Lecture Xi.

OF THE RELATION OF TRUTH AND SCIENCE TO LIFE, AND OF MIND IN ITS APPLICATION TO REALITY.

The union of profound knowledge with divine faith, and the recognition and perception of their unity, is the mind’s first step within the domain of truth and of the consciousness of it; or, rather, the first step in that gradation by which the mind and consciousness advance toward verity; and it is even the fundamental principle of truth itself that constitutes this beginning. The judgment which discriminates and decides between a simple universal belief in God, and the connection of such a faith with all natural and sublimely true philosophy on the one hand, and unbelief, false science, and the various systems of error on the other, forms the second term or step in the gradual progress of truth and the spirit of truth in the human consciousness, whether of individuals, or of the whole human race, or of any particular period of its development. These two subjects have already occupied our attention in the two preceding Lectures. The third point which the mind must attain to as the spirit of truth is more fully expanded, both in the consciousness and in science, is the profitable application thereof to actual life, or its real manifestation, and the practical carrying out of its principles. For it is by this alone that the divine and fundamental principle of truth, and that important faculty of judgment which separates and distinguishes truth and true science from ignorance and error, are realized, and attain to their full end and perfection. The consideration of this subject will form the basis of the present and all the following Lectures.

Before, however, I enter upon this new topic, or attempt to solve this third problem of the actual application of science to life and of its profitable combination therewith, I would wish to add here a few historical remarks on the subject-matter of our last discussions, which, while they serve to complete and to illustrate it, will at the same time furnish a natural and easy transition to our present speculations. The struggle and the alternate triumph of belief and unbelief, as they gained in turn the ascendency over the minds of men, and gave the dominant tone to different ages, or, rather, the contest of truth and true science with the different systems of error in the several periods of the development of mankind and of the history of the human intellect, is at all times a subject of the highest interest for philosophical observation. In historical applications like the present, it invariably proves pre-eminently useful and instructive. I shall, however, confine myself to a few examples, and select such as are most immediately connected with our subject, or seem likely to lead to the most important results.

From the whole history of the ancient world I shall adduce but two illustrations: first of all, the twofold mental or spiritual state of the primeval times; and, secondly, the highest reach of thought and knowledge which Greece attained in her most enlightened days, which are marked at once with the signs of first maturity and of earliest decline. From both these instances it will be my object to prove that truth invariably prevails in the beginning, and that it is always and every where prior to and antecedent to error.

From the annals of modern history I shall in like manner bring before you only a few particularly fruitful instances. From such periods of the world’s history I propose to show that the problem of science, in its reference to life and its profitable application, admits not of any pure and complete solution; or that often after an opening of promise it suddenly takes a wrong direction, and so misses its true aim, and, consequently, the problem of the age remains unsolved. This examination of the actual relation subsisting between science and life as it has been, or still is, historically exhibited in this or that particular epoch, together with the difficulties and the questions which it suggests, will serve as an introduction to our entire theme. For this is nothing less than the satisfactory exposition and correct theory of the application of true science to life, and of their profitable combination.

First of all, let us cast our glance back to the infancy of the human race. In these primeval times, we every where meet with legends and traditions of man’s divine origin, mixed up and interwoven with the fables and symbols of heathenism. Now we are accustomed to regard heathenism, or the religion of the Gentiles, as universally, and, without exception, false and idolatrous, or at least absurd and fabulous. But is this consistent with the natural course of things?--is it not probable, or, rather, necessary, that, in its beginning at least, this chaotic medley of symbols and legends must have had for its foundation some very simple form of error, if we must suppose that it was always, and even from the very first, nothing but error?

No doubt the heathenism of the first races, so far as we can trace it, and the early legends and rites of the oldest times that we are acquainted with, appear to be already involved in a perplexing confusion of the strangest fancies. Nothing better are they than a chaos of symbolical images of nature, mingled and interwoven with some vague and shadowy outlines of truly spiritual ideas and thoughtful notes of a higher strain, and also with ambiguous and enigmatical legends of historical tradition. The whole medley, moreover, differently developed, according to the peculiar varieties of national character, or the hereditary feeling of tribe and family, assumes a particular hue from the local colorings of these different spheres of life; or, moreover, as is not unfrequently the case, is remolded and cast into new combinations by the arbitrary caprices of the poetic fancy. Who can hope to find the simple clew of such a maze? or who will give us the threads of Ariadne to guide us out of its intricacies?

It is true, generally speaking, that our historical knowledge and research do not reach very far back. The Flood, to which the traditions of all people remount, and which all telluric sciences, whether geography, or natural history, or geology, or whatever other name they may bear, directly or indirectly confirm, forms an impassable gulf between the modern and later family of man, and that first and gigantic race of the antediluvian world. And yet careful criticism and historical investigation are still able to distinguish in the chaotic congeries of different mythologies the several strata and epochs, and can separate the primary rock of the earlier natural legend from the later mythical formations. But even this primary rock itself, amid the legends of primeval times--this first, and oldest, and simplest basis of heathenism, is itself but a fusion and the debris of some earlier and precedent convulsion. But now all legends, every mythology, and universal tradition, agree in this one point. They concur in deriving the origin of man from God, and assert that the first man, who, while he proceeded immediately from God, was also the first-born son of earth, in which he was placed, because it was of a nature nearest akin to his and ours. Now this same first man, as proceeding and taking his beginning from God, could not well be without some knowledge of Him. The concurrent tradition of all nations leads us to the idea of man’s possessing knowledge, and in truth an immediate and intuitive knowledge of God in and out of nature, and indeed primarily and principally from this source, and on the other hand also of his having an immediate and intuitive knowledge of nature in God. And this exactly is the old and true Gentilism of the holy patriarchs of the primeval world, if by this term we understand the original religion of nature, among the earliest families, and the pious patriarchs of the human race, as it is described in the language and after the analogy of Holy Writ, and also in the ancient traditions which have grown out of and attached themselves to it. Now, according to the simple progression of truth, which is also that of God, and of the knowledge of Him, this revelation of nature was the first and earliest that was imparted to man upon earth, and must be carefully distinguished from that later or second revelation of God, which is both of a positive nature and is contained in a written law, or written word and book of the law. And in the written revelation this distinction is most carefully observed throughout. The divine law, which although not written on brazen tablets, unquestionably existed in these primeval ages of a natural revelation, which was read and intuitively understood in nature herself, or immediately in the hearts and minds of men, was far simpler, and consequently also easier and less burdensome, than the later law of the second revelation, which was designed for the moral regeneration of a degenerate people, and for fitting them to be a witness of the truth to other nations of the world still more degraded and benighted than themselves. And in the same way this second revelation was less stringent and less exalted in its scope than the last law of later times, promulgated in the third age of the world to all nations and kindreds of the earth. For the latter was not designed for the first happy period of the infancy of mankind, but for his last difficult, but decisive struggle, which is to end in the perfect triumph of good, and in man’s total emancipation from the hostile and oppressive yoke of original evil. For the wise and omniscient Father of all has given to every age of man’s history a peculiar and appropriate law. For the infancy of the race, He published an easy rule of life--permitting the full expansion and the blooming development of all his vital energies; but one of sterner preparation, of promise and of expectation, for his youth. For his maturity, lastly, He has set forth a law of determined struggle with evil, and of a predominant love of the invisible, and even of perfection. And consequently a new application of the same law, and a new strengthening for the same conflict, is to be looked for in the last times of the final consummation. But not only was the divine natural law, as promulgated to man in the earliest ages, far different from that of later times, and the subsequent stages of a further development of revealed knowledge. This immediate revelation, and intuitive knowledge of nature, was likewise very dissimilar to the artificially elaborate and complicated systems of physical science. For these have principally to trace out and to revert to the original source of life, and of the full truth of nature, although even on this right road of return we are not always nearest to the end, even when we seem to have made the greatest advance in that direction. But as the first man recognized God in nature, and not merely understood, but immediately perceived, and, as it were, saw, that He was there, therefore nature also was, in a certain measure, transparent to his eye in God. And although his knowledge of nature was in the highest degree simple, still did it even on that account penetrate more deeply into its inmost secrets. It was rendered thereby more thoroughly vital and endued with power. One might almost call it a natural force within him, similar to and akin to those without him. For generally in those early ages of the world, man possessed many higher energies and living powers in and over nature, which subsequently were entirely withdrawn from him, or which in later times, as wonderful phenomena, formed singular exceptions to man’s ordinary endowments.

We are, perhaps, only too much disposed to imagine that the ancient race before the Flood resembled in every particular a later and even the present generation. Our conceptions of it, as regards both its virtues and its vices, are in nowise great and wonderful enough. In the first place, it is highly probable that the atmosphere of the globe was at that period totally different from what it is in the present day, and that consequently both the food and manner of living in those days were also dissimilar from our own. If any reliance is to be placed on the best and oldest historical testimonies on these points, we can scarcely doubt that the primeval race--at least the generations immediately preceding the Deluge--were of gigantic stature, and that their mental powers and faculties were on a correspondent scale of magnitude. In perfect conformity with these other proportions, the Scripture also assigns to those antediluvian races a duration of existence, which, as compared with our own standard of the average life of man, is equally gigantic. And so little of antecedent improbability is there in this statement, that to get rid of it commentators have been forced to have recourse to the most far-fetched and arbitrary, and, in fact, most untenable and groundless hypotheses.

Now, it is manifest that such corporeal advantages and length of life which the first patriarchs of the human race enjoyed, must have been highly favorable to the development of their intellectual gifts and immediate intuition, as founded on a living natural faith, so long as they were rightly used and directed toward God, as their proper object. And in the same way their tendency to fearful corruption, under an impious and sinful employment of their great mental endowments, must be equally evident. At the same time we must confess our inadequacy to form a conception of the height to which they attained in either state which would be in any way proportionate to the truth. It is, however, an invariable principle of development, confirmed by the observation of nature, and a careful induction of historical facts, that all that is greatest and noblest, if it once begins to degenerate and corrupt, reaches in its corruption and degeneracy the worst and most fearful extremes. And so it appears to have been with this gigantic and gigantically endowed race of the antediluvian world.

In modern times, a great German philosopher, who flourished toward the close of the seventeenth century, and was no less famous for his historical learning than for his mathematical discoveries, made the memorable remark, that the last sect in the whole development of Christian revelation, and toward the close of modern history--the last sect, and also the most prevalent and most fearful, would be that of atheism. This dictum, at the time at which it was pronounced, which was somewhere about the transition from the anxiety and oppression of the seventeenth century to the enlightenment and self-complaisancy of the eighteenth, must have appeared a perfect paradox. But now that its fulfillment seems, both to our eyes and understanding, so close at hand, we recognize with amazement, not to say with a slight feeling of horror, its deep oracular truth.

Now, as the beginning and the end often bear a wonderful resemblance to each other, it is not improbable that the first sect was of the same kind and nature as it has been predicted that the final heresy will be. A mere dead unbelief and purely negative atheism, it is true, can as little have prevailed in those times as a symbolically degraded and immorally materializing heathenism. For it was only after the higher magical powers were withdrawn from man, that the fancy became in this sense, and to such an extreme degree, symbolical and figurative. Or, perhaps, we may more correctly say, that of all high endowments now lost forever, a purely figurative fancy was all that remained; whereupon, in opposition to it, the other erroneous extreme of abstract thought gradually attained to a greater and undue development. And we may with good reason assume, that with this fearful catastrophe the very consciousness of man was essentially altered and changed. Of the wild and lawless state of the generations before the Flood, we can not, perhaps, form a juster conception than by regarding it as an open rebellion and organized revolt of man against his Maker and benefactor, a complete and visible supremacy of the evil principle and the wicked spirits on earth, and an intimate union between man and the devil. It must have resembled the description which we meet with in some old books of the future reign of antichrist. Such a state of things may justly be denominated atheism. But, however this may be, and whatever conception we may form, and whatever historical shape we may give to particulars in this domain (where, after all, we can not get beyond conjecture and presumptions, or, it may be, hypothetical history, based on probabilities), one general point is incontestable. Truly noble, in those primeval times of a pure natural faith, must have been the intellectual powers and development of the first ancestors of the world and those great progenitors of the human race, and fearful, in the same degree, must have been the fall and corruption which followed the abuse of those high privileges. For man’s mental powers, still subsisting in the plenitude of their productive energy, and his lordship over nature being undisturbed, his corruption must have generated the wildest and most monstrous excesses. Consequently, amid the universal reign of evil and wickedness, the only course that remained was the total destruction of the existing generation, and the complete renovation, or, rather, a new commencement of mankind.

But the corruption of later times, though, in truth, on a less scale, has likewise been very great. Rapid, too, has been the passage from good to evil. Moreover, it is self-evident that in the primeval ages of a vivid natural faith, and of a life according to nature, that separation between life and nature that exists in these later times could not well have taken place--nay, at such a period it is totally inconceivable. On the contrary, science and life must have been in perfect unison. And this is true, not only of the virtuous knowledge in the first happy epoch of the world’s golden age, but also of the wicked ideas and the demoniac efforts of error in the succeeding periods of gigantic bewilderment and arrogant enmity to God. It is by reason of this unity between life and knowledge that this instance belongs to that gradation in the mutual relations of the two in the different ages of the world.

Quite otherwise, however, was it, in this respect, with Grecian philosophy. In the most enlightened days of classical antiquity we behold it either coming forward in direct opposition to life, especially in its public aspect of politics and religion, or else as absolutely esoteric, retiring altogether and estranged from active duties. Now, in adducing the history of Grecian philosophy as my second instance, and as an eminently important moment in the history of the intellectual development of the ancient world, my object is to show that in the same way that, according to all grounds of analogy, a simpler natural faith, as the simple religion of the first patriarchs of the human race, preceded the later form of heathenism into which the worship of the Gentiles so wildly and so fearfully degenerated--so, also, in the philosophy of Greece, its later systems and sects, which were so thoroughly false and pernicious, were preceded by, at least, a comparatively better and higher view--by a purer theory of science and of truth.

For though the oldest philosophers of the Ionian school held water, or air, or fire, to be the ground and principle of all things, and built on such hypotheses their whole theory of nature, nevertheless we should, in all probability, greatly err, were we, on that account, to charge them with or to suspect them of materialism. They understood these elements, not in the ordinary, but in a spiritual and living sense, as the elements of universal life, and, at the same time, did not fail to acknowledge a higher spirit operating in and above nature, and God’s all-disposing intelligence. Of Heraclitus, who made fire the essential ground and first principle of all things, we know, with historical certainty, that, notwithstanding, his philosophy and view of the universe was, in the highest degree, ideal and spiritual. And the same is true also of Anaxagoras, the teacher of Socrates. Much, too, that would do great credit to the general spirit of thought and science of that period, might be adduced from the venerable founder of the valuable art of medicine, and also from his school, were the present the appropriate place. The simple fact, too, that Socrates proceeded from out of this Ionian school, would alone dispose me to form a favorable opinion of it in its earliest state; and it is greatly to be regretted that our information concerning the oldest of these great thinkers is so scanty, and its details so uncertain and so little to be depended on, that it is impossible to form any settled and definite judgment on the matter.

When, however, we proceed to examine the religious spirit and value of Grecian philosophy in general, or any of its special branches, schools, and epochs, we must adopt as the fundamental rule of our judgment the universal dogmas of man’s pure and uncorrupted feelings or judgment. Taking for our standard the natural belief in a living and personal God, and in an everlasting and all-ruling spirit, in the immortality of the soul, and in the freedom of the will, together with the immutable principles and ideas of justice, honor, morality, and virtue, we must, in this case, carefully exclude all the special doctrines of a positive faith. We must not look for or require, in so early an age, that which the further development of later periods brought to light. Far be it from us to wonder at, or to urge it as a reproach against Pythagoras or Plato, if among their doctrines we meet with ideas, which, strictly understood, are not perfectly consistent with Christianity. Rather is it a matter for surprise and congratulation that they knew and were aware of, had anticipated and taught, so much that a later date first placed in a fuller light, and made the common property of all men. This, at least, was the opinion and conclusion on this subject entertained in the first century by the greatest and best-informed of the fathers of Christian doctrine and science.

This highly religious tendency and perception which we recognize in Pythagoras, for instance, or in Plato--this anticipation by science of the ideas of Christianity, of principles which, with this exception, belong to the Christian era of the world’s history, could not have been without God. We must, in short, recognize therein a higher providence. We may accordingly justly regard Grecian philosophy, in its better spirit and elements, as forming on its part a preparation for the Gospel, and a scientific introduction to Christianity, of a special and peculiar kind.

Now, among those whose observations, and sciences, and endeavors were throughout directed Godward, the Pythagoreans stand highest and foremost. We have already alluded to the fact, that in physical science they were acquainted with the best and the most important of all that our history of discoveries, within the last three centuries, is so proud of. Here and there, perhaps, their knowledge even outran our own, and in all probability they were not without some insight into those mysteries of creation, about which our philosophy of nature has within the last half century excited so much wonder and admiration. It is also probable, we observed, that by their theory of numbers we are not to understand the ordinary formulæ of mathematics, nor the usual arbitrary play with them in which science so often indulges, but rather the development of the intrinsic and divine law of nature and of life according to its everlasting structure and immutable foundations, or according to the vicissitudes of its critical times and seasons. But here it may be asked--whence had they all this? how, without the telescope, and with, at best, a very defective system of mathematics, and an imperfect art of calculation, did they attain to a knowledge of the true astronomical system of the universe? To start the hypothesis, that they learned and borrowed it all from the Egyptians, would only be to remove the question a step farther back, and not really to answer it. But even if we were to admit the fact, such an assumption would only, as regards the essential question with respect to the Pythagoreans and the origin of their science, increase their merits and their glory. For in the same way as we observed on an earlier occasion, with reference to Moses and the Hebrews, it must have been by the exercise of a rare wisdom, that while they selected all that was best and most valuable in Egyptian science, they rejected so much that was pernicious, and laid aside so much that was likely to lead them astray, and even the impious magical superstitions that were to be found there.

In much later times, and even down to our own days, the name of the Pythagorean school and science has been forced to serve as a cloak for every noxious farrago of mysticism, as also that of the Neo-Platonists has been made the symbol of every visionary extravagance. But even if (what, however, I greatly doubt) an historical connection can be shown to subsist between the so-called Pythagoreans of later times and the earlier and genuine school, nothing further would follow from such a fact, than a confirmation of my general position. It would but furnish an additional proof that all that is greatest, noblest, and most beautiful, when it once begins to degenerate and corrupt, invariably reaches a proportionate depth of corruption and degeneracy, and assumes the worst and wildest aspect of deformity.

As concerns the influence of this school of life, and its political aims and tendencies, which were unquestionably part of the general design of the Pythagorean doctrine: all this must be judged of in conformity with Greek notions and habits, and with reference to the unsettled and disordered state of the several Grecian communities. This being granted, it will appear that a simple but lofty object was the basis of their fraternity. By forming an enlightened aristocracy of highly cultivated minds, of men of scientific attainments, and of pure and noble morals, they hoped to establish a new and better polity, such as might check the reigning anarchy and revolutionary spirit of democracy, which distracted all the republics, whether smaller or greater, into which Greece was at that time divided. But the evil had become too great, and its power was irresistible. But the whole enterprise failed, and its failure entailed the dissolution of the Pythagorean society.

Many similar views and political designs, which Plato subsequently ingrafted on his own philosophy, in like manner remained nothing more than ideas, and led to no practical result. A far more considerable influence on life and its relations was exercised by the Sophists. Considered in a political point of view, they were truly and properly pernicious demagogues, and, in the fullest sense of the term, the flatterers of the populace. Not only did they undermine the outward national worship, with its poetical and hereditary associations, but also overthrew the inward religion of good principles and of moral sentiments. In short, they practically taught a true moral atheism, and succeeded in making it the prevailing and ruling principle in the conduct of life.

At this stage of Grecian philosophy, we witness, for the first time, a remarkable phenomenon. The true and good science which directs itself to the Godlike and divine, is unable to attain to any lasting or pervading influence on the lives of men: on the other hand, we see a false and evil sophistic gradually gaining a complete ascendency amid the general demoralization of society, and the growing anarchy of the political community, which, thoroughly corrupt and degenerate, only rose out of one revolution to fall immediately into another. Or, rather, this false sophistic, and this moral and political anarchy, were perfectly one together, so far at least as two destructive principles can ever be or be brought in unison.

The complete alienation which now existed between the better science and life, and especially public life, is most distinctly manifested in the case of the greatest among the Grecian philosophers of later times--in Aristotle, and the position he occupied in his own age and nation. This acute thinker, with the utmost care and diligence, collected together all the most eminent results of the science, and the most remarkable thoughts of earlier times. Examining and analyzing them with great critical acumen, and with a comprehensive survey, he formed them into a new whole, and arranged them into a system of his own, completer and fuller than had ever before been attempted or accomplished.

We can not, perhaps, estimate too highly or admire too much this great master of human subtilty, whether for his intellectual powers and extent of learning, or even as a writer. Still we must not forget that in his system were contained the germ and evident tendency to the two chief forms of philosophical error--naturalism on the one side, and rationalism on the other. And so we find that in the later times of the following centuries, each of these false systems, according as the occasion favored the one or the other, were drawn out from the Aristotelian doctrine, to receive a further and a distincter development. In his doctrine on the Godhead, he can least of all stand a severe and rigorous criticism. And in many points, as, for instance, in his notion of the absolute self-sufficiency of the reason, he approximates but too closely to the idealistic view which we have already designated as the transition to scientific atheism.

It was only in a very remote and distant age that Aristotle attained to a very great importance and authority. In his own day he did but form a very inconsiderable school, which exercised far less influence on public life than two other sects, in whose history the development of Grecian philosophy finds its close.

The system of the Stoics, with its stern and, consequently, impracticable theory of morals, its doctrine of absolute necessity and blind fatalism, announces itself at once as identical with an austere rationalism. At the same time, under the teaching of the Epicureans, a soft and effeminate naturalism became almost universally prevalent. And while, in another and newer form, it gradually assumed the place of the old mythical heathenism, which daily fell more and more into neglect and disrepute, it still retained the old heathen sentiment, and a careless and undisturbed indifference in inactive bliss and self-enjoyment, as it was even ascribed and imputed to the gods, was introduced into life, and extolled as the true wisdom. Thus, then, while on the one hand the foundation was laid for that insensibility with which the wide-spreading and growing corruption and the approach of the general ruin were contemplated, so, on the other hand, the apathy of the Stoics was not exactly the right kind of sentiment to furnish a check or counteractive to this sybaritic indifference.

As concerns the relations of public life, the social community, and the state, the Stoical doctrine appears, no doubt, in a worthier and a better light. On this account it numbered among its adherents almost all the great statesmen that lived from the last times of the Republic down to the later centuries of the Empire. Considered, however, in themselves, and scientifically regarded, both systems must be looked upon simply as the last chemical decomposing process, or the initiatory putrifying state of all higher science and philosophical reflection among the Greeks. On the whole, then, we conclude that Grecian science and philosophy have exercised no influence at all on life, or at least, either a very inadequate, or such as has proved radically baneful and pernicious.

But now, in the very center of man’s history--in the transition-point between the ancient and the modern world--science and life were again at unison, as at the beginning. And this was effected by the appearance of a new science in another form. For most assuredly we shall not err in giving this name to a new living and spiritual power, which, totally changing and giving an entirely new direction to the arbitrary views, sentiments, and principles of public and private life, and also to the modes of thinking prevalent in the age and in the world, was strong enough to triumph, not only over heathenism itself, but also over the science and philosophy of its most enlightened nations. Now this new mode of thinking, which came forward in the full certainty of the most undoubting faith and the highest internal illumination, had, so far as it is right and allowable to call it a science, a very different form and scope from all that has previously and usually been so called. For it issued out of the very depths of life, and received from love--a divine love, that is--its first diffusion and establishment. Consequently, it was a thoroughly living science, or, as being perfectly clear and certain in itself, a new scientific life, which, moreover, proceeded from this its first starting-point, was able to penetrate into all the other forms of public life and of the anterior systems of science, and by adopting or remodeling them, give to itself therein a further and more universal development.

But here, also, the divine impulse from above encountered the usual partial or entire resistance from below. Accordingly, this new living wisdom, which, in its essence, is one with life, and which, therefore, the more it is developed only unfolds this unity the more universally and the more immutably, was not, at the first, universally adopted, or did not become every where predominant. Moreover, even where it was received, and its authority acknowledged, its reception was often little more than external. It was not admitted as a living principle into all the depths of the soul, or impressed on all the habits and tendencies of the mind [geist]. And even where, in some degree at least, it was adopted in the inner man with full and sincere love, it was often nothing more than an undeveloped germ of the future and of a higher life. Isolated by itself, and standing apart, it remained shut up within the inmost bosom, without at the same time penetrating, reanimating, and giving a new life and shape to all the other life-elements of the consciousness and the productions of human science.

Thus, then, it was only too possible for error to find its entrance even here also. And it is remarkable that both its principal forms, such as in varying shapes the history of philosophy is constantly presenting to us in the different epochs of its progress, here again most distinctly present themselves with all the features of their intellectual physiognomy plainly marked, and with the still more obvious contrast of their intrinsic diversity. A philosophy of nature more or less visionary and fanciful was the common basis of the various Gnostic sects. With their long series of imaginary emanations from the Deity, resembling in no slight degree the old heathen genealogies of the gods, they would, had they triumphed, have converted Christianity into a similar mythology, though of a more philosophical character. In the Arians, on the contrary, and other kindred sects before and after them, we recognize rather the spirit of rationalism, which, dwelling on some point of life, or theory, with a show of rigor and accuracy, while, apparently, it disputes only about words, is, in fact, undermining the foundation of the most essential ideas.

All these parties, however, as they originated, so they also disappeared, within the first five or eight centuries of our era. It was, therefore, impossible for their pernicious influence to gain a deep hold of life. At least it was neither universal nor permanent. Yet by them the ardor of a first love was cooled. And sad, indeed, has been the loss as regards the fullness of living energy, and even in respect of profounder wisdom.

The history of the middle ages again presents a rare and singular phenomenon. One great mind and writer of antiquity, whose influence in his own day was far from extensive, became at this date, in a most remarkable manner, the problem and center of scientific inquiry. For several centuries the human mind was laboriously engaged in disputing about the philosophy of Aristotle. And although men did not understand it--not, at least, its deeper meaning, for they lacked the first and most essential qualifications, and also the requisite means for such a purpose--this apparently aimless disputation, and this unsolved problem, was, nevertheless, not without great and manifold influence on their own and the following ages. It has had a permanent effect on the whole frame of man’s life and being.

Of the two wholly different aspects which, as we have already so often remarked, the philosophy of Aristotle presents, it was probably not its fruits of rationalism (for, at this period, such were generally regarded as forbidden) that throughout the great part of the then civilized world excited so incredible a fondness for this all-absorbing and all-understanding system. Its attraction lay rather in some great and mysterious knowledge of nature. And the desire for these intellectual treasures was not a little heightened by the fact, that, in general, they were inaccessible.

In the little intercourse subsisting, at this period, between distant nations and lands, and the almost total separation of the East from the West, it was only through the Arabic versions, or Latin translations molded again upon these, that any knowledge of this philosophy could be drawn. This must have led, it is obvious, to a wide deviation from the true sense and critical spirit of the author. Its original aim must have been generally missed. For, however highly we may be disposed to estimate the intellectual merits of the Arabians, as writers of their native history, or in poetry, or in any other science, they are notoriously deficient in the true critical spirit. Their total and universal want, in this respect, is especially evident when they are compared with the Greeks, among whom this critical acuteness, whether false or true, sprung up and reached its greatest height.

Strange, no doubt, and singular is it at first sight, to view this old master of philosophical thought and science, who, on the whole, is so perfectly heathen, suddenly received among the medieval theologians, and taking, as it were, his seat, and giving his voice among them. Still, if men of great mental powers and authority sought to make themselves masters of the whole matter--both of the much-disputed works of this writer, this Aristotle, so strangely disguised in his new motley dress of Arabic Latin, and also of the voluminous labors bestowed upon him--we must look upon this procedure as analogous to that of the thoughtful physician, who, in the midst of a wide-spread pestilence and inevitable contagion, prefers to inoculate it himself, in order the more safely to treat and to cure it. In short, as the case really stands, we must look on these illustrious men in two distinct lights. On the one hand we must see in them the Church’s venerable teachers, and the sagacious and discriminating theologians of the day; on the other, the scholastic interpreters of Aristotle, who had now become a necessary evil for the Christian middle ages.

This, however, and whatever else was the matter and object of such subtile disputes, was too soon forgotten. In these scholastic contests, after the fashion of the day, the combatants, horse and man, were armed cap-a-piè, incased and disguised in logical coats of mail, composed of countless rings of thought and chains of ideas. With this heavy panoply, the great object was to heave their antagonist out of the saddle. Often they recoiled from the shock without advantage on either side--so equally matched were they in their good lances and the weight of their armor--and often they swerved from the charge. Mostly, however, both of the philosophical knights found themselves, at the end of the strife, at their old station in the lists, or driven back, perhaps, to their original entry. This scholastic philosophy, in the form it now took, of a highly elaborate art of logical tourney in the philosophical schools, was, undoubtedly, an abiding evil in the age that immediately followed, and furnished an important element to the party disputes of later, and to the rationalism of these latest times.

The overthrow of the Grecian empire and the discovery of the new world, suddenly and at once introduced into Western Europe vast and varied treasures of historical, physical, and philosophical knowledge. In this brilliant epoch of the fifteenth century, a new world of thought was, as it were, laid open. A new era of science would have been founded, and a veritable reformation of the whole Christian life must have ensued, had not the moral corruption and the political disorders of the period been gross beyond description. But for all this, how much is there to admire in the Platonic writers of the fifteenth century, among whom Germany, after Italy, produced the most famous and the greatest number? When we take up, even now, any one of their works, and contemplate therein their comprehensive liberal pursuit of science, their mild, antique spirit, their noble form, and their quick recognition of the beautiful, we can not turn from them without regret to that new state of barbarism into which, during the sixteenth and part also of the seventeenth century, science was plunged by the rampant spirit of party and controversy.

At last, however, peace and quiet returned again to Christian lands and states, and slowly, and by degrees, to the minds also of men. And now was it, in the eighteenth century, and especially toward the middle of it, that out of this apparent and superficial peace, a new science, or a new light, or at least a new diffusion of it, seemed ready to arise. Simply regarded in a scientific point of view, this philosophical endeavor of the eighteenth century, and the most memorable of the systems to which it gave rise, occupied our attention in the very opening of these Lectures. Here the immediate object of our consideration is not this new science itself, whether true or false, but rather the influence on the age, and on life in general, of this modern mode of thinking, as generally diffused and prevalent.

Much, undoubtedly, has been discovered or newly learned in the natural sciences and in the domain of history; many too have been the bold ventures, at least, and novel essays in philosophy. This new wisdom, moreover, was taught and disseminated far more universally than ever before had been the case; while even the agreeable feeling produced by the moderation of the intellectual spirit now prevalent, greatly promoted its wide and rapid diffusion. But at a later period this enlightenment, so rapidly and so widely diffused, which, moreover, was taken only in a negative sense, was soon recognized to be unsatisfactory and superficial, while also the theory of popular liberty and independence which was grafted thereon, and claimed, or at least wished to be rational, bore the bitterest and worst of fruits.

In short, to speak most leniently of it, the whole was nothing less than the undigested scheme of an immature and imperfect knowledge, brought into the world before its time. Accordingly, its rash and precipitate course in the last age, whose history is unparalleled in the annals of the whole world, together with the fearful catastrophe which it has brought about, opened the eyes of men to the fearful abyss to which such a precipitate abuse of science had hurried them. And, in consequence, thinking men of the highest endowments and the richest intellectual gifts among different nations, have in many ways nobly devoted themselves to the work of restoration in sentiment, in thought, and in science.

But on the one hand, the first elements of the former destructive principle appear to be still existing, even though it be in less obvious and more pliable and disguised forms. On the other hand again, the corrected mode of thinking, and the better tone of sentiment and science, is for the most part confined merely to a more chastened outward form. Scarcely any where as yet is it carried far enough back, up to the profoundest sources of spiritual life, up to the primal origin and veritable foundation of the divine and of the eternally good.

And yet this is exactly the problem of our age, and herein alone shall we find the solution of the great enigma of the times. For from this hasty review of the whole course of the intellectual development of humanity, from its beginning to its close, the result, for the sake of and with a view to which alone I ventured so cursorily and in such faint outline to sketch all the leading epochs of the history of philosophy, must at least be evident. As in the beginning, and in the center thereof, science and life lovingly co-operated together and were fully in unison; and as in the intermediate epochs and intervals among the Greeks in civilized antiquity, and in the middle ages among ourselves, they became more and more estranged, so at the end will they be at one again. And already, even in our own days, every thing is tending to bring about such a consummation. But who shall say whether it shall be in a good or an evil sense? Ere long, life shall either, under the influence of the true and good and divine knowledge, be again restored, permanently regulated, and receive a new shape and fresh vigor, or, by a false and delusive science, be completely destroyed, and involved in eternal ruin.

Having, in this hasty review, considered, under its historical aspect, the problem of the relation of science--the true and divine, as well as the false and delusive--to both private and public life, it now remains for us to examine and to answer this same question from the side of theory. Regarded from this point of view, it would appear that whenever science fails to exercise an influence on life, or when they withdraw and are estranged one from the other, the fact may be always accounted for and explained by accidental causes and purely local influences, such as have their origin in the several periods of the world’s history, or flow from certain imperfections on one side or the other. For, considered in itself, science in general is nothing but this unity of thought and life, and consequently its living operation and influence are involved in the very idea of a higher science, provided only it be true and properly regulated. Either, therefore, science is life elevated into a thought, and consequently transformed into a thinking, or else it is a thought carried into reality, that has passed and been transmuted into life, and therein fully attested and certified by life itself--consequently a thinking become life.

Now, according to this view, that science consists in the mutual approximation to, and the final attainment of, a perfect unity between thought and life, there are three degrees of it, according to that triple gradation and threefold principle which exists in the human consciousness. The first of these, then, is reflection. And this, understood in a somewhat profounder acceptation than ordinarily, is an internal feeling, hearing, or seeing of one’s own thinking. Consequently it is a perception similar to that of the senses, by means of which the unseen thought is in some degree projected and introduced into external reality. But this act of reflection is nothing more than a passive state of the soul in its internal observation of itself. So long as it remains confined to this narrow sphere, it perpetually revolves in the same orbit, and, properly speaking, produces no ulterior results of a knowledge fruitful and applicable to actual and outward life.

The second degree or moment of science is abstraction, by virtue of which, from the complete sum of all the criteria and characteristics of an object, or, rather, of a thought, some one is prominently set forth as the most essential, and for the sake of communication designated by a name. For all communication and language is based on this faculty of abstraction, which is itself an arbitrary act of the free will. But although by this naming, generalization, and communication, the internal thought is advanced a step farther into the external world and the living reality among and with others, still the reality of the thought is by no means satisfactorily established thereby. For this very liberty in the choice of name, of combination, and of general classification, opens a wide field for caprice. This is evident enough from the countless multitude of terminologies, so needlessly invented and so rapidly thrown into oblivion, which form so many remote and mutually unintelligible philosophical dialects, in the ever-repeated attempt to build methodically the Babel tower of philosophical system. For these designations of abstract thoughts, even when they are most felicitous, fail to win the concurrence of others, and do but open a door to endless dialectical disputation.

Thus, then, neither reflection, which is eternally revolving within the narrow orbit of our inward self, nor empty abstraction, though it strays at pleasure over the spacious realm of the possible, can lead us to the desired end of perfect certainty or veritable science. It is alone the practical carrying out into real life of a speculative thought, that can bring it to the conclusion of perfection of certainty, and to a complete and true science. Now I should prefer to designate this its highest grade by the notion and name of consequence. But by this term, I must be understood as meaning not merely a correct logical enchainment of ideas, but pre-eminently a faithfully-worked-out consequence or consistency of sentiment and life, i.e., a perseverance in good. At the same time, it must ever be remembered, that the evil principle, although it often makes a boast of possessing this quality, does so only in appearance, and never in this true sense. On the contrary, torn to pieces by conflicting passions in its inmost being, it is really in the highest degree inconsequent, as acting in direct opposition to its beginning and origin, which, like all other created beings, it took and received from God.

Truly consequent or consistent a man can not be except in the truth, i.e., in Him out of whom all truth, and from whom all existence is derived and flows--in other words, in God. Science, therefore, is an applied thinking, i.e., one that has passed into life, and thereby become real and certain; and it is only on the road of practice, by its actual carrying out or real manifestation, that it can attain to its highest degree, and that the truth of an idea or speculative thought can be satisfactorily attested.

The ideas, according to the original sense of the term, are even the self-existing thoughts of a higher life, as distinct both from the simple facts of the consciousness in the domain of reflection, and from the arbitrary forms of thought set up by empty abstraction. And though even here as elsewhere, a false, sickly, or a null and illusory life, may be substituted for that which is true, still this applies only to the form of the living idea, as contrasted with the sensuous semblance or the dead notion. For, that an idea is truly divine, can only be proved by this quality of consequence--by its divine influence and effect on life.

On the other hand, many philosophical thinkers have somewhat erroneously indicated the intrinsic certainty of philosophical thought by the name and under the form of an intellectual intuition, and thereby given occasion to manifold misconceptions. But if in all the fullness of the conception already advanced of the eternal truth, and of Him who is its sum and source, we were really able to be sentinent of and to feel the divine life--to hear and audibly to perceive the eternal Word and actually to see the holy Light, such a spiritual intuition of God’s glory and majesty would be far more appropriate for the future than for the present world. And even though we may and can admit it to be conceivable, as given from above, still a communication of it would be impossible, and, consequently, could not be available for the ordinary purpose of giving a philosophical foundation to any human system. Under this form, then, of a so-called intellectual intuition, if it be really such, and not rather a mere form of abstract thought under another and an assumed name, speculative science would consequently assume the character of a questionable vision, and a possible mental delusion. For a full internal satisfaction and certainty--so far at least as these are attainable by man--even in the case that they are the sign and the proof that this intuition, or perception of the divine light actually took place, can only be furnished by that quality of consequence already described as belonging to every thought and cognition which is founded in God. And to this character of consequence or consistency, the condition of agreement with every other idea or revelation already acknowledged to be divine, belongs naturally as the irrefragable law of judgment and of life.

That full and correct conception of eternal truth which has been developed by us in the ninth Lecture as the living idea of the Supreme Being is unquestionably the fundamental speculative notion and the internal spiritual basis on which every other higher science, that has any pretensions to the qualities of permanence and consequence which belong to right-thinking and to immutable truth, is subsequently raised, or, in other words, it is the source from which it abidingly flows. In the three subsequent Lectures, however, the subject has been mostly scientific, speculative, and metaphysical, though throughout accompanied with historical illustrations drawn from the development of the human mind. And here, accordingly, a reference to the science or discipline of logic is every where supposed.

Now, in the form in which this science or discipline has come down to us from the Greeks, there is much that is rather an accident than a part of its essence, and whose presence must be accounted for by some special and local necessity. With no people before or since has rhetoric enjoyed so commanding an influence as with the Greeks, and with none also has the sophistic art produced such great and such pernicious effects. Accordingly, they found it necessary to devote to the analysis of all its arts, delusions, and tortuous windings, and also to the development of the dialectical means for their detection and refutation, a disproportionate degree of attention, which is neither necessary for us nor practically useful.

The Hindoos, likewise, have from the most ancient times possessed a scientific system of logic. Indeed it has even been said, that Aristotle, having received from Alexander the Great some of their logical treatises, borrowed from them his own system, or, at least, molded it after them. But from the reasons just adduced, I am disposed to think that, in all probability, the Hindoo logic was much simpler than the Grecian, where the simple end of truth, and the great desideratum of a correct standard thereof, was lost sight of amid an overminute analysis, and the mazes of an endless subdivision of notions.

In the routine of our school education logic might, perhaps, be made a highly profitable study if only it were combined with and made to bear upon the history of the gradual development of human thought, and especially the theory of language. And then, since thought and speech are so intimately allied to and dependent on each other, it would be advisable to go a step farther, and extend our logical studies to the theory of imagination, symbolical language and its fundamental rules.

In a scientific education, too, a logic of the memory (if we may be allowed the expression) would in all probability be highly useful. For an established law and disposition of our thoughts would greatly facilitate the exercise of memory, and as furnishing rules for the practice, or generally as an exercise of that faculty, would form an excellent basis for scientific education. For the conduct of life, indeed, there is nothing so important or so desirable as a right logic of the conscience, which should detect all the internal delusions of egoism and the still more subtile sophistry of selfishness in every point where the question lies between the righteous truth and a latent falsehood. And this is intimately connected with, or at least leads directly to, the notion of the sound reason which requires before all things a conscientious susceptibility of the truth.

But a logic applicable to this higher science must be understood in a far more comprehensive sense than is ordinarily done. And this is even what we have here attempted to furnish. Logic in general is conversant about three objects: the notion, the judgment, and the conclusion. But it ought also to possess a general fundamental rule and regulative standard of truth, so far as this is attainable. But inasmuch as in this domain the eternal is simply one, so also for this higher science one notion properly is sufficient; as also one judgment which comprises all others, and one conclusion which completes the whole, is sufficient. The act of understanding has been explained to be the completion of the notion; and the full and complete apprehension of the eternal truth, or of Him who is the sum of all verities, was the subject-matter of our ninth treatise. The act of discerning was explained to be the completion of the judgment; and this perfect judgment, which decides and distinguishes between truth and error, was the theme of our tenth disquisition. Science, however, is the perfection of all thinking, and in its actual operation, as applied to life, and in itself carried to a conclusion, is one with it. Now this was the end to which the present discussion and development was intended to lead; while the further prosecution of it and its reference to the several spheres and domains of existence must be reserved to the following discourses.