let it guide thy studies; and then, as to whether thou shalt
prosper in what thou doest,--leave that to God;--thou hast
most surely left it to Him, when thou goest to work with
true and honest purpose: with the attainment of that In-
tegrity thou shalt also attain unbroken peace, inward cheer-
fulness, and an unstained conscience;--and in so far thou
shalt assuredly prosper.
We have said that the honest man in general looks upon
his free personal life as unalterably determined by the eter-
nal thought of God;--the honest student in particular looks
upon himself as designed by the thought of God to this end,
that the Divine Idea of the constitution of this universe
may enter his soul, shine in him with steady lustre, and
through him maintain a definite influence on the surround-
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? OF INTEGRITY IN STUDY.
171
ing world. Thus does he conceive of his vocation; for in
this lies the essential Nature of the Scholar :-Vso surely as he has entered upon his studies with Integrity, i. e. with the persuasion that God has given a purpose to his life, and that
he must direct all his free actions towards the fulfilment of
that purpose,--so surely has he made the supposition that
it is the Divine Will that he should become a Scholar. It
matters not whether we have chosen this condition for our-
selves with freedom and foresight, or others have chosen it for
us, placed us in the way of preparation for it, and closed every
other condition of life against us. How could any one, at
the early age at which this choice of a condition usually
occurs, and in most cases must occur, have attained the ma-
ture wisdom by which to decide for himself whether or not
he is possessed of the as yet untried and undeveloped capa-
city for knowledge? When we come to exercise our own
understanding, the choice of a condition is already made,
--it has been made without our aid, because we were in-
capable at the time of rendering any aid in the matter;
and now we cannot turn back,--a necessity precisely similar
to the unalterable conditions under which our freedom is
placed by the Divine Will. If an error should occur in the
choice thus made for us by others, the fault is not ours; we
could not decide whether or not an error had been commit-
ted, and could not venture to presuppose one; if it has oc-
curred, then it is our business, so far as in us lies, to correct
it . In any case, it is the Divine Will that every one, in the
station where he has been placed by necessity, should do all
things which properly belong to that station. We have met
together to study; hence it is assuredly the Divine Will
that we consider ourselves as Students, and apply to our- ,selves all that is comprehended in that idea.
This thought, with its indestructible certainty, enters and
fills the soul of every honest Student:--this, namely--"I,
this sent, this expressly commissioned individual, as I may
now call myself, am actually here, have entered into exist-
ence for this cause and no other,--that the eternal counsel
of God in this universe may through me be seen of men in
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THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
another, hitherto unknown light,--may be made clearly
manifest, and shine forth with inextinguishable lustre over
the world; and this phase of the Divine Thought, thus
bound up with my personality, is the only true living being
within me; all else, though looked upon even by myself as
belonging to my being, is dream, shadow, nothing;--this
alone is imperishable and eternal within me; all else shall
again disappear in the void from which it has seemingly,
but never really come forth. " This thought fills his whole
soul: whether or not it is itself clearly conceived and ex-
pressed, everything else which is there clearly conceived, ex-
pressed, wished, or willed, is referred back to it as to its first
condition, can only be explained by it, and only considered
possible on the supposition of its truth.
Through this fundamental principle of all his thoughts,
he himself, and Knowledge, the object of his activity, be-
come to him, before all other things, honourable and holy.
He himself becomes honourable and holy. Not, by any means,
that he dwells with self-complacent pride on the superiority
of his vocation--to share in some degree the counsel of God
and reveal it to the world--over other less distinguished
callings, invidiously weighing them against each other, and
thus esteeming himself as of more value than other men.
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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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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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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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.