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 €l)t Cati)0lir ^cncs. 
 
 For Prospectus indicating the character and purpose of the Catliolic 
 Series, and for List of Books aU-eady published, see Cataloi^'ue at tlie end uf 
 this worli.
 
 THE 
 
 VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE. 
 
 ^ranslatfD from ti)c ©ermau, 
 
 By WILLIAM SMITH. 
 
 " To this am I called, to bear witness to the Truth ; my life, my fortunes are of 
 little moment,— the results of my life are of infinite moment. I am a Priest of 
 Truth ; I am in her pay ; I have bound myself to do all things, to venture all 
 things, to suffer all things for her."— Pag-e 59. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOHN CHAPMAN, 121, NEWGATE STREET. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLVII.
 
 LB 
 
 t::^ 
 
 ^ University of California 
 
 ^ SANTA BARBARA COLLEGE LIBRAET 
 
 The following Lectures were delivered soon 
 after Fichte's arrival at Jena in 1794 to an audience 
 composed of students from all departments of the Univer- 
 sity; with the new of awakening in their minds a more 
 adequate conception of the exalted nature of their calling 
 and its attendant duties. To this end Fichte sets forth, 
 with that energy of thought and fervency of style which 
 are his peculiar characteristics, the vocation of man as an 
 indi\'idual, and as a member of society; the sources of the 
 different classes into which society is divided, and the 
 duties arising from these distinctions; and lastly the voca- 
 tion of that particular class whose separate calling has its 
 origin in the common desire of man to hnoiv, and who have 
 chosen the acquisition and imparting of knowledge as their 
 share of the general labours of the race; — assigning to the 
 duties of the Scholar, as the Teacher and Guide of Mankind, 
 the highest place among the varied forms of human activity; 
 and to the Scholar himself, in so far as he worthUy fulfils 
 these duties, the most honourable place in human Society. 
 The present publication may be considered as, in some 
 respects, introductory to that which the Translator has 
 already offered to the English reader, under the title of
 
 the " Nature of the Scholar ;" — bclonfi:ing, however, to 
 the earlier period of Fichtk's mental history, when his 
 philosophy still retained its purely subjective character; — 
 afterwards laid aside for the complete and objective form 
 in which it appears in his later writings. 
 
 It is the intention of the Translator, with the view of 
 extending a knowledge of Ficiite's matured philosophy, as 
 it appeared in his later popular works, to publish, in the 
 course of the present year, a version of the lectures delivered 
 at Berlin in 1805 to a distinguished circle of Scholars and 
 Statesmen, under the title of the " Characteristics of the 
 Present Age" (bic ©rutibju^jc bc§ gcvjcnivdrticjcn Scitaltcrg ;) — 
 to be followed by the " Doctrine of Religion" (bic Slmccifun^ 
 ^um Scli^cn JJcbcn, obcc aud) bic JRclivjicn^lcljrc.) 
 
 It cannot be doubted that the circle of readers in this 
 country to whom such publications as the present are 
 addressed is daily extending. This is suthciently apparent 
 to those who have the necessary opportunities of observa- 
 tion; — it may also be inferred from the increased activity 
 wliich is manifested among the supporters of the prevalent 
 philosophy. A writer in the last number of the " North 
 British Review" whose style is too distinctly marked to 
 leave any doubt as to his identity — Ave allude to Dr. 
 Chalmers, — in speaking of the Ideal Philosophy generally, 
 admits that " a fearfulness is now beginning to be felt" at 
 the " prospect of a collision now at hand between the two 
 philosophies." It may be doubted whether the article 
 referred to will tend to check the progress of the formidable 
 enemy which has created so much alarm in the mind of 
 the writer fur the safety of his theology. It exhibits a
 
 curious admixture of professioual antipathy aud reluctant 
 admiration. At one time " the wretched jabber of the 
 School at Konigsberg" is represented as something that 
 " would end in sweeping religion from the face of the 
 earth;" and the shade of a Butler or a Cervantes is in- 
 voked, to lend what in either case would surely prove some- 
 what uncongenial assistance to the Scotch Presbyterian, in 
 order " to banish this grotesque and outrageous folly" from _ 
 our shores; — while at another, the tendencies which, in 
 their influence upon ourselves, give occasion for such dire 
 forebodings, are represented as having built up the German 
 nation into " the noblest' people on the face of the earth 
 .... a loftier and more ethereal race ;" — and the man- 
 ner in which the dreaded doctrines have been clothed in 
 words by some of their teachers is characterized as " a 
 glorious symphony /or" the eye to gaze upo7i" — which latter 
 we take to be an expression of admiration, be its meaning 
 what it may. After such startling anomalies as these, one 
 is scarcely surprised to read of the " kindi'edness of spirit" 
 — the " intense mutual sympathy" which existed between 
 FiCHTE and Goethe, — men whom we had hitherto supposed 
 to be wide as the poles asunder both in intellect and feeling ; 
 nor — still more strange ! — to find the latter confounded 
 with the Author of the " Robbers," on whom Fichte con- 
 ferred the title of the " Sophocles of Germany." 
 
 But it is not for the purpose of following the venerable 
 writer through the many inconsistencies and mistakes into 
 which his evidently second-hand knowledge of German 
 philosophy and literature has led him ; — still less of examin- 
 ing his ingenious, though unsuccessful, attempt to establish
 
 a valid ontology on the basis of Reid's theory — or rather ab- 
 dication — of philosophy, that we now advert to this essay. 
 However easy the task, the present is not the fitting op- 
 portunity for its performance. Indeed the Ideal Philosophy 
 has no cause to quarrel with Dr. Chalmers, from whose 
 essentially truthful and generous nature it.s inherent no- 
 bleness has drawn forth a tribute which must give it new 
 importance in a quarter where such a recognition was 
 least of all expected. Before the results of the antici- 
 pated "collision" become apparent, many men will have 
 weighed whatever is important in these matters in the 
 silence of their own thoughts; and before the tribunal of 
 many a mind to whom Scotland is even now looking for 
 her future religious teaching, her theology will be sum- 
 moned to answer this question among others, — How it is 
 to reconcile its asserted faith in an All-Perfect God, with 
 adherence to a philosophy which reduces the Ideas we 
 possess of Infinite Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, to mere 
 negations of experience. 
 
 Our purpose in adverting to this subject at all is one 
 more akin to the object of the present publication. It is 
 to record our earnest protest against the singular conclusion 
 by which Dr. Chalmers endeavours to restore harmony be- 
 tween his sympathies and his theology; — namely, (hat the 
 prevailing admiration for German philosophies is altoge- 
 ther irrespective of their truth. He gravely settles himself 
 down in the hypothesis that these new doctrines, which 
 have wrung from him an unwilling admiration, have, after 
 all, nothing serious about them; — are at best only feats of 
 intellectual dexterity, not po.sscssing, and indeed not de-
 
 manding, any "sustaining basis of truth or evidence;" — 
 that they are akin to the novel or the drama, — addressed, 
 indeed, to a different audience, and perhaps designed to 
 minister to the gratification of higher appetites, but not 
 essentially different from these vehicles of amusement (for 
 the Reviewer seems to attach no higher value than this to 
 any form of literature), and therefore aptly enough de- 
 scribed by the appellation of the " theatricals of science." It 
 ■would be in vain to reason against such assertions as these, 
 wholly unsupported as they are by any species of evidence. 
 Such sweeping dogmatism carries with it, to most minds, its 
 own antidote ; and the case of any one who should seriously 
 entertain such gratuitous assertions will scarcely be im- 
 proved by refutation, — for moral scepticism cannot be cured 
 by argument. If there is one point more than another in 
 which the higher philosophy and hterature of Germany can 
 claim a proud superiority over that of every other nation, it 
 is this very point of its earnestness. Nowhere can history 
 point to a period in which the studies that most of all dig- 
 nify and adorn human life, have been pursued with a more 
 elevated devotion or guided by a loftier morality. The 
 reader who honestly seeks truth for her own sake, may 
 learn in the following discourses how those " theatricals of 
 science " were viewed by one of the noblest men who ever 
 laboured for the advancement of humanity. 
 
 As to FiCHTE, the present writer feels that no language 
 of his could so worthily express the deep and earnest ad- 
 miration which the character and doctrines of that great 
 man must command from every sincere and upright mind^ 
 
 a3
 
 as the eloquent words of Mr. Carlyle, when speaking of 
 the Critical Pliilosophy generally, in his celebrated article 
 on the state of German Literature : — 
 
 " Let the reader believe us, the Critical Philosophers, 
 whatever they may be, are no mystics, and have no fellow- 
 ship with mystics. What a mystic is, we have .said above. 
 But Kant, Fichte, and Schelling, are men of cool judg- 
 ment, and determinate energetic character; men of science 
 and profound and universal investigation; nowhere does 
 the world, in all its bearings, spiritual or material, theo- 
 retic or practical, lie pictured in clearer or truer colours 
 than in such heads as these. We have heard Kant esti- 
 mated as a spiritual brother of Bohme : as justly might we 
 take Sir Isaac Newton for a spiritual brother of Count 
 Swedenborg, and Laplace's Mechanism of the Heavens for 
 a peristyle to the Vision of the New Jerusalem. That this 
 is no extravagant comparison, we appeal to any man ac- 
 quainted with any single volume of Kant's writings. Nei- 
 ther, though Schelling's system differs still more widely 
 from ours, can we reckon Schelling a mystic. He is a man 
 evidently of deep insight into individual things; speaks 
 wisely, and reasons with the nicest accuracy, on all matters 
 where we understand his data. Fairer might it be in us 
 to say that wc had not yet appreciated his truth, and 
 therefore could not appreciate his error. But above all, the 
 mysticism of Fichte might astonish us. The cold, colossal, 
 adamantine spirit, standing erect and clear, like a Cato 
 Major among degenerate men ; fit to have been the teacher 
 of the Stoa, and to have discoursed of Beauty and Virtue in 
 the groves of Academe ! Our reader has seen some words
 
 of Fichte's : are these like words of a mystic 1 We state 
 Fichte's character, as it is known and admitted by men of 
 all parties among the Germans, when we say that so robust 
 an intellect; a soul so calm, so lofty, massive, and immoyable, 
 has not mingled in philosophical discussion since the time 
 of Luther. AVe figure his motionless look, had he heard 
 this charge of mysticism ! For the man rises before us, 
 amid contradiction and debate, like a granite mountain 
 amid clouds and winds. Ridicule, of the best that could 
 be commanded, has been already tried against him ; but it 
 could not avail. What was the wit of a thousand wits to 
 him? The cry of a thousand choughs assaulting that old cliff 
 of granite : seen from the summit, these, as they winged 
 the midway air, showed scarce so gross as beetles, and their 
 cry was seldom even audible. Fichte's opinions may be 
 true or false ; but his character, as a thinker, can be slightly 
 valued only by such as know it ill ; and as a man, approved 
 by action and sviffering, in his life and in his death, he 
 ranks with, a class of men who were common only in better 
 ages than ours. 
 
 " The Critical Philosophy has been regarded by persons 
 of approved judgment, and nowise directly implicated in 
 the furthering of it, as distinctly the greatest intellectual 
 achievement of the century in which it came to light. Au- 
 gust Wilhelm Schlegel has stated in plain terms his belief, 
 that, in respect of its probable influence on the moral cul- 
 ture of Europe, it stands on a line with the Reformation. 
 We mention Schlegel as a man whose opinion has a known 
 value among ourselves. But the worth of Kant's Philosophy 
 is not to be gathered from votes alone. The noble system
 
 8 
 
 of morality, the purer theology, the lofty views of man's 
 nature derived from it; nay, perhaps, the very discussion 
 of such matters, to which it gave so strong an impetus, 
 have told with remarkable and beneficial inliuence on the 
 whole spiritual character of Germany. No writer of any 
 importance in that country, be he acquainted or not with 
 the Critical Philosophy, but breathes a spirit of devoutness 
 and elevation more or less directly drawn from it. Such 
 men as Goethe and Schiller cannot exist without effect in 
 any literature, or in any century : but if one circumstance 
 more than another has contributed to forward their en- 
 deavours, and introduce that higher tone into the literature 
 of Germany, it has been this philosophical system; to 
 which, in wisely believing its results, or even in wisely de- 
 nying them, all that was lofty and pure in the genius of 
 poetry, or the reason of man, so readily allied itself"' — 
 Edinburgh Review, 1827. 
 
 Edinbdrgh, April 1847.
 
 THE 
 
 VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 BT 
 
 JOIIANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Author's Preface, pnge 13 
 
 LECTURE I. 
 The Absolute Vocation op Man, 17 
 
 LECTURE II. 
 
 The Vocation of Man in Society, 26 
 
 LECTURE in. 
 The Distinction op Classes in Society, . . ' . . .37 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 The Vocation of the Scholar, 49 
 
 LECTURE V. 
 
 Examination op Rousseau's Doctrine concerning the Influence 
 OF Art and Science on the well-being of ^Ian, . 61
 
 The following Lectures were delivered soon 
 after Fichte's arrival at Jena in 1794 to an audience 
 composed of students from all departments of the Univer- 
 sity; witii the view of awakening in their minds a more 
 adequate conception of the exalted nature of their calling 
 and its attendant duties. To this end Fichte sets forth, 
 with that energy of thought and fervency of style which 
 are his peculiar characteristics, the vocation of man as an 
 individual, and as a member of society; the sources of the 
 different classes into which society is divided, and the 
 duties arising from these distinctions; and lastly the voca- 
 tion of that particular class whose separate calling has its 
 origin in the common desire of man to hiow, and who have 
 chosen the acquisition and imparting of knowledge as their 
 share of the general labours of the race; — assigning to the 
 duties of the Scholar, as the Teacher and Guide of Mankind, 
 the highest place among the varied forms of human activity; 
 and to the Scholar himself, in so far as he worthily fulfils 
 these duties, the most honourable place in human Society. 
 The present publication may be considered as, in some 
 respects, introductory to that which the Translator has 
 already offered to the English reader, under the title of 
 
 A
 
 the " Nature of the Scholar ;" — belonging, however, to 
 the earlier pcriotl of I'iciite's mental history, when his 
 philosophy still retained its purely subjective character; — 
 afterwards laid aside for the complete and objective form 
 in which it appears in his later writings. 
 
 It is the intention of the Translator, with the view of 
 extending a knowledge of Ficiite's matured philosophy, as 
 it appeared in his later popular works, to publish, in the 
 course of the present year, a version of the lectures delivered 
 at Berlin in 1805 to a distinguished circle of Scholars and 
 Statesmen, under the title of the " Characteristics of the 
 Present Age" (tic ©runbjuv^c bcS i^ci^cinttarticjcn 3eitattci-6 •■,) — 
 to be followed by the " Doctrine of Religion" (bic ?lmocifun^ 
 5um Sclivjcn ichcn, ober auc\) bic SRcIi^ionetclji-c.) 
 
 It cannot be doubted that the circle of readers in tliis 
 country to whom such publications as the present are 
 addressed is daily extending. This is sufliciently apparent 
 to those who have the necessary opportunities of observa- 
 tion; — it may also be inferred from the increased activity 
 which is manifested among the supporters of the prevalent 
 philosophy. A writer in the last number of the " North 
 British Bevieiv," whose style is too distinctly marked to 
 leave any doubt as to his identity — we allude to Dr. 
 Chalmers, — in speaking of the Ideal Philosophy generally, 
 admits that " a fearfulncss is now beginning to be felt" at 
 the " prospect of a collision now at hand between the two 
 philosophies." It may be doubted whether the article 
 referred to will tend to check the progress of the formidable 
 enemy which has created so much alarm in the mind of 
 the writer fur the safety of his theology. It exhibits a
 
 curious admixture of professional antipathy and reluctant 
 admiration. At one time " the wretched jabber of the 
 School at Konigsberg" is represented as something that 
 " would end in sweeping religion from the face of the 
 earth;" and the shade of a Butler or a Cervantes is in- 
 voked, to lend what in either case would surely prove some- 
 what uncongenial assistance to the Scotch Presbyterian, in 
 order " to banish this grotesque and outrageous folly" from 
 our shores; — while at another, the tendencies which, in 
 their influence upon ourselves, give occasion for such dire 
 forebodings, are represented as having buiit up the German 
 nation into " the noblest' people on the face of the earth 
 .... a loftier and more ethereal race ;" — and the man- 
 ner in which the dreaded doctrines have been clothed in 
 words by some of their teachers is characterized as " a 
 glorious symphony /or the eye to gaze upon^' — which latter 
 we take to be an expression of admiration, be its meaning 
 what it may. After such startling anomalies as these, one 
 is scarcely surprised to read of the " kindredness of spirit" 
 — the " intense mutual sympathy" which existed between 
 FiCHTE and Goethe, — men whom we had hitherto supposed 
 to be wide as the poles asunder both in intellect and feeling ; 
 nor — still more strange ! — to find the latter confounded 
 with the Author of the " Robbers," on whom Fichte con- 
 ferred the title of the " Sophocles of Germany." 
 
 But it is not for the purpose of following the venerable 
 writer through the many inconsistencies and mistakes into 
 which his evidently second-hand knowledge of German 
 philosophy and literature has led him ; — still less of examin- 
 ing his ingenious, though unsuccessful, attempt to establish
 
 a valid ontology on the basis of Reid's theory — or rather ab- 
 dication — of philosophy, that we now advert to this essay. 
 However easy the task, the present is not the fitting op- 
 portunity for its performance. Indeed the Ideal Philosophy 
 has no cause to quarrel with Dr. Chalmers, from whose 
 essentially truthful and generous nature its inherent no- 
 bleness has drawn forth a tribute which must give it new 
 importance in a quarter where such a recognition was 
 least of all expected. Before the results of the antici- 
 pated "collision" become apparent, many men will have 
 weighed whatever is important in these matters in the 
 silence of their own thoughts; and before the tribunal of 
 many a mind to whom Scotland is even now looking for 
 her future religious teaching, her theology will be sum-» 
 moned to answer this question among other;?, — How it is 
 to reconcile its asserted faith in an All-Perfect God, with 
 adherence to a philosophy which reduces the Ideas we 
 possess of Infinite Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, to mere 
 negations of experience. 
 
 Our purpo.se in adverting to this subject at all is one 
 more akin to the object of the present publication. It is 
 to record our earnest protest against the singular conclusion 
 by which Dr. Chalmers endeavours to restore harmony be- 
 tween his sympathies and his theology; — namely, that the 
 prevailing admiration for German philosophies is altoge- 
 ther irrespective of their truth. He gravely settles himself 
 down in the hypothesis that these new doctrines, which 
 have wrung from him an unwilling admiration, have, after 
 all, nothing serious about them; — are at best only feats of 
 intellectual dexterity, not possessing, and indeed not de-
 
 manding, any "sustaining basis of truth or evidence;" — 
 that they are akin to the novel or the drama, — addressed, 
 indeed, to a different audience, and perhaps designed to 
 minister to the gratification of higher appetites, but not 
 essentially difierent from these vehicles of amusement (for 
 the Reviewer seems to attach no higher value than this to 
 any form of literature), and therefore aptly enough de- 
 scribed by the appellation of the " theatricals of science." It 
 would be in vain to reason against such assertions as these, 
 wholly unsupported as they are by any species of evidence. 
 Such sweeping dogmatism carries with it, to most minds, its 
 own antidote; and the case of any one who should seriously 
 entertain such gratuitous assertions will scarcely be im- 
 proved by refutation, — for moral scepticism cannot be cured 
 by argument. If there is one point more than another in 
 which the higher philosophy and literature of Germany can 
 claim a proud superiority over that of every other nation, it 
 is this very point of its earnestness. Nowhere can history 
 point to a period in which the studies that most of all dig- 
 nify and adorn human life, have been pursued with a more 
 elevated devotion or guided by a loftier morality. The 
 reader who honestly seeks truth for her own sake, may 
 learn in the following discourses how those " theatricals of 
 science " were viewed by one of the noblest men who ever 
 laboured for the advancement of humanity. 
 
 As to FiCHTE, the present writer feels that no language 
 of his could so worthily express the deep and earnest ad- 
 miration which the character and doctrines of that great 
 man must command from every sincere and upright mind,
 
 as the eloquent words of Mr. Carltle, when speaking of 
 the Critical Philosophy generally, in his celebrated article 
 on the state of German Literature : — 
 
 " Let the reader believe us, the Critical Philosophers, 
 whatever they may be, are no mystics, and have no fellow- 
 ship with mystics. What a mystic is, we have said above. 
 But Kant, Fichte, and Schelling, are men of cool judg- 
 ment, and determinate energetic character; men of science 
 and profound and universal investigation; nowhere does 
 the world, in all its bearings, spiritual or material, theo- 
 retic or practical, lie pictured in clearer or truer coloui-s 
 than in such heads as these. We have heard Kant esti- 
 mated as a spiritual brother of Bbhme: as justly might we 
 take Sir Isaac Newton for a spiritual brother of Count 
 Swedonborg, and Laplace's Mechanism of the Ueavens for 
 a peristyle to the Vision of the Neio Jerusalem. That this 
 is no extravagant comijarison, we appeal to any man ac- 
 quainted with any single volume of Kant's writings. Nei- 
 ther, though Schelling's system differs still more widely 
 from ours, can we reckon Schelling a mystic. He is a man 
 evidently of deep insight into individual things; speaks 
 wisely, and reasons with the nicest accuracy, on all matters 
 where we understand his data. Fairer might it be in us 
 to say that we had not yet appreciated his truth, and 
 therefore could not appreciate his error. But above all, the 
 mysticism of Fichte might astonish us. The cold, colossal, 
 adamantine spirit, standing erect and clear, like a Cato 
 Major among degenerate men ; fit to have been the teacher 
 of the Stoa, and to have discoursed of Beauty and Virtue in 
 the groves of Academe ! Our reader has seen some words
 
 of Fichte's: are these like words of a mystic? We state 
 Fichte's character, as it is known and admitted by men of 
 all parties among the Germans, when we say that so robust 
 an intellect ; a soul so calm, so lofty, massive, and immovable, 
 has not mingled in philosophical discussion since the time 
 of Luther. AVe figure his motionless look, had he heard 
 this charge of mysticism ! For the man rises before us, 
 amid contradiction and debate, like a granite mountain 
 amid clouds and winds. Ridicule, of the best that could 
 be commanded, has been already tried against him; but it 
 could not avail. What was the wit of a thousand wits to 
 him? The cry of a thousand choughs assaulting that old cliff 
 of granite : seen from the summit, these, as they winged 
 the midway air, showed scarce so gross as beetles, and their 
 cry was seldom even audible. Fichte's opinions may be 
 true or false ; but his character, as a thinker, can be slightly 
 valued only by such as know it ill ; and as a man, approved 
 by action and suffering, in his life and in his death, he 
 ranks with a class of men who were common only in better 
 ages than ours. 
 
 " The Critical Philosophy has been regarded by persons 
 of approved judgment, and nowise directly implicated in 
 the furthering of it, as distinctly the greatest intellectual 
 achievement of the century in which it came to light. Au- 
 gust Wilhelm Schlegel has stated in plain terms his belief, 
 that, in respect of its probable influence on the moral cul- 
 ture of Europe, it stands on a line with the Reformation. 
 We mention Schlegel as a man whose opinion has a known 
 value among ourselves. But the worth of Kant's Philosophy 
 is not to be gathered from votes alone. The noble system
 
 8 
 
 of morality, the purer theology, the lofty views of man's 
 nature derived from it; nay, perhaps, the very discussion 
 of such matters, to which it gave so strong an impetus, 
 have told with remarkable and beneficial influence on the 
 whole spiritual character of Germany. No writer of any 
 importance in that country, be he acquainted or not with 
 the Critical Philosophy, but breathes a spirit of devoutnesa 
 and elevation more or less directly drawn from it. Such 
 men as Goethe and Schiller cannot exist without efiFect in 
 any literature, or in any century : but if one circumstance 
 more than another has contributed to forward their en- 
 deavours, and introduce that higher tone into the literature 
 of Germany, it has been this philosophical system; to 
 which, in wisely believing its results, or even in wisely de- 
 nying them, all that was lofty and pure in the genius of 
 poetry, or the reason of man, so i-eadily allied itself" — 
 Edinburgh Review, 1827. 
 
 Edinboroh, April 1847.
 
 THE 
 
 VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Author's Preface, page 13 
 
 LECTUEE I. 
 The Absolute Vocation of Man, 17 
 
 LECTUEE II. 
 The Vocation of Man in Society, 26 
 
 LECTUEE IIL 
 The Distinction of Classes in Society, 37 
 
 LECTUEE IV. 
 The Vocation of the Scholar, 49 
 
 LECTUEE V. 
 
 Examination of Eousseau's Doctrine concerning the Inflcenck 
 
 of Art and Science on the well-being of Man, , 61
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 These Lectures were delivered last Summer before 
 a considerable number of the young men studying at 
 this University. They form the introduction to a 
 vrhole which the Author intends to complete, and, 
 vrhen time permits, to lay before the pubhc. A 
 motive — which to mention here would contribute 
 neither to a just estimation of these pages, nor to a 
 right understanding of them — induced him to allow 
 these first five Lectures to be pubhshed by themselves. 
 Their being printed just as they were dehvered, with- 
 out the alteration of a single word, must be his excuse 
 for many inaccuracies of expression. In consequence 
 of other occupations, he was unable, even at first, to 
 give to these discourses the polish which he desired. 
 Declamation is a valuable auxiliary in oral communi- 
 cation. To alter them for the press was for a similar 
 reason impossible. 
 
 There are in these Lectures many assertions which 
 may not please all classes of readers. But for this the 
 
 B
 
 14 PREFACE. 
 
 Author is not to blame; — in all liis inquiries he has 
 troubled himself very little as to what was likely to 
 please his hearers or to be disagreeable to them : Truth 
 alone has been his object, — and what he, according to 
 his best knowledge, held to be true, that he has boldly 
 declared, so far as he was able. 
 
 But besides that class of readers who have reasons for 
 their dissatisfaction with what I advance in these Lec- 
 tures, there arc others who hold such speculations as 
 at best iiseless, because they cannot be carried out into 
 practice, and because they find nothing in the actual 
 world, as it is now constituted, at all corresponding 
 thereto; — indeed it is to be feared that the greater 
 number of otherwise honest, respectable, well-behaved, 
 sober-minded people will thus judge of them. For 
 although, in all ages, those who have been capable 
 of raising themselves to ideas, have always found 
 themselves in a minority, — yet, for reasons which 1 
 may well be excused for withholding here, their number 
 has never been less than at the present time. AVhilst, 
 within the circle which common experience has drawn 
 around us, men take larger and more general views, 
 and pass more accurate judgments on the phenomena 
 presented to them, than perhaps at any former period; 
 the majority are completely misled and dazzled, so 
 soon as they take a single step beyond this limit. If 
 it be impossible to re-kindle in such minds the once-
 
 PREFACE. 15 
 
 extinguislied sparks of higlier genius, we must let 
 them remain without disturbance within that circle ; 
 and in so far as they are there useful and necessary, we 
 must not dero2:ate from their value in and for such a 
 sphere. But when they desire to draw down to their 
 own level all to which they cannot raise themselves ; — 
 when, for example, they would insist that everything 
 which is printed should be made as practically useful 
 as a cookery book, or a ready reckoner, or a service 
 regulation, and decry everything which cannot so be 
 used, — then indeed do they perpetrate a great wrong. 
 
 That the Ideal cannot be manifested in the Actual 
 world, we know as well as they do, — perhaps better. 
 All we maintain is, that the Actual must be judged by 
 the Ideal, and modified in accordance with it by those 
 who feel themselves capable of such a task. Be it 
 granted that they cannot convince themselves of this ; 
 — being what they are, they lose very little thereby, 
 and humanity loses nothing. This alone becomes clear, 
 that they have not been reckoned on in the great plan 
 for the ennoblement of Humanity. This will assuredly 
 proceed on its glorious way; — over them will kindly 
 Nature watch, vouchsafing them, in proper season, rain 
 and sunshine, fitting nourishment and undisturbed di- 
 gestion, and therewithal comfortable thoughts. 
 
 Jkna, Michaelmas 1794.
 
 LECTURE I. 
 
 THE ABSOLUTE VOCATION OF MAN. 
 
 The purpose of the Lectures which I commence to-day is 
 in part known to you. I would answer, or rather I would 
 prompt you to answer for yourselves, the following ques- 
 tions: — What is the vocation of the Scholar? — what is his 
 relation to humanity as a whole, as well as to particular 
 classes of men"? — by what means can he most surely fulfil 
 his high vocation? 
 
 The Scholar is invested with a distinctive character only 
 in so far as he is contrasted with other men ; the idea of his 
 calling arises from comjiarison, from his relation to Society 
 at large, — by which we understand not the State merely, 
 but generally that aggregate of reasonable men who exist 
 near each other in space, and are thus placed in mutual 
 relations with each other. 
 
 Hence the vocation of the Scholar considered as such is 
 only conceivable in society, and thus the answer to the 
 question, — " What is the vocation of the Scholar?" — pre- 
 supposes the answer to another question, — "What is the 
 vocation of man in Society ? " 
 
 Again : the answer to this question presupposes the an- 
 swer to another still higher; namely this, — " What is the 
 vocation of Man?" — i. e. of Man considered simply as man, 
 — according to the mere abstract idea of humanity; — 
 
 b2
 
 IS LECTURE I. 
 
 isolated, and without any relation which is not included in 
 the absolute idea of himself < 
 
 I may be permitted to say to you at present without 
 proof, what is doubtless already known to many among you, 
 and what is obscurely, but not the less strongly, felt by 
 others, that all philosophy, — all human thought and teach- 
 ing, — all your studies, — especially all which I shall address 
 to you, — can tend to nothing else than to the answering 
 of these questions, and particularly of the last and highest 
 of them, — What is the absolute vocation of Man? and what 
 are the means by which he can most surely fulfil it? 
 
 Philosophy is not essentially necessary to the mere 
 feeling of this vocation ; but the whole of philosophy, and 
 indeed a fundamental and all-embracing philosophy, is 
 implied in a distinct, clear, and complete insvjht into it. 
 Yet this absolute vocation of man is the subject of to-day's 
 lecture. You will consequently perceive that what I have 
 to say on this subject on the present occasion cannot be 
 traced down from its first principles unless I were now to 
 treat of all philosophy. But I can appeal to your own 
 inward sense of truth, and establish it thereon. You 
 perceive likewise, that as the question which I .shall answer 
 in my public lectures, — What is the vocation of the 
 Scholar? or what i.s the same thing, as will appear in due 
 time, the vocation of the highest, truest man? — is the 
 /a 6'< object of all philosophical inquires ; — so this question, 
 — What is the absolute vocation of man? — the answer to 
 which I intend to investigate fundamentally in my private 
 lectures, but only to point out very briefly to-day, — is the 
 first object of such investigations. I now proceed to the 
 answer to this question. 
 
 What the properly Spiritual in man — the jnire Ego, — 
 considered absolutely in itself, — isolated, and apart from all 
 relation to anything out of itself: — would be — this question 
 is unanswerable, and strictly taken is self-contradictory. It
 
 THE ABSOLUTE VOCATION OF MAN. 19 
 
 is not indeed true that the pure Ego is a product of the 
 Non-Ego — (so I denominate everything which is conceived 
 of as existing external to the Ego, distinguished from, and 
 opposed to it :) — it is not true, I say, that the pure Ego is a 
 product of the Non-Ego; — such a doctrine would indicate 
 a transcendental materialism which is entirely opposed to 
 reason; — but it is certainly true, and will be fully proved 
 in its proper place, that the Ego is not, and can never 
 become conscious of itself, except under its empirical deter- 
 minations; and that these empirical determinations neces- 
 sarily imply something external to the Ego. Even the body 
 of man, — that which he calls his body, — is something exter- 
 nal to the Ego. Without this relation he would be no longer 
 a man, but something absolutely inconceivable by us, if we 
 can call that something which is to us inconceivable. Thus 
 to consider man absolutely and by himself, does not mean, 
 either here or elsewhere in these lectures, to consider him 
 as a pure Ego, without relation to anything external to the 
 Ego; but only to think of him apart from all relations to 
 reasonable beings like himself. 
 
 And, so considered, — What is his vocation? — what be- 
 longs to him as Man, that does not belong to those known 
 existences which are not men 1 — by what mark is he to be 
 distinguished from all we do 7iot call man amongst the 
 beings with which we are acquainted 1 
 
 Since I must set out from something positive, and as I 
 cannot here proceed from the absolute postulate — the 
 axiom — " I am;" — I must lay down, hypothetically in the 
 meantime, a principle which exists indestructibly in the 
 feelings of all men — which is the result of all philosophy, 
 — which may be clearly proved, as I will prove it in my 
 private lectures; — the principle, that as surely as man is a 
 rational being, he is the end of his own existence; — i. e. he 
 does not exist to the end that something else may be, but 
 he exists absolutely for his own sake, — his being is its own
 
 L'O LECTUKK I. 
 
 ultiinato t)bjcct; — or, what i.s the same thing, man cannot, 
 without contradiction to himself, demand an object of his 
 existence. He is, because he is. This character of absolute 
 being — of exi.stence for his own sake alone, — is his charac- 
 teristic or vocation, in so far as he is considered solely as a 
 rational being. 
 
 But there belongs to man not only aUsolute being, — being 
 for itself, — but also particular determinations of this being: 
 — he not only is, but he is something definite; — he does 
 not merely say, — " I am," — but he adds, — " I am tliis or 
 that." So far as his absolute existence is concerned, he 
 is a reasonable being; — in so far as he is something beyond 
 tliis, — What is he? This question we must answer. 
 
 That which he is in this respect, he is, not primarily 
 because he himself exists, but because something other than 
 himself exists. The empirical self-consciousness; — that is, 
 the consciousness of a determinate vocation, is not possible 
 except on the supposition of a Xon-E(jo, as we have already 
 said, and in the proper place will prove. This Xon-E<jo 
 must approach and iniluenee him through his passive 
 capacity, which we call sense. Thus in so far as man possesses 
 a special existence, he is a sensuous being. But still, as we 
 have already said, he is also a reasonable being; — and his 
 Reason must not be superseded by Sense, but both must exist 
 in harmony witli each other. In this connexion the prin- 
 ciple propounded above, — Man is, because he is, — is changed 
 into the following, — Whatever Man is, (hat lie should he, 
 solely because he is ; — i. e. all that he is should proceed from 
 his pure E(jo, — from his own simple personality; — he should 
 be all that he is, absolutely because he is an E(jo, — and 
 whatever he cannot be solely upon that ground, he should 
 absolutely not be. This as yet obscure formula, we shall 
 immediately illustrate. 
 
 The "pure Ego can only be conceived of negatively, — 
 as the opposite of the Non-Eyo, the character of which is
 
 THE ABSOLUTE VOCATION OF MAN. 21 
 
 midtiplicity, — consequeutly as perfect and absolute Unity; 
 — it is thus always one and the same, — ahyays identical 
 with itself. Hence the above formula may also be expressed 
 thus, — Man should always he at one luith himself, — he 
 should never contradict his own being. The pure Ego can 
 never stand in opposition to itself, for there is in it no 
 diversity, but it constantly remains one and the same ; but 
 the empirical Ego, determined and determinable by outward 
 things, may contradict itself; and as often as it does so, it is 
 a sure sign that it is not determined according to the form 
 of the pure Ego, — not by itself, but by something external 
 to itself It should not be so ; — for man is his own end, — 
 he should determine himself, and never allow himself to be 
 determined by anything foreign to himself; — he should be 
 what he is, because he wills it, and ought to will it. The 
 determination of the emp)irical Ego should be such as might 
 endure for ever. I may here, in passing, and for the sake 
 of illustration merely, express the fundamental principle of 
 morahty in the following formula: — "So act, that thou 
 mayest look upon the dictate of thy ivill as an eternal law 
 to thyself."'' 
 
 The ultimate vocation of every finite, rational being is 
 thus absolute unity, constant identity, perfect harmony 
 with himself This absolute identity is the form of the 
 pure Ego, and the. one true form of it; — or i-ather, by the 
 possibility to conceive of this identity will the expression of 
 that form be recognized. Whatever determination can be 
 conceived of as enduring eternally, is in conformity with 
 the pure form of the Ego. Let not this be understood par- 
 tially. Not the Will alone should be always at one with 
 itself, — this belongs to morality only; — but all the powers 
 of man, which are essentially but one power, and only be- 
 come distinguished in their application to different objects, 
 should all accord in perfect unity and harmony mth each 
 other.
 
 22 LECTDRE I. 
 
 The empirical determinations of our Ego depend however, 
 for the most part, not upon ourselves but upon something 
 external to us. The Will is, indeed, within its own circle 
 — i.e. in the compass of the objects to which it can be 
 applied when they have become known to man — perfectly 
 free; — as will be strictly proved at the proper time. But 
 sense, and the conceptions in which it is presupposed, are 
 not free, but depend upon things external to the Ego, the 
 character of which is multiplic'dif not iJeiititi/. If the Ego 
 is to be constantly at one with itself in this respect also, it 
 must strive to operate directly upon the thing-s themselves, 
 on which the sensations and perceptions of man depend; — 
 man must endeavour to modify these, and to bring them 
 into harmony with the pure form of his Ego, so that his 
 concei)tions of them likewise, so Axr as the.-e depend upon 
 the nature of their objects, may harmonize with that form. 
 This modification of things according to our necessary ideas, 
 is not however possible by mere Will, but requires also a 
 certain skill, which is acquired and improved by practice. 
 
 Further, what is still more important, our empirical de- 
 terminable Ego receives from that unrestricted operation of 
 external things upon it, to which we subject ourselves with- 
 out reservation so long as our reason is still undeveloped, 
 certain tendencies which cannot possibly harmonize with 
 the form of our pure Ego, since they proceed from things 
 external to us. In order to eradicate the>.e and restore the 
 pure original form, Will is not sufficient of itself, but we 
 need besides, that .skill which is acquired and improved by 
 practice. 
 
 The acquisition of this skill, — i^ya'tly to subdue and era- 
 dicate the impvoper tendencies which have arisen within us 
 prior to the awakening of Reason, and the consciousness of 
 our own independence — partly to modify external thing.s, 
 and alter them in accordance with our ideas, — the acquisi- 
 tion of this skill, I sjiy, is called Culture; and the particu-
 
 THE ABSOLUTE VOCATION OF MAN. 23 
 
 lar degree of it, when acquired, is likewise so denominated. 
 Culture differs only in degree, but it is capable of infinite 
 gradations. It is the last and highest means to the attain- 
 ment of the great end of man, Avheu considered as of a 
 compo-ite nature, rational and sensuous; — complete har- 
 mony with himself : — it is in itself his ultimate end if he is 
 considered only as a sensuous being. Sense should be cul- 
 tivated : — that is the highest and ultimate purpose which 
 can be entertained with respect to it. 
 
 The final result of all we have said is as follows : — The 
 perfect harmony of man with himself, — and that this may 
 be practicable, the harmony of all external things with his 
 necessary practical ideas of them, — the ideas which deter- 
 mine Avhat these things should be; — this is the ultimate 
 and highest purpose of human existence. This harmony is, 
 to use the language of the critical philosophy, the highest 
 Good; which highest Good, considered absoliitehj, as foUows 
 from what Ave have already said, has no parts, but is per- 
 fectly simple and indivisible, — it is the complete harmony 
 of a rational being with himself. But in reference to a 
 rational being who is dependent on external things, it may 
 be considered twofold j — as the harmony of the Will with 
 the idea of an Eternal Will, or, moral goodnei^s; and as the 
 harmony of external things with our Will (our rational will, 
 of course), or hcqypiness. It is thus, let it be remembered 
 in passing, so far from being true that man is determined 
 to moral goodness by the desire for happiness, that the 
 idea of happiness itself and the desire for it, rather arise in 
 the first place out of the moral nature of man. Not, That 
 which produces ha2)piness is good; — but, That only vMch is 
 good produces happiness. Without morality, happiness is 
 impossible. Agreeable sensations may indeed exist Avithout 
 it, or even in opposition to it, — and in the proper place we 
 shall see why this is the case; — but these are not happiness : 
 frequently they are much opposed to it.
 
 21 • LECTURE I. 
 
 To subject all irrational nature to himself, to rule over it 
 without restraint and according to his own laws, is the 
 ultimate end of man; which ultimate end is perfectly un- 
 attainable, and must continue to be so, unless he were to 
 cease to be man, and become God. It is a part of the idea 
 of man that his ultimate end must be unattainable; — the 
 way to it endless. Hence it is not the vocation of man to 
 attain this end. But he may and .should constantly apjjroach 
 nearer to it; — and thus the unceasing aiiproximationto this 
 end is his true vocation as Man ; i. e. as a rational but finite, 
 as a sensuous but free being. If, as we are surely entitled 
 to do, we call this complete harmony with oneself perfec- 
 tion, in the highest meaning of the word ; then perfection 
 is the highest unattainable end of man, whilst eternal per- 
 fecting is his vocation. He exists, that he may become ever 
 morally better himself, and make all around him physically, 
 and, if he be considered as a member of society, morally 
 better also, — and thus augment bis own happiness without 
 limit. 
 
 This is the vocation of man, considered as isolated, i.e. 
 apart from all relation to reasonable beings like himself 
 We however ai*e not thus isolated, and although I cannot 
 now direct your attention to the general interunion of all 
 rational beings Avith each other, yet must I cast a glance 
 upon the relation with you, into which I enter to-day. It is 
 that noble vocation which I have now briefly pointed out, 
 that I would elevate into perfect clearness in the minds of 
 many aspiring young men — which I desire to make the 
 pre-eminent object, and constant guide of your lives ; — 
 young men who are destined on their part again to operate 
 most i)owerfully on humanity ; — in narrower or wider circles, 
 by teaching or action, or both, to extend one day to others 
 the cuUu)-e they have themselves received ; and everywhere 
 to raise our common brotherhood to a higher stage of cul- 
 ture ; — young men, in teaching whom I in all probability
 
 THE ABSOLUTE VOCATION OF MAN. 25 
 
 teach yet unborn millions of our race. If some among you 
 have kindly believed that I feel the dignity of this my 
 peculiar vocation, — that in all my speculations and teaching 
 I shall make it my highest aim to contribute to the culture 
 and elevation of humanity in you, and in all with whom you 
 may ever have a common point of contact, — that I hold all 
 philosophy and all knowledge which does not tend towards 
 this object, as vain and worthless ; — if you have so thought 
 of me, I may perhaps venture to say that you have judged 
 rightly of my desire. — How far my ability may correspond 
 to this wish, rests not altogether on me, — it depends in 
 part upon circumstances which are beyond our control. It 
 depends in part also on you; — on your attention, which I 
 solicit ; on your private diligence, on Avhich I reckon with 
 trustful assurance ; on your confidence, to which I commend 
 myself, and which I shall strive to justify by my deeds.
 
 (2G) 
 
 LECTURE IL 
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 
 
 There arc many questions which Philosophy must answer 
 before she can assume the character of knowledge and 
 science : — questions which arc shunned by the Dogmatist, 
 and which the Sceptic only ventures to point out at the risk 
 of being charged Avitli irrationality or wickedness, or both. 
 
 If I would not treat in a shallow and superficial manner a 
 subject respecting which I believe that I possess some funda- 
 mental knowledge, — if I would not conceal, and pass over 
 in silence, diihculties which I see right well, — it will be my 
 fate in these Lectures to touch upon many of those hitherto 
 almost undisturbed questions, without, however, being able 
 to exhaust them completely ; and, at the risk of being mis- 
 understood or misinterpreted, to give mere hints towards 
 more extended thought, — mere directions towards more 
 perfect knowledge, Avhere I would rather have probed the 
 subject to the bottom. If I supposed that there were 
 among you many of those popular philosophers, who easily 
 .solve all difficulties without labour or reflection, by the aid 
 of what they call sound Common Sense, I would not often 
 ascend this chair without anxiety. 
 
 Among tliesc questions may be classed the two following, 
 which must be answered, with others, before any natural 
 right is so much as possible; — first — By what authority
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 27 
 
 does man call a particular portion of the physical world his 
 body ? how does he come to consider this body as belonging 
 to his Hgo, whereas it is altogether opposed to it 1 — and 
 second — On what grounds does man assume and admit 
 the existence around him of rational beings like himself, 
 whereas such beings are by no means immediately revealed 
 to him in consciousness 1 
 
 I have to-day to establish the Vocation of Man in 
 Society; and the accomplishment of this task presupposes 
 the solution of the latter question. By Society I mean the 
 relation of reasonable beings to each other. The idea of 
 Society is not possible without the supposition that rational 
 beings do really exist around us, and without some charac- 
 teristic marks whereby we may distinguish them from all 
 other beings that are not rational, and consequently do not 
 belong to society. How do we arrive at this supposition? 
 — what are these distinctive marks 1 This is the question 
 which I must answer in the first place. 
 
 " We have acquired both from experience : we know from 
 " experience that rational beings like ourselves exist around 
 " us, and also the marks by which they are distinguished 
 " from irrational creatures." This might be the answer of 
 those who are unaccustomed to strict philosophical inquiry. 
 But such an answer would be superficial and unsatisfac- 
 tory ; it would indeed be no answer to ou7' question, but to 
 to an entirely diff'erent one. The experience which is here 
 appealed to, is also felt by the Egoists, who nevertheless are 
 not thoroughly refuted by it. Experience only teaches us 
 that the conception of reasonable beings around us is a part 
 of our empirical consciousness; and about that there is 
 no dispute, — no Egoist has ever denied it. The question 
 is, whether there be anything beyond this conception which 
 corresponds to the conception itself; whether reasonable 
 beings exist around us independently of our conceptions of 
 them, and even if we had no such conceptions; — and on
 
 28 LF.CTURE II. 
 
 this matter experience has nothing whatever to teach us so 
 surely as it is only experience; that is to say, — the system 
 of our conceptions. 
 
 Experience can at most teach us that there are pheno- 
 mena which appear to be the results of rational causes; but 
 it can never teach us that these causes actually exist as rea- 
 sonable beings in themselves, for being in itself is no object 
 of experience. 
 
 We ourselves first introduce such a being into experi- 
 ence; — it is only we ourselves who explain our experience 
 by assuming the existence of rational beings around us. 
 But by what right do we' furnish this explanation? This 
 right must be strictly proved before it is made use of, for 
 its validity can only be grounded on its evidence, and not 
 upon its actual use: — and thus we have not advanced a 
 single step, but return again to the question with which we 
 set out: — How do we come to assume and admit the ex- 
 istence of reasonable beings around us 1 
 
 The theoretical domain of philosophy is unquestionably 
 exhausted by the fundamental researches of the Critical 
 School : all questions which still remain unanswered, must 
 be answered upon practical principles, — and in this way I 
 shall now proceed. We must now try whether the proposed 
 question can be answered on such principles. 
 
 The highest impulse in man is, according to our last 
 lecture, the impulse towards Identity, — towards perfect 
 harmony with himself; — and in order that he may be in 
 constant harmony v.'ith himself, — towards the harmony of 
 all external things with his neces.sary ideas of them. There 
 must not merely be nothing contradictoi'ij to his ideas, so 
 that the existence or non-existence of an external represen- 
 tative of these ideas might be indifferent to him, but there 
 must actually be something correxpoiidhig to his ideas. All 
 tlie ideas Avhich exist in the Ego must have a represen- 
 tative — an antitype — 'in the Non-Ego : — thus is his impulse 
 determined.
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 29 
 
 There exists in man the idea of Eeason, and of reasonable 
 acts and thoughts, and he is necessitated to reahze this 
 idea not only within himself but also without himself. It 
 is thus one of his wants that there should be around him 
 reasonable beings like himself. 
 
 He cannot produce such beings ; but he lays the idea of 
 them at the foundation of his observation of the Non-Ego, 
 and expects to find something there corresponding to it. 
 The first mark of rationality which presents itself is of a 
 merely negative character, — efficiency founded on ideas — 
 activity guided by a purpose. Whatever bears the marks 
 of design may have a reasonable author; that to which the 
 notion of design cannot be applied, has certainly no reason- 
 able author. But this characteristic is ambiguous; — the 
 agreement of many things in one end is the mark of design, 
 but there are many kinds of agreement which may be ex- 
 plained by mere natural laws, — if not by mechanical, then 
 by organic laws; — hence we still require a distinctive mark 
 whereby we may confidently infer from some particular 
 phenomenon the existence of a reasonable cause. Nature 
 proceeds, even in the fulfilment of her designs, by necessary 
 laws; — Reason always proceeds ivith freedom. Hence the 
 the agreement of many things in one end which is pursued 
 with freedom, is the sure and infallible characteristic of 
 rationality as manifested in its results. We now inquire, 
 — How can man distinguish a phenomenon in his experi- 
 ence produced by necessity, from a phenomenon produced 
 by freedom? 
 
 I cannot be immediately conscious of a freedom which 
 exists out of myself, — I cannot even be conscious of a free- 
 dom which exists within myself, that is, of my own freedom; 
 for essential freedom is the first condition of consciousness, 
 and hence cannot belong to its sphere of observation. But 
 I may be conscious of this, — that I am not conscious of any 
 other cause for a particular determination of my empirical 
 
 c2
 
 30 LECTunr. ii. 
 
 Ego through my will, than this will itself; — and this non- 
 consciousness of constraining cause may be called a con- 
 sciousness of freedom, if it bo duly explained beforehand; 
 and we shall call it so here. In this sense, then, man may 
 be conscious of his own free activity. 
 
 If through our own free activity, of Avhich we are con- 
 scious in the sense above indicated, the character of the 
 activity in the substance which experience presents to us is 
 so changed, that this activity is no longer to be explained 
 according to the law by which we formerly judged it, but 
 according to that which we have laid at the foundation of 
 our own free action, and which is quite opposed to the 
 former; — then we cannot explain this altered view of the 
 activity apparent in experience, otherwise than by the 
 supposition that the cause to which we refer it is likewise 
 reasonable and free. Hence arises, — to use the Kantean 
 terminology, — a reciprocal activity according to ideas, — a 
 community pervaded by design; — and it is this which I call 
 Society. The idea of Society is thus strictly defined. 
 
 It is one of the fundamental impulses of man to be ne- 
 cessitated to assume the existence around him of reasonable 
 beings like himself; but he can only assume their existence 
 under the condition of entering into Society with them, ac- 
 cording to the meaning of that word as above explained. 
 The Social Impulse thus belongs to the fundamental impulses 
 of man. It is man's vocation to live in Society — he irnist 
 live in Society; — he is no complete man, but contradicts 
 his own being, if he lives in a state of isolation. 
 
 You see how important it is not to confound the abstract 
 idea of Society, with that particular empirically-conditioned 
 form of Society, which we call the State. Political Society 
 is not a part of the absolute purpose of human life (what- 
 ever a great man may have said to the contrary) ; but it is, 
 under certain conditions, a possible means towards the for- 
 mation of a perfect Society. Like all human institutions,
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 31 
 
 which ai-e merely means to an end, the State constantly 
 tends towards its own annihilation ; the ultimate aim of all 
 government is to make government superfluous. That age 
 is of a surety not now present with us, — and I know not 
 how many myriads, or perhaps myriads of myriads of years 
 may elapse before it arrive, — (we have not now to deal 
 with a practical rule of life, but with the vindication of a 
 speculative principle) ; — that age is not now, but it is cer- 
 tain that in the a j^riori, fore-ordered course of the human 
 race such a period does exist, when all political combina- 
 tions shall have become unnecessary. That is the time when, 
 in place of strength or cunning, Reason alone shall be ac- 
 knowledged as the supreme judge of all; — acknowledged I 
 say; for although men may even then go astray, and by their 
 errors do hurt to their fellow-men, yet they will then be 
 open to conviction of their error, and when convinced of 
 it, will be willing to return and make amends for their 
 fault. Until this age shall arrive, we cannot be true men. 
 
 According to what we have said, free recijirocal activity is 
 the positive character of Society. It is an end to itself; 
 and hence is effected solely and absolutely for its own sake. 
 This assertion, that Society is its own end, is however not 
 at all incompatible with another, — that the form of this 
 association should possess a special law which shall give it a 
 more definite aim. 
 
 The fundamental Impulse of humanity was to discover 
 reasonable beings like ourselves, — oy men. The conception 
 of man is an ideal conception, because the destiny of man, 
 in so far as he is such, is unattainable. Each individual 
 has his own particular ideal of man in general; these ideals 
 are diff'erent in degree, though not in kind; each tries by 
 his own ideal every being whom he recognises as a man. 
 By this fundamental impulse each is prompted to seek in 
 others a likeness to his own ideal; he inquires, he observes 
 on all sides, and when he finds men below this ideal, he
 
 32 LECTURE II. 
 
 strives to elevate them to it. In this struggle of mind 
 with mind, he always triumphs who is the highest and best 
 man; — and thus from the idea of Society ai'ises that of the 
 perfi'dion nf llif race, and we have thus also discovered the 
 ultimate purpose of all Society as such. When it appeal's 
 as if the higher and better man had no inlluence on the 
 low and uncultivated, we are partly deceived in our judg- 
 ment, since we often expect to find the fruit already ripe, 
 before the seed has had time to germinate and unfold] — 
 and it may partly ari.se from this, that the better man 
 perhaps stands at too high an elevation above the unculti- 
 vated, — that they have too few points of contact with each 
 other, and hence cannot sufficiently act upon each other; 
 — a state which retards civilization to an incredible ex- 
 tent, and the remedy for which we shall point out at the 
 proper time. But on the whole, the ultimate triumph of 
 the bettor man is certain: — a calming and consoling 
 thought for the friend of humanity and of truth when he 
 looks out upon the open war of light with darkness. The 
 light shall surely triumph at last; — we cannot indeed 
 predict the time, — but it is already a pledge of victory, of 
 near victory, when darkness is compelled to come forth to 
 an open encounter. She loves concealment, — she is al- 
 ready lost when forced out into the open day. 
 
 Thus far, then, the result of our inquiries shows, that 
 man is destined for Society; — among the capacities which, 
 according to his vocation as laid down in our former lecture, 
 he is destined to improve and perfect, there is also the social 
 capacity. 
 
 This destination of man for Society in the abstract, 
 although arising out of the innermost and purest elements 
 of human nature, is yet, as a mere impulse, subordinate to 
 the highest law of constant internal harmony, or the moral 
 law, and by it must be still further defined and brought 
 under a strict rule. When we have discovered this rule.
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 33 
 
 "we shall have found the vocation of man in Society, which 
 is the object of our present inquiry and of all the pre- 
 ceding reflections. 
 
 The social impulse is, in the first place, negatively defined 
 by the law of absolute harmony; — it must not contradict 
 itself. The impulse leads to reciprocal activity, to mutual 
 influence, mutual giving and receiving, mutual suffering 
 and doing, — not to mere causality — not to mere activity, 
 of which others are only the passive objects. The impulse 
 requires us to discover //-^e reasonable beings around us, and 
 to enter into Society with them ; it does not demand subor- 
 dination as in the material world, but co-ordination. If we 
 do not allow freedom to the reasonable beings whom we 
 seek around us, we take into account merely their theoretical 
 use, not their free practical rationality ; we do not enter into 
 Society with them, but we ride them as useful animals, and 
 so place our social impulse in opposition to itself. But what 
 do I say] — we place our social impulse in opposition to itself? 
 No : we rather do not possess this higher impulse at all ; 
 humanity is not yet so far cultivated within vis ; we ourselves 
 still stand on the lowest grade of imperfect humanity, — or 
 slavery. We ourselves have not yet attained to a feeling of 
 our freedom and self-activity, for then we should necessarily 
 desire to see around us simUar, — that is free beings. We 
 are slaves ourselves; — and only look around us for slaves. 
 Eousseau says — " A man often considers himself the lord of 
 others, who is yet more a slave than they." He might 
 with still greater justice have said — " He who considers him- 
 .self the lord of others is himself a slave." Even should he 
 not bear the outward badge of servitude, yet he has most 
 surely the soul of a slave, and will basely cringe before the 
 first stronger man who subdues him. He only is free, who 
 would make all around him free likewise, and does really 
 make them free, by a certain influence the sources of which 
 have never been observed. Under his eye we breathe more
 
 34 LECTURE II. 
 
 freely, we feci that notliing has power to oppress, hinder 
 or confine us; we feel an unwonted desire to be and to do 
 all things which self-respect docs not forbid. 
 
 Man may use irrational things as means for the accom- 
 plishment of his purposes, but not rational beings : he may 
 not even use these as means for attaining the end of their 
 own being; he may not act upon them as upon dead mat- 
 ter or upon the beasts, so as to prosecute his designs with 
 them without taking their freedom into account; he may not 
 make any reasonable being either virtuous, or wise, or happy 
 against his own will. Laying aside the fact that such an at- 
 tempt would be utterly fruitless, — that no being can become 
 virtuous, or wise, or happy, but by his own labour and exer- 
 tion; — laying aside the fact that man cannot do this, — yet 
 even if he could, or believed he could, he must not even 
 desire to do it; for it is unjust, and by so doing he would 
 be placed in opposition to himself 
 
 The social impulse is also positively defined by the law of 
 perfect internal harmony, and thus we arrive at the peculiar 
 vocation of man in Society. All the individuals who com- 
 pose the human race diflor from each other; there is only 
 one thing in which they entirely agree; — that is, their ulti- 
 mate end — perfection. Perfection has but one form; it is 
 equal to itself : could all men become perfect, could they 
 attain their highest and ultimate end, thev would all be 
 equal to each other, — they Avould be only one — but one 
 single subject. But in Society each strives to make others 
 perfect, at least according to his own standai-d of perfection ; 
 to raise them to the ideal of humanity which he has formed. 
 Thus the last, highest end of Society is perfect unity and 
 unanimity of all its possible members. But since the attain- 
 ment of this end supposes the attainment of the destination 
 of each individual man — the attainment of absolute per- 
 fection; — so it is quite as impo-ssible as the latter, — it is 
 unattainable, unless man were to lay aside his humanity
 
 THE VOCATION OF MAN IN SOCIETY. 35 
 
 and become God. Perfect unity with all the individuals 
 of his race is thus indeed the ultimate end, but not the vo- 
 cation of man in Society. 
 
 But to approach nearer this end, — constantly to ap- 
 proach nearer to it, — this he can and should do. This 
 approximation towards perfect unity and unanimity with 
 all men may be called co-operation. Thus co-operation 
 growing- ever firmer at its centre, and ever wider in its 
 circumference, is the true vocation of man in Society: — 
 but such a co-operation is only possible by means of ever- 
 growing improvement; for it is only in relation to their 
 ultimate destination that men are at one, or can become 
 united. We may therefore say, that mutual improvement 
 — improvement of ourselves by the freely admitted action 
 of others upon us, and improvement of others by our re- 
 action upon them as upon free beings, — is our vocation in 
 Society. 
 
 And in order to fulfil this vocation, and fulfil it always 
 more thoroughly, we need a qualification which can only 
 be acquired and improved by culture ; and indeed a qualifi- 
 cation of a double nature : an ability to give, or to act upon 
 others as upon free beings ; — and a openness to receive, or 
 to derive the greatest advantage from the action of others 
 upon us. Of both we shall speak particularly in the pro- 
 per place. We must especially strive to acquire the latter, 
 when we possess the former in a high degree; — otherwise 
 we cease to advance, and consequently retrograde. Seldom 
 is any man so perfect, but he may be much improved 
 through the agency of any other man, in some perhaps 
 apparently unimportant or neglected point of culture. 
 
 I know few more sublime ideas, than the idea of this 
 universal inter-action of the whole human race on itself; this 
 ceaseless life and acti^^.ty; this eager emulation to give and 
 to receive, — the noblest strife in which man can take a part ; 
 this general indentation of countless wheels into each other,
 
 36 LECTURE n. 
 
 whose common motiTC-power is freedom; and the beautiful 
 harmony which is the result of all. " Whoever thou art," 
 may each of us say — "whoever thou art, if thou bear the 
 form of man, tliou too art a member of this great com- 
 monwealth : — through what countless media soever our 
 mutual influence may be transmitted, still by that title, I 
 act upon thee, and thou on me; — no one who bears the 
 stamp of reason on his front, however rudely impressed, 
 exists in vain for me. But I know thee not, — thou know- 
 est not me ! — Oh ! so surely as we have a common calling 
 to be good, — ever to become better, — so surely — though 
 millions of ages may first pass away — (what is time!) — so 
 surely shall a period at last arrive when I may receive thee 
 too into my sphere of action, — when I may do good to thee, 
 and receive good from thee in return; when my heart may 
 be united to thine also, by the fiurcst possible bond, — a 
 mutual interchange of free and generous love.
 
 (37) 
 
 LECTURE III. 
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION OF CLASSES IN SOCIETY. 
 
 The vocation of man as an individual, as well as the 
 vocation of man in society, is now before you. The Scholar 
 is only invested with his distinctive character Avhen con- 
 sidered as a member of society. We may therefore pro- 
 ceed to the inquiry, — What is the peculiar vocation of the 
 Scholar in society 1 But the Scholar is not merely a mem- 
 ber of society; he is also a member of a particular class 
 in society: at least it is customary to speak of the Scholar- 
 class, — with Avhat propriety or impropriety will appear in 
 due time. 
 
 Our chief inquiry — What is the vocation of the Scholar? 
 — thus pre-supposes the solution of a third and very 
 important question, besides those two which Ave have already 
 answered; — this, namely, — V/hence arises the difference of 
 classes in society? — or, What is the source of the inequality 
 existing- among men 1 
 
 It will be readily understood without pi-evious explana- 
 tion, that this word class does not mean anything which baa 
 come to pass fortuitously and without our aid, but some- 
 thing determined and arranged by free choice according 
 to a concerted purpose. For an inequality Avhich occurs 
 fortuitously and without our aid, i. e. for jjhysical inequality. 
 Nature is accountable; but inequality of classes seems to 
 be a moral inequality, with respect to which, therefore, the 
 
 D
 
 38 LECTunr: in. 
 
 question naturally arises, — By •what rvjlit do different 
 classes exist? 
 
 Attempts have often been made to answer this question; 
 and proceeding merely on the grounds of" experience, the nu- 
 merous purposes which are accomplished by such a division 
 and the many advantages which are gained by it, have been 
 its rhapsodically enumerated as they are eagerly laid hold 
 of; but by such means any other question may sooner be 
 answered than the one we have proposed. The advantage 
 of a certain disposition of things does not prove its justice; 
 and we did not propo.se the historical question, — What 
 purpose had man in this arrangement? — but the moral 
 question, — whether it was lawful for him to bring it about, 
 whatever purpose he might have had in view by so 
 doing. The question must be answered on the principles 
 of Reason, pure as well as practical ; and such an answer 
 has, so far as I know, never yet been even attempted. To 
 prepare for it, I must lay down a few general scientific 
 principles. 
 
 All the laws of Reason arc founded in our spiritual 
 being; but they only attain to an empirical consciousness 
 by an experience to which they are applicable; and the 
 more frequently such application takes place, the more 
 intimately do they become interwoven with this conscious- 
 ness. It is thus with all the laws of Reason; — it is thus 
 especially with the practical, which do not, like the theo- 
 retical, terminate in a mere act of judgment, but proceed 
 to an activity without us, and announce themselves to 
 consciousness under the form of impulses. The foundation 
 of all impulses lies in our own being: — but not more than 
 the foundation. Every impulse must be awakened by 
 experience if it is to arrive at consciousness, and must be 
 developed by numerous experiences of the same kind, if it 
 is to become a dei<h-e, and il.'^ appropriate gratification a 
 want of man. Experience, however, does not depend upon
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION OF CLASSES IN SOCIETY. 39 
 
 ourselves, and therefore neither does the awakening nor 
 the development of our impulses. 
 
 The independent Ron-Ego as the foundation of experi- 
 ence, or Nature — is manifold ; no one part of it is perfectly 
 the same as another; — this principle is maintained and 
 even strictly proved in the Kantean philosophy. It follows 
 from this, that its action on the human mind is of a very 
 varied character, and developes the capacities and talents 
 of men nowhere in the same manner. By these different 
 ways in which Nature acts upon man, are individuals, and 
 what we call their peculiar, empirical, individual character, 
 determined; — and in this respect Ave may say that no 
 individual is perfectly like another in his awakened and 
 developed] capacities. Hence arises a physical inequality, 
 to which we not only have not conti'ibuted, but which 
 we even cannot remove by our freedom ; for before we can, 
 through freedom, resist the influence of Nature upon us, 
 we must first have arrived at the consciousness and use of 
 this freedom; but we cannot arrive thereat except by that 
 awakening and unfolding of our impulses which does not 
 depend upon ourselves. 
 
 But the highest law of man and of all reasonable beings, 
 — the law of perfect internal harmony — of absolute identity, 
 in so far as this law becomes positive and material by 
 means of special individual application, demands that all 
 the faculties of the individual shall be uniformly developed — 
 all his Ccipacities cultivated to the highest possible perfec- 
 tion; — a demand, the object of which cannot be realized 
 by the mere laAV itself; because the fulfilment of the law, 
 according to what we have said, does not depend upon the 
 law itself; nor upon our will, Avhich is determinable by the 
 law; but upon the free action of Nature. 
 
 If we apply this law to society, — if we make the suppo- 
 sition that there are many reasonable beings in existence, 
 — then the demand that all the faculties of the individual
 
 40 LECTURE III. 
 
 should be uniformly cultivated, includes also the demand 
 that all reasonable beings should be cultivated uniformly 
 with each other. If the faculties of all arc essentially the 
 same, — as they are, since they are all founded upon pure 
 Reason; — if they are all to be cultivated after a similar 
 fashion, which is what the law requires; — then the result 
 of such a cultivation must be similar capacities in every 
 respect equal to each other: — and thus by another way we 
 arrive at the ultimate end of all society, as declared in our 
 former lecture, — the perfect e<iuality of all its members. 
 
 We have already shown in our last lecture that the mere 
 law cannot, of itself, realize the object of this demand, any 
 more than it can realize that of the demand on which our 
 present lecture is founded. But Free-Will can and should 
 strive constantly to approach nearer to this ultimate end. 
 
 And here the activity of the social impulse comes into 
 play, which also proceeds upon this same purpose, and 
 is the means of the requisite continual approximation to 
 it. The social impulse, or the impulse towards mutual 
 cooperation with free reasonable beings as such, includes 
 the two following impulses: — the communicative impulse; 
 that is, the impulse to impart to others that form of cul- 
 ture which we ourselves possess most completely, — to make 
 others, as far as possible, like ourselves, like the better self 
 within us; — and the receptive impulse; that is, the impulse 
 to receive from others that form of culture which they 
 possess most completely, — and in which we are deficient. 
 Thus the defect of Nature in us, is remedied by Reason and 
 Freedom; the partial culture which Nature has given to 
 the individual, becomes the property of the whole race; 
 and the race in turn bestows all its culture upon him; — it 
 gives him all the culture Avhich is po.ssible under the deter- 
 mining conditions of Nature, if we suppose that all the 
 individuals who are possible under these conditions do 
 actually exist. Nature cultivates each individual only
 
 ON THE DISTINCTIOX OF CLASSES IX SOCIETY. 41 
 
 in part; but she bestows culture at every point where she 
 encounters reasonable beings. Reason unites these points; 
 presents to Nature a firmly compacted and extended front, 
 and compels her to cultivate the Race at least in all its 
 particular capacities, since she will not bestow that culture 
 upon the Individual. Eeason has already, by the social 
 impulse, provided for the equal distribution of the culture 
 thus acquired among the individual members of society, 
 and will provide for it still further ; for the sway of Nature 
 does not extend here. 
 
 Reason will take care that each individual receive 
 through the hands of society, the whole and complete cul- 
 tivation which he cannot obtain immediately from Nature. 
 Society will gather together the possessions of every indi- 
 vidual member into a common fund for the free use of all, 
 and thus multiply them by the number of those who share 
 their advantages ; the deficiencies of each individual will be 
 borne by the community, and will thus be reduced to an 
 infinitely small quantity: — or, to express this in another 
 form more generally applicable, — the aim of all culture of 
 human capacity, is to subject Nature (as I have defined 
 this expression) to Reason; to jDlace Experience, in so far as 
 it is not dependent on the laws of our perceptive faculties, 
 in harmony with our necessary practical ideas of Reason. 
 Thus Reason stands in continual strife with Nature. This 
 warfare can never come to an end, unless we were to 
 become gods ; but the influence of Nature can and should 
 be gradually weakened, — the dominion of Reason constantly 
 made more powerful; — so that the latter shall gain victory 
 after victory over the former. One individual may perhaps 
 struggle successfully against Nature at his own particular 
 point of contact ■with her, while at all other points he may 
 be completely subject to her sway. But now society is com- 
 bined like one man : what the individual could not accom- 
 plish by himself, all are enabled to perform by the combined 
 
 D 2
 
 42 LECTURE III. 
 
 powers of the community. Each indeed strives singly, but 
 the enfecblement of Nature ^vhich is the result of the 
 common struggle, and the partial triumph which each 
 gains over her in his own department, come to the aid of 
 all. Thus even from the physical inequality of individuals 
 arises a new security for the bond wliicli unites them all in 
 one body; the pressure of individual wants and the still 
 sweeter impulse to supply the wants of others, bind them 
 more closely together; and Nature has strengthened the 
 power of Reason, even while she attempted to weaken it. 
 
 Thus far everything proceeds in its natural order : We 
 have found different characters, various in the kind and 
 degree of their cultivation; but we have as yet no difforent 
 classes, for we have not yet pointed out any special deter- 
 mination of free activity, — any volimtary selection of a par- 
 ticular kind of culture. I say, we have not yet been able 
 to produce any special determination of free activity; — 
 but let not this be erroneously or partially undci-stood. 
 The social impulse, considered generally, addresses itself 
 only to freedom; it merely instigates, — it does not compel. 
 Wc may oppose, and even subdue it; — we may, through 
 misanthropic selfishness, separate ourselves from our fcUow- 
 men, and refuse to receive anything at the hands of society, 
 that we may not have to render tack anything in return ; 
 — we may, from rude animalism, lorget the freedom of 
 society, and look upon it only as something subject to our 
 will, becau.se we have no higher idea of ourselves than as 
 subjects of the power of Nature. But this is not the ques- 
 tion here. On the sujiposition that man only obeys the 
 social impulse generally, it is necessary that under its 
 guidance he should impart the advantages which he posse.s.ses 
 to those who have need of thcni, and receive those of which 
 he himself stands in need from those who possess them. 
 And for this purpose there is no need of any particular 
 determination or modification of the social impulse by a
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION OF CLASSES IN SOCIETY. 43 
 
 new act of FreedoDi. — which is all that I meant to af- 
 firm. 
 
 The characteristic distinction is this: — Under the con- 
 ditions now laid down, I as an individual give myself up 
 to nature for the one-sided cultivation of some particular 
 capacity, because / must do so; I have no choice in the 
 matter, but blindly follow her leading. I take all that she 
 gives me, but I cannot take that which she does not give ; 
 I neglect no opportunity of cultivating myself as completely 
 as I can ; but I do not create such opportunity, because I 
 cannot create it. If, on the contrary, I choose a class, — a 
 class being understood to be something chosen by free will, 
 as it should be according to the common use of language ; 
 if I choose a class, I must indeed have first become subject 
 to Nature before it was possible for me to choose; for to 
 that end different impulses must be awakened within me, 
 different capacities elevated into consciousness; but in the 
 choice itself I determine henceforward to pay no respect to 
 certain motives Avhich Nature may perchance offer to me, 
 in order that I may apply cdl my powers and all the gifts 
 of Nature to the exclusive development of one or more par- 
 ticidar capacities; and by the j^articular capacity to whose 
 cultivation I thus devote myself by free choice, will my class 
 or condition in society be determined. 
 
 The question arises, — Ought I to choose a particular 
 class? or if the demand be not imperative, — Dare I devote 
 myself to a particular class, — that is, to a partial culture? 
 li I ought, — if it be absolute duty, then it must be possible 
 to educe from the highest laws of Reason an impulse 
 directed towards the selection of a class, as we may educe 
 from these laws the impulse towards society in general. 
 If I only may do this, then it will not be possible to educe 
 such an imindse from the laws of Reason, but only a 
 permission; — and for the determination of the will to the 
 actual choice thus permitted by Reason, some empirical
 
 44: LECTURE III. 
 
 data must be assigned, by means of wliicli not a law, but 
 only a rule of prudence, may be laid down. How tliis 
 matter stands will be seen upon further inquiry. 
 
 The law says, — " Cultivate all thy faculties completely 
 and uniformly, so far as thou canst;" — but it does not 
 determine whether I shall exercise them directly upon 
 Nature, or indirectly through intercoui-se with my fellow- 
 men. On this point the choice is thus left entirely to my 
 own prudence. The law says, — " Subdue Nature to thy 
 purposes ;" — but it does not say that if I should find Nature 
 already sufficiently adapted to certain of my purposes by 
 other men, I should nevertheless myself adapt it to all the 
 possible purposes of humanity. Hence the law does not 
 forbid me to choose a particular cla.ss; but neither does it 
 enjoin me to do so, for precisely the same reason which 
 prevents the prohibition. I am now in the field of free- 
 will; I may choose a class, and I must now look out for 
 quite other grounds of determination than those which are 
 derived immediately from Reason, on which to resolve the 
 question, — not " What class shall I choose?" — (of this we 
 shall speak at another time) — but, " Shall I choose any cla.s3 
 at all, or shall I not?" 
 
 As things are at present, man is born in society. Ho 
 finds Nature no longer rude, but already prepareil in many 
 respects for his purposes. He finds a multitude of men 
 employed in its different departments, cultivating it on 
 every side for the use of rational beings. He finds much 
 already done which otherwise he would have had to do for 
 himself. He might perhaps enjoy a very pleasant exist- 
 ence without ever applying his own powers immediately 
 to Nature; he might even attain a kind of perfection by 
 the enjoyment of what society has already accomplished, 
 and in particular of what it has done for its own cultiva- 
 tion. But this may not be ; — he must at least endeavour 
 to repay his debt to society ; he must take his place among
 
 ON THE DISTINCTION OF CLASSES IN' SOCIETY. 45 
 
 men ; he must at least strive to forward in some respect 
 the perfection of the race which has done so much for 
 him. 
 
 And to that end two ways present themselves : either he 
 may determine to cultivate Nature on all sides ; — and, in 
 this case, he would perhaps require to apply his whole life, 
 or many Hves if he had them, even to acquire a knowledge 
 of what has been already done before him by others, and of 
 what remains to do; and thus his life would be lost to the 
 human race, — not indeed from evil intent, but from lack of 
 wisdom : — or he may take up some particular department 
 of Nature, with the previous history of which he is perhaps 
 best acquainted, and for the cultiA'ation of Avhich he is best 
 adapted by natural capacity and social training, and devote 
 himself exclusively to that. In the latter case, he leaves his 
 own culture in its other departments to Society; whose cul- 
 ture in that dej^artment which he has chosen for himself is 
 the sole object of his resolves, his labours, his desires ; — and 
 thus he has selected a class, and his doing so is perfectly 
 legitimate. But still this act of freedom is, like all others, 
 subject to the universal moral law, in so far as that law is 
 the rule of our actions; or to the categorical imperative, 
 which I may thus expi-ess: — "Never permit the deter- 
 minations of thy Will to be at variance with thyself;" — 
 a law which, as expressed in this formula, may be fulfilled 
 by every one, since the determinations of our will do not 
 depend upon Nature, but only on ourselves. 
 
 The choice of a class is a free choice ; therefoi'e no man 
 whatever ought to be compelled to any particular class, nor 
 to be shut out from any. Every individual action, as well as 
 every general arrangement which proceeds on such compul- 
 sion, is unjust. It is umvise to force a man into one class, 
 or to exclude him from another; because no man can have 
 a perfect knowledge of the peculiar capacities of another, 
 and because a member is often lost to society altogether, in
 
 46 LECTURK III. 
 
 consequence of being thrust into an improper place. But 
 laying this out of view, such a course is unjiist in itself, 
 for it sets our deed itself in opposition to our practical 
 conception of it. We wish to give society a member, and 
 we make a tool; we wish to have a free fellow-workman in 
 the great business of life, and we create an enslaved and 
 passive instrument ; we destroy the man within him, so far 
 a.s we can do so by om* arrangements, and are guilty of an 
 injury botli to him and to society. 
 
 We make choice of a pai'ticular class, — we select one 
 particular talent for more extended cultivation, — only 
 that we may thereby be enabled to render back to society 
 that which it has done for uk ; — and thus each of us is 
 bound to make use of our culture for the advantage of 
 society. No one has a right to labour only for his own 
 enjoyment, to shut himself up from his fellow-men and 
 make his culture useless to them; for it is only by the 
 labour of society that he has been placed in a position 
 wherein he could acquii'e that culture; it is in a certain 
 sense a product — a property of society; and he robs so- 
 ciety of a property which belongs to it if he does not apply 
 his culture to its use. It is the duty of every one, not only 
 to endeavour to make himself useful to society generally; 
 but also to direct all his efforts, according to the best know- 
 ledge which he possesses, towards the ultimate object of 
 society, — towards the ever-increasing ennoblement of the 
 human nice; — that is, to set it more and more at freedom 
 from the bondage of Nature, constantly to increase its in- 
 dependence and spontaneous activity; — and thus, from the 
 new inequality of classes a new equality arises — a uniform 
 progress of culture in all individual men, 
 
 I do not say that human life is at any tune such as I have 
 now depicted it; but it should be so, according to our prac- 
 tical idca,s of society and tff the different classes it contains; 
 and we may and ought to hibour that it may become so in
 
 ON THE DISTINCTIOX OF CLASSES IN SOOIETT. 47 
 
 reality. How powerfully the Scholar in particular may con- 
 tribute to this end, and. how many means for its accomplish- 
 ment lie at his disposal, we shall see at the proper time. 
 
 When we contemplate the idea now unfolded, even with- 
 out reference to ourselves, we see around us a community 
 in which no one can labour for himself without at the same 
 time labouring for his fellow-men, or can labour for others 
 without also labouring for himself; Avhere the success of 
 one member is the success of all, and the loss of one a loss 
 to all : a picture which, by the harmony it reveals in the 
 manifold diversity of being, introduces a cordial feeling of 
 satisfaction to the mind, and powerfully raises the soul 
 above the things of time. 
 
 But the interest is heightened when we turn our thoughts 
 to ourselves, and contemplate ourselves as members of this 
 great spiritual community. The feeling of our dignity and 
 our power is increased when we say, — what each of us may 
 say, — ' My existence is not in vain and aimless; I am a ne- 
 cessary link in the great chain of being which I'eaches from 
 the awakening of the first man to perfect consciousness of 
 his existence, onward through eternity ; all the great and 
 wise and noble that have ever appeared among men, — those 
 benefactors of the human race whose names I find recorded 
 in the world's history, and the many others whose benefits 
 have outlived their names, — all have laboured for me; I 
 have entered into their labours; on this earth where they 
 dwelt I follow their footsteps, which scattered blessings as 
 they went. I may, as soon as I will, assume the sublime 
 task which they have resigned, of making our common bro- 
 therhood ever wiser and happier; I may continue to build 
 where they had to cease their labours; I may bring nearer to 
 its completion the glorious temj^le which they had to leave 
 unfinished.' 
 
 ' But' — some one may say — ' I too, like them, must rest 
 from my labours.' Oh! this is the sublimest thought of
 
 48 LECTURK III. 
 
 all! If I assume this noble task, I can never reach its end; 
 and £0 surely as it is my vocation to assume it, I can never 
 cease to act, and hence can never cease to he. That which 
 men call Death cannot interrupt my activity; for my work 
 must go on to its comj^lction, and it cannot be completed 
 in Time; — hence my existence is limited by no Time, and 
 I am Eternal: — with the assumption of this great task, I 
 have also laid hold of Eternity. I rai.se my head boldly 
 towards the threatening rock, the raging flood, or the fiery 
 tempest, and say — ' I am Eternal, and I defy your might! 
 Break all upon me! — and thou Eai'th, and thou Heaven, 
 mingle in tlie wild tumult ! — ^'aud all ye elements, foam 
 and fret yourselves, and crush in your conflict the last atom 
 of the body which I call mine! — My Will, secure in its 
 own firm purpose, shall soar imdisturbed and bold over 
 the Avreck of the universe: — for I have entered upon my 
 vocation, and it is more enduring than ye are : it is Eteknal, 
 and I am Eternal, like it.'
 
 (49) 
 
 LECTURE IV. 
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 I HATE to-day to speak of the Vocation of the Scholar. 
 
 I stand in a peculiar relation to this subject. All, or 
 most of you, have chosen knowledge as the business of your 
 lives; and I have made the same choice : — all of you, I pre- 
 sume, apply your whole energies, so that you may honour- 
 ably fill the station to which you aspire; and I too have 
 done, and do the like. I have to speak as a Scholar, before 
 future Scholars, of the Scholar's Vocation. I must examine 
 the subject to its foundation; exhaust it, if I can; hold 
 back nothing in my representation of the truth. And if I 
 discover for the Scholar a vocation most honourable, most 
 lofty, and distinguished above that of all other classes of 
 men, hoAv is it possible for me to lay it before you without 
 exceeding the limits of modest expression, — without seeming 
 to undervalue other vocations, — without being apparently 
 blinded by self-conceit ? But I speak as a philosopher, 
 whose duty it is strictly to define all his ideas. I cannot ex- 
 clude this idea from the system of which it is a necessary part. 
 I dare not keep back any part of the truth which I recog- 
 nise. It still remains true ; and modesty itself is subordinate 
 to it: — it is a false modesty which is violated by truth. 
 Let us then consider our subject in the first place with in- 
 difference, as if it had no relation to ourselves : — let us treat
 
 50 LKCTURE rv. 
 
 it as an idea bclongiug to a world quite foreign to our own. 
 Let us look with the greater strictness to our arguments. 
 Let us never forget, what I hope I have already impressed 
 upon you with some degree of success, — that every station in 
 life is necessary; that each deserves our respect; that not 
 the station itself, but the worthy fulfilment of its duties, 
 does honour to a man ; and that we only merit esteem in so 
 far as we approach nearest to the perfect performance of 
 the duties assigned to us in the order of things; — that 
 therefore the Scholar has reason to be of all others the most 
 modest, because an aim is set before him of which he con- 
 tinually falls far short, — because he has a most elevated ideal 
 to reach, which commonly he approaches only at the greatest 
 distance. 
 
 There are many tendencies and powers in man, and it is 
 the vocation of each individual to cultivate all his powers, 
 so far as he is able to do so. Among others is the social 
 impulse ; which offers him a new and peculiar form of culti- 
 vation, — that for society, — and affords an unusual facility 
 for culture in general. There is nothing prescribed to man 
 on this subject; — whether he shall cultivate all his faculties 
 as a whole, unaided and by nature alone ; or mediately 
 through society. The first is difiicult, and nowise advances 
 society; — hence in the social state each individual right- 
 fully selects his own part of the common cultivation, leaves 
 the rest to his fellows, and expects that they mil allow him 
 to share the benefits of their culture, as he permits them 
 to participate in the advantages of his own: — and this is 
 the origin and irround of the distinction of classes in 
 society. 
 
 Such are the results arrived at in our previous discourses. 
 For an arrangement of these different classes according to 
 the idea.s of Pure Reason, which is quite possible, a founda- 
 tion must be sought in a complete enumeration of all the 
 natural cai)acitie.s and wants of man; — not, however, of his
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 51 
 
 merely artificial wants. A particular class in society may 
 be devoted to the cultivation of each faculty, or what is the 
 same thing, to the satisfaction of each want founded on an 
 original impulse in human nature. We reserve this inquiry 
 for another occasion, that we may now enter upon one which 
 lies nearer to us. 
 
 If a question should arise as to the perfection or imper- 
 fection of a state of society arranged on the principles 
 which we have already propounded, — (and every society 
 does so arrange itself by the natural tendencies of man, 
 without foreign guidance, as was shown in our inquiry into 
 the origin of society), — if, I say, such a question should arise, 
 the answer to it wiU presuppose the solution of the following 
 query : — Is the development and satisfaction of all the 
 wants of man, and indeed the harmonious development and 
 satisfaction of them all, provided for in the given state of 
 society? Is this provided for, — then the society, as a 
 society, is perfect; — that is, not that it has attained its 
 final purpose, which as we have previously shown is 
 impossible; but that it is so arranged that it must of 
 necessity continually approximate thereto: — is this not 
 provided for, — then society may indeed by some happy 
 chance be impelled forward in the way of cultivation; but 
 that cannot be calculated on Avith certainty, for it may 
 with as much probability be carried by some unlucky oc- 
 currence in the opposite direction. 
 
 A provision for the harmonious development of all the 
 faculties of man presupposes an acquaintance with them 
 all, — a knowledge of all his tendencies and wants, — a com- 
 plete survey of his whole being. But this perfect Know- 
 ledge of human nature is itself founded on a faculty which 
 must be developed; for there is certainly an impulse in 
 man to know, and particularly to know that which affects 
 himself. The development of this faculty, however, de- 
 mands all the time and energy of a man: — if there be any 
 
 • UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SANTA BARBARA COLLEGE LIBRART
 
 52 LECTURE IV. 
 
 want common to mankind which urgently requires that a 
 particular class be set aside for its satisfaction, it is this. 
 
 The mere Knowledge, however, of the fiiculties and wants 
 of man, without an acquaintance with the means of develop- 
 ing and satisfying them, wuukl be not only a most sorrow- 
 ful and discouraging, but also a vain and perfectly u.seless 
 acquirement. He acts a most unfriendly part towards me, 
 who points out to me my defects, without at the same time 
 showing me the means of supplying them ; Avho raises me 
 to the feeling of my wants, without enabling me to satisfy 
 them. Would that he had rather left mc in brutish ignor- 
 ance ! In short, this would not be such Knowledge as society 
 requires, and for which she must have a particular class of 
 men to whom the possession of it may be committed ; for 
 this Knowledge does not aim at the perfection of the spe- 
 cies, and through that perfection at its harmonious com- 
 bination, as it ought to do: hence to this Knowledge of 
 wants there must be added a Knowledge of the means hj 
 which they may he satisfied; — and this knowledge properly 
 devolves upon the same class, because the one cannot be 
 complete, and still less can it be active and living, without 
 the other. Knowledge of the first kind is founded on the 
 principles of Pure Reason, and is lyhilosophical ; — that of the 
 second, partly on Experience, and is in so far 2^hilosophico- 
 historical; — not merely historical, for I must connect the 
 purposes which can only be recognised philosophically, with 
 their appropriate objects revealed in Experience, in order 
 to be able to recognise the latter as the means to the at- 
 tainment of the former. 
 
 If, however, this Knowledge is to become useful to so- 
 ciety, it is not sufficient to ascertain Avhat faculties belong 
 essentially to man, and through what means they may be 
 developed; — .such Knowledge would still remain quite un- 
 productive. It must proceed a step fiirther, in order to 
 secure the wished-for benefits : — we must also know on
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 53 
 
 what particular grade of cultivation the society to which 
 we belong stands at a particular point of time; — to what 
 particular stage it has next to ascend, and what are the 
 means at its command for that purpose. Now on the 
 grounds of Reason alone ; — on the supposition of Experience 
 in the abstract, but prior to all actual Experience, — we can 
 calculate the direction which human progress must take, 
 we can declare with probability the particular steps by 
 which it must pass to the attainment of a definite stage of 
 cultivation; — but to declare the particular step on which 
 it actually stands at a given point of time, is impossible 
 for Reason alone; for this, Experience must be questioned, 
 the events of the past must be examined, but with an eye 
 purified by philosophy; — we must look aroimd us, and 
 consider our contemporaries. This last part of the Know- 
 ledge needful to society is thus purely historical. 
 
 The three branches of Knowledge which we have pointed 
 out, when combined together— (and without such union 
 they will be found of but little avail) — constitute what is 
 called Learning, or at least what alone should be so called; 
 — and he who devotes his life to the acquisition of this 
 KnoAvledge is a Scholar. 
 
 But every individual must not attempt to grasp the whole 
 extent of human Learning in all these three forms of Know- 
 ledge; — that Avould be impossible for most men; and therefore 
 the striving after it would be fruitless, and the whole life of a 
 member, who might have been of much value to society, would 
 disappear without society reaping the slightest advantage 
 from it. Each individual may mark out for himself a par- 
 ticular portion of this territory ; but each should cultivate his 
 part according to all the three views, — j)hiIosophicaUi/, pJiilo- 
 sophico-historicalb/, and historically. And I now declare 
 before-hand, (what I shall further illustrate at another time), 
 that you may in the meantime at least receive it on my testi- 
 mony, — that the study of a profound philosophy does not 
 
 e2
 
 54 LECTURE ly. 
 
 render the acquisition of empirical Knowledge a superfluoiis 
 labour, if that kn(^wledge be only well grounded; but that it 
 rather proves the necessity of such Knowledge in the most 
 convincing manner. The common purpose of these different 
 branches of Knowledge has already been poiiited out ; — that 
 by their means provision may be made for the uniform but 
 constantly progressive development of all the faculties of 
 man : — and hence arises the true vocation of the Scholar; — 
 the most luidely extended survey of the actual advancement 
 of the human race in general, and the steadfast p7-omotion 
 of that advancement. I must impose some restraint upon 
 myself, that I may not allow my feelings to expatiate 
 upon the elevated idea which is now brought before you; — 
 the path of rigid inquiry is not yet ended. Yet I must 
 remark, in passing, what it really is which they would do 
 who should seek to check the free progress of Knowledge. 
 I say would do; for how can I know whether such persons 
 really exist or not? Upon the progress of Knowledge the 
 whole progress of the human race is immediately depen- 
 dent : he who retards that, hinders this also. And he 
 who hinders this, — what character does he assume towards 
 his age and posterity ? Louder than with a thousand voices, 
 by his actions he proclaims into the deafened ear of the 
 world present and to come — ' As long as 1 live at least, 
 the men around me shall not become wiser or better; — for 
 in their progress, I too, notwithstanding all my efforts to 
 the contrary, would be dragged forward in some direction, 
 — and this I detest; — I will not become more enlightened, 
 — I will not become nobler. Darkness and perversion are 
 my elements, and 1 will summon all my powers together 
 
 that I may not be dislodged from them.' Humanity 
 
 may endure the loss of everything: all its possessions may 
 be torn away without infringing its true dignity; — all 
 but the possibility of improvement. Coldly and ciaftily, as 
 the enemy of mankind pictured to us in the Bible, these
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 55 
 
 foes of man have calculated and devised tlieir scliemes ; and 
 explored the holiest depths to discover a point at which 
 to assail humanity, so that they might crush it in the bud ; 
 and they have found it. Humanity turns indignantly from 
 
 the picture. We return to our investigation. 
 
 Knowledge is itself a branch of human culture; — that 
 branch must itself be farther advanced, if all the faculties 
 of man are to be continuously developed ; hence it is the 
 duty of the Scholar, as of every man who has chosen a par- 
 ticular condition of life, to strive for the advancement of 
 Knowledge, and chiefly of his own peculiar department of 
 Knowledge; — it is his duty as it is the duty of every man 
 in his own department ; — yes, and it is much more his duty. 
 It is for him to watch over and promote the advancement 
 of other departments ;' — and shall he himself not advance? 
 Upon his progress, the progress of all other departments 
 of human culture is dependent ; he should always be in 
 advance to open the way for others, to explore their future 
 path, and to lead them forward upon it ; — and shall he 
 remain behind? From that moment he would cease to be 
 what he ought to be ; and being nothing else, would then 
 be — nothing. I do not say that every Scholar must actually 
 extend the domain of Knowledge, — that may not be within 
 his power; — but I do say that he must strive to extend it; 
 — that he must not rest, that he must not think his duty 
 sufficiently performed, until he has extended it. So long as 
 he Uves he may yet accomplish this. Does death overtake 
 him before he has attained his purpose 1 — then he is re- 
 leased from his duties in this world of appearances, and his 
 earnest endeavour will be accounted to him for the deed. If 
 the following maxim be applicable to all men, it is more 
 especially applicable to the Scholar : — that he forget what he 
 has done as soon as it is accomplished, and constantly direct 
 his whole thoughts upon what he has yet to do. He has 
 advanced but little way indeed, whose field of exertion does 
 not extend its boundaries at every step he takes in it.
 
 56 LECTURi: IV. 
 
 The Scholar is destined in a peculiar manner for society : 
 his class, more than any other, exists only through society 
 and for society: — it is thus his peculiar duty to cultivate 
 the social talents, — an openness to receive, and a readiness 
 to communicate Knowledge, — in the first place and in 
 the highest degree. Receptivity must already be developed 
 in him, if he has thoroughly mastered the requisite empiri- 
 cal sciences. He must be thoroughly conversant with the 
 labours of those who have gone before him in his own 
 department, and this Knowledge he cannot have acquired 
 otherwise than by instruction, either oral or literary; — he 
 cannot have arrived at it by mere reflection on the prin- 
 ciples of Reason. But he should at all times maintain this 
 receptivity by means of new acquirements, and endeavour 
 to preserve himself from a growing insensibility to foreign 
 opinions and modes of thought, w'hich is so common even 
 among the most independent thinkers; — for no one is so 
 well-informed but he may still continue to learn, and may 
 have something very necessary yet to learn ; — and it is 
 seldom that any one is so ignorant that he cannot teach 
 something to the most learned, which the latter did not 
 know before. Readiness of communication is always needed 
 by the Scholar, for he possesses his Knowledge not for 
 himself, but for society. This he must practise from his 
 youth, and keep in constant activity, — through ^vhat vieans 
 we shall inquire at the proper time. 
 
 The Knowledge which he has acquired for society he 
 must noAv actually apply to the uses of society; — he must 
 rouse men to the feeling of their true wants, and make 
 them acquainted with the means of satisfying these. Not 
 that he should enter with them into the deep inquiries 
 which he himself has been obliged to undertake, in order 
 to find some certain and secure foundation of truth : that 
 would be an attempt to make all men Scholars like himself, 
 which is impossible, and opposed to the purposes of life; —
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 57 
 
 the other forms of human activity must also be prosecuted, 
 and to that end there are other classes of men; if they 
 devoted their time to learned inquiries, the Scholars them- 
 selves wouM soon cease to be Scholars. How then can 
 he spread abroad his knowledge, and how ought he to do sol 
 Society could not subsist without trust in the honesty and 
 skill of others; — this confidence is deeply impressed upon our 
 hearts, and by a peculiar favour of Nature we never possess 
 it in a higher degree than when we most need the honesty 
 and skill of others. He may securely reckon upon this trust 
 in his honesty and skill, as soon as he has earned it as he 
 ought. Further, — there is in all men a feeling of truth, which 
 indeed is not sufficient in itself, but must be developed, 
 proved, and purified; — and to do this is the task of the 
 Scholar. This feeling is not sufficient in itself to lead 
 the unlearned to all the truth of which they stand in need ; 
 but when it has not become artificially falsified (which 
 indeed is often the work of some who call themselves 
 Scholars) it is always sufficient to enable them, even with- 
 out deep argument, to recognise truth when another leads 
 them to her presence. On this intuitive feeling of truth 
 the Scholar too may rely. — Thus, so far as we have yet 
 unfolded the idea of his vocation, the Scholar is, by virtue 
 of it, the Teacher of the human race. 
 
 But he has not only to make men generally acquainted 
 with their wants, and with the means of satisfying these 
 wants; he has likewise, in particular, at all times and in 
 allplaces, to teach them the wants arising out of the special 
 condition in which they stand, and to lead them to the 
 appropriate means of reaching the peculiar objects which 
 they are there called upon to attain. He sees not merely 
 the present, — he sees also the future; he sees not merely 
 the point which humanity now occupies, but also that to 
 which it must next advance if it remain true to its final end, 
 and do not wander or turn back from its legitimate path.
 
 58 LECTDRE IV. 
 
 He cannot wish to hurry forward humanity at once to the 
 point which perliaps beams brightly before his own view; — 
 the road cannot be avoided or overleaped; — he must only 
 take care that it does not stand still, and that it does not 
 turn back. In this respect the Scholar is the Guide of the 
 human race. 
 
 I remark here expressly, that in this as in all his other 
 avocations, the Scholar stands under the rule of the moral 
 law, — of the requisite harmony of his own being. He acts 
 upon society; — it is founded on the idea of freedom ; it 
 and every member of it is free; — and he dares not approach 
 it otherwise than by moral means. The Scholar will never 
 be tempted to bring men to the adoption of his convictions 
 by coercion or the use of physical force : — in the present 
 age it ought to be unnecessary to throw away a single word 
 upon this folly: — neither will he deceive them. Setting 
 aside the fact that he would thereby offend against himself, 
 and that the duties of the man are in every case higher 
 than those of the Scholar : — he would also thereby off'end 
 against society. Each individual in society should act from 
 his own free choice, from his own mature and settled con- 
 viction ; — he should be able to look ujion himself as a joint 
 object of all his actions, and be regarded as such by all his 
 fellow-men. He who is deceived, is used only as a means 
 by which another may attain his purpose. 
 
 The ultimate purpose of each individual man, as well as 
 of all society, and consequently of all the labours of the 
 Scholar in society, is the moral elevation of all men. It is 
 the duty of the Scholar to have this final object constantly 
 in view, — never to lose sight of it in all that he does in 
 society. But no one can successfully labour for the moral 
 improvement of his species who is not himself a good man. 
 We do not teach by words alone, — we also teach much more 
 impressively by example ; and every one who lives in society 
 1 owes it a good example, because the power of example haa
 
 THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOLAR. 59 
 
 its origin in the social relation. How much more is this 
 due from the Scholar, who should be before all others in 
 every branch of human culture ! If he be behind in the first 
 and highest of them aU, that to which all the others tend, 
 — how can he be the pattern which he ought to be, and 
 how can he believe that others wiU follow his teachings, 
 which he himself contradicts before all men in every action 
 of his life ? The words which the founder of the Christian 
 Eeligion addressed to his disciples apply with pecuhar force 
 to the Scholar, — "Ye are the salt of the earth; if the salt 
 hath lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?" — if the 
 chosen among men be depraved, where shall we seek for 
 moral good 1 Thus, in this last respect, the Scholar should 
 be raoralh/ the best man of his age; — he should exhibit in 
 himself the higliest grade of moral culture then possible. 
 
 This is our common vocation, — this our common destiny. 
 A happy destiny it is, which calls upon you to do that, as 
 your own peculiar occupation, which all men must do by 
 reason of their common destiny as men ; to employ all your 
 time and jaowers upon that alone, for which other men must 
 hoard up time and power with wise parsimony; to have for 
 your employment, your business, the sole every-day labour 
 of your life, what only comes to others as sweet refreshment 
 after toil ! It is an invigorating, soul-elevating thought 
 which each one among you, who is worthy of his calling, may 
 entertain, — ' To me also, for my part, is entrusted the 
 culture of my own and following ages; from my labours 
 ^vill proceed the course of future generations, — the history 
 of nations who are yet to be. To this am I called, to bear 
 ■witness to the Truth ; my life, my fortunes are of little 
 moment, — the results of my life are of infinite moment. 
 I am a Priest of Truth ; I am in her pay ; I have bound 
 myself to do all things, to venture all things, to sufi"er all 
 things for her. If I should be persecuted and hated for her 
 sake, if I should even meet death in her service, what won-
 
 60 LECTURE IV. 
 
 tlerfiil thing is it I shall have done, — what but that which 
 I clearly ought to dol ' 
 
 I know hoAv much I have now said; — I know too, that 
 an effeminate and nerveless generation will tolerate neither 
 these feelings, nor the expression of them; — that Avith a 
 timorous voice which betrays its inward shame, it stigma- 
 tizes as extravagance everything which is above its reach ; 
 — that it turns away its eyes with agony from a picture in 
 which it beholds nothing but its own enervation and dis- 
 grace; — that everything vigorous and elevating is to it, 
 as every touch is to one lame in all his limbs: — I know 
 all this; — but I know too where I speak. I speak before 
 young men who are at present secured by their youth 
 against this utter enervation : and alonfj: with a manlv 
 morality, and by means of it, I would also deeply impress 
 such feelings on their souls, as may preserve them for the 
 future also from such effeminacy. I avow it frankly, that 
 from the point on which Providence has placed me, I too 
 would wiUingly contribute something, to extend in every 
 direction as f;\r as my native language can reach, and fur- 
 ther if possible, a more manly tone of thought, a stronger 
 sense of elevation and dignity, a more ardent zeal to fulfil 
 our destiny at every hazard; — so that when you shall have 
 left this place and are scattered abroad in all directions, I 
 may one day know in you, wherever you may dwell, men 
 whose chosen friend is Truth, — who adhere to her in life and 
 in death, — who receive her when she is cast out by all the 
 world, — who take her openly under their protection when 
 she is traduced and calumniated, — who for her sake will 
 joyfully bear the cunningly concealed enmity of the great, 
 the dull sneer of the coxcomb, and the compassionating shrug 
 of the fool. With this view 1 have now spoken; — and 
 in everything which I may address to you in future, I shal 
 have the same ultimate design.
 
 (61) 
 
 LECTUEE V. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF EOUSSEAU's DOCTEINES CONCERNING 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF ART AND SCIENCE 
 
 ON THE WELL-BEING OF MAN. 
 
 The combating of error is of no important advantage in 
 the discovery of truth. If truth be once derived by just 
 deduction from its essential principles, everything opposed 
 to it must necessarily, and without express refutation, be 
 false ; and if the whole path, which must be traversed in 
 order to arrive at certain knowledge, lie clear before our 
 view, we can at the same time easily observe the by-ways 
 which lead from it towards erroneous opinions, and shall 
 even be able readily to indicate to every wanderer the 
 precise point from which he has gone astray. For every 
 truth can be derived only from one fundamental principle. 
 What the fundamental principle is, upon which each pro- 
 blem of human knowledge may be solved, it is the pro- 
 vince of a fundamental philosophy to declare; — how each 
 principle should be followed out to its consequences, uni- 
 versal logic must teach; — and thus the true as well as the 
 false way is easily ascertained. 
 
 But the consideration of opposite opinions is of great 
 value in imparting distinct and clear views of discovered 
 truth. In comparing truth with error, we are obliged to 
 note with greater accuracy the distinctive marks of both ;
 
 G2 LECTURE V. 
 
 and our conceptions of them acquire sharper precision and 
 greater clearness. I now avail myself of this method to 
 give you a short and plain view of what has been already 
 brought forward in these lectures. 
 
 I have placed the vocation of Man in the continual 
 advancement of culture, and in the harmonious development 
 of all his fixcultics and wants; and I have assigned to that 
 class, whose duty it is to watch over the progress and 
 harmony of this development, a most honourable place in 
 human society. 
 
 No man has opposed this truth more decidedly, on more 
 plausible grounds, or with more powerful eloquence, than 
 Rousseau. To him the advancement of culture is the sole 
 cause of all human depravity. According to him there is 
 no salvation for man but in a State of Nature; and — what 
 indeed flows most accurately from his principles — that class 
 of men who most effectually promote the advancement of 
 culture, — the Scholar-class, — is at once the source and centre 
 of all human misery and corruption. 
 
 Such a theory has been propounded by a man who has 
 himself cultivated his mental faculties in a veiy high 
 degree. With all the power which he acquired by this 
 superior cultivation, he laboured, wherever it was possible, 
 to convince mankind of the justice of his doctrines, — to 
 persuade them to return to that State of Nature which he 
 so much commended. To him retrogi-ession was progres.s, 
 and that forsaken state of nature the ultimate end which a 
 now marred and perverted humanity must finally attain. 
 Thus he did precisely that which we do, — he laboured to 
 advance humanity according to his own ideas, and to aid 
 its i)rogre.ss towards its highest end. He did tliat precisely 
 which he himself so bitterly censured; his actions stand in 
 opposition to his principles. 
 
 The .same contradiction reigns in his principles themselves. 
 "What excited hiui to action but some impulse of his heart?
 
 EXAMINATION OF ROUSSEAu's THEORY. 63 
 
 Had lie examined into this impulse, and connected it with 
 tliat which led him into error, he would then have had 
 unity and harmony both in his actions and in his conclusions. 
 If we can reconcile the first contradiction, we shall, at the 
 same time, have reconciled the second; the point of agree- 
 ment of the first, is likewise that of the second. We shall 
 discover this point, we shaU solve the contradiction, we 
 shall understand Rousseau better than he understood him- 
 self, and we shall then discover him to be in perfect 
 harmony with himself and with us. 
 
 Whence did Rousseau derive this extraordinary theory, 
 maintained indeed partially by others before him, but as a 
 whole so completely opposed to the general opinion? Did 
 he deduce it by reason from some higher principle? Oh 
 no ! Rousseau did not penetrate on any side to the confines 
 of human knowledge ; he does not appear ever to have pro- 
 posed such a question to himself What truth he possessed, 
 he founded immediately on his feelings ; and his knowledge 
 has therefore the faults common to all knowledge founded 
 on mere undeveloped feeling, — that it is partly uncertain, 
 because man cannot render to himself a complete account of 
 his feelings; — that the true is mixed up with the untrue, 
 because a judgment resting upon feeling alone, regai'ds as 
 of like meaning, things which are yet essentially different. 
 Feeling does not err; but the judgment errs, because it 
 misinterprets feeling, and mistakes a compound for a pure 
 feeling. From these undeveloped feelings, upon which 
 Rousseau grounds his reflections, he proceeds with perfect 
 justice : once in the region of syllogism, he is in harmony 
 with himself, and hence carries the reader who can think 
 with him, irresistibly along. Had he allowed his feelings 
 to influence the course of his inquiries, they would have 
 brought him back to the right path, from which they had first 
 led him astray. To have erred less than he did, Rousseau 
 must have possessed either more or less acuteness of intel-
 
 04 LECTURE V. 
 
 lect than he actually did possess; and so he who reads his 
 works, in order not to be led astray by them, must possess 
 either a much higher or a much lower degree of acuteness 
 than he possessed; — he must either be a complete thinker, 
 or no thinker at all. 
 
 Separated from the great world, and guided by his pure 
 feeling and lively imagination, Rousseau had sketched a 
 picture of society, and particularly of the Scholar-class, — 
 with whose labours he especially occupied himself, — as they 
 should he, and as tlicy necessarily must and would be, if 
 they followed the guidance of common feeling. He came 
 into the great world; he cast his eyes around him, and 
 what were his sensations when the world and its Scholars, 
 as tkeij actual/ 1/ were, met his gaze ! He saw at its most 
 fearful extreme, that scene which every one may see who 
 turns his eyes towards it;* — men bowed down to the dust 
 like beasts, chained to the earth I'cgardless of their high 
 dignity and the divinity within them; — saw their joy.g, 
 their sorrows, their whole existence dependent on the satis- 
 faction of base sensuality, whose demands rose higher with 
 every gratification; — saw them careless of right or wrong, 
 holy or unholy, in the satisfaction of their appetites, and 
 ever ready to sacrifice humanity itself to the desire of the 
 moment; — saw them ultimately lose all sense of right and 
 wrong, and place wisdom in selfish cunning, and duty in 
 the gratification of lust; — saw them at last place their 
 glory in this degradation, and their honour in this shame, 
 and even look down with contempt on those who were not 
 so wise, and not so virtuous as themselves; — saw those who 
 should have been the teachers and guides of the nation sunk 
 into the accommodating slaves of its corruption ; those who 
 should have given to the age the character of wisdom and 
 
 * Tlic reader will 1)our In mind that these Lectures were delivered In 1794, 
 Uurinb' the Revolutionary Lpoch in rruncc.
 
 EXAMINATION OF ROUSSEAU's THEORY. 65 
 
 of earnestness, assiduously catching the tones of the reigning 
 folly and the pi-edominant vice; — heard them ask, for the 
 guidance of their inquiries, not, Is it true? is it good and 
 noble? but. Will it be well received? — not. What will huma- 
 nity gain by it? but, What shall / gain by it? how much 
 gold, or what prince's favour, or what beauty's smile? — saw 
 them even look on this mode of thought as their highest 
 honour, and bestow a compassionating shrug on the imbe- 
 ciles who understood not like them to propitiate the spirit 
 of the time; — saw talent, and art, and knowledge, united 
 in the despicable task of extorting a more delicate enjoy- 
 ment from nerves already wasted in pleasure ; or in the de- 
 testable attem^jt to palliate or justify human depravity, to 
 raise it to the rank of virtue, and wilfully demolish everything 
 Avhich yet placed a barrier in its way; — saw at length, — 
 and learned it by his own unhappy experience, — that those 
 unworthy men were sunk so low that the last misgiving 
 which truth once prodviced within them, the last doubt 
 which its presence called into being, having utterly disap- 
 peared, they became quite incapable of even examining its 
 principles; — that even with the demand for inquiry ringing 
 in their ears, they could only answer — ' Enough ! it is not 
 true — we do not wish it to be true, for it is no gain to us.' 
 He saw all this, and his strained and disappointed feelings 
 revolted against it. With deep indignation he rebuked 
 his age. 
 
 Let us not blame him for this sensibility, — it is the mark 
 of a noble soul : he who feels the godlike within him, will 
 often thus sigh upwards to eternal Providence : ' These then 
 are my brethren ! these the companions whom thou hast 
 given me on the path of earthly existence ! Yes, they bear my 
 shape, but our minds and hearts are not related ; my words 
 are to them a foreign speech, and theirs to me : I hear the 
 sound of their voices, but there is nothing in my heart to 
 give them a meaning ! Oh eternal Providence ! wherefore 
 
 r2.
 
 66 LECTURE V. 
 
 didst thou cause me to be born among such men I or if it 
 were necessary that I should be born among tlieni, wherefore 
 didst thou give me these feelings, this longing presentiment 
 of something better and higher ? why didst thou not make 
 me like them ? why didst thou not make me base even aa 
 they are 1 I could then have lived contentedly among them.' 
 Yc do well to reprove his melancholy, and censure his dis- 
 content, ye to whom all around you seems good ; ye do well 
 to praise the contentment with which ye derive enjoyment 
 from all things, and the modesty with which ye accept men 
 as they are ! He would have been as modest as ye are, had 
 he been tormented with as few noble aspirations. Ye cannot 
 rise to the conception of a better state, and for you truly 
 the present is well enough. 
 
 In this fulness of bitter feeling, Rousseau was now 
 incapable of seeing anything but the object which had 
 called it forth. Sensualism reigned triumphant; that was 
 the source of the evil : he would know how to destroy this 
 emjjirc of seasualism at all hazard.s, cost what it might. No 
 wonder that he fell into the opposite extreme. Sensualism 
 shall not reign; — it does not reign when it is destroyed, — 
 when it ceases to exist; or when it is not developed, — 
 when it has not acquired power. Hence Rousseau's State 
 of Nature. 
 
 In the State of Nature the focultics peculiar to man shall 
 not be cultivated; they shall not even be distinguished. 
 Man shall have no other wants than those of his animal 
 nature; he shall live like the beast on the meadow beside 
 him. It is true that in this state none of those crimes 
 would find a place against which Rousseau's feelings so 
 strongly revolted; man would eat when ho hungered, and 
 drink when he was athirst, whatever he found before him; 
 and, when sati.sficd, would have no interest in depriving 
 others of that which he could not use himself. Once satiated 
 himself, any one might eat or drink before him what and
 
 EXAMINATION OF ROUSSEAu's THEORY. 67 
 
 how much soever he ■would, for now he desires rest, and 
 has no time to disturb others. In the anticipation of the 
 future Ues the true character of humanity; it is therefore 
 the source of all human vice. Shut out the source, and 
 vice is no more; — and Eousseau did effectually exclude it 
 from his State of Nature. 
 
 But it is also true, that as surely as man is man, and not 
 a beast, he is not destined to remain in this condition. 
 Vice, indeed, would thus cease; but with it, Virtue and 
 Reason too would be destroyed. Man becomes an irrational 
 creature ; there is a new race of animals, and men no longer 
 exist. 
 
 There can be no doubt that Eousseau acted honourably 
 with men : he endeavoured himself to live in that State of 
 Natui'e which he so warmly recommended to others, and 
 showed throughout every indication of this desire. We 
 may then put the question to him, what was it in truth 
 which he sought in this State of Nature ? He felt himself 
 imprisoned, crushed down by manifold wants, and — what 
 is indeed the least evil for the majority of men, but the 
 bitterest oppression to such a man as he was, — he was often 
 seduced from the path of rectitude and virtue by these 
 wants. Living in a State of Nature, he thought he should be 
 without these wants ; and be spared so much pain from their 
 denial, and so much yet bitterer pain from their dishonur- 
 able gratification; — he should then be at peace with himself. 
 He also found himself oppressed on every side by others, be- 
 cause he stood in the way of the satisfaction of their desires. 
 Man does not do evil in vain and for no purpose, thought 
 Rousseau, and we with him ; none of those who injured 
 him would have done so, had they not felt these desires. 
 Had all around him lived in a State of Nature, he should 
 then have been at peace ivith othei's. Thus Rousseau desired 
 undisturbed tranquillity within and without. Well : but 
 we inquire farther, — To what purpose would he apply this
 
 68 
 
 LECTURE V, 
 
 unriiilled peace ] Undoubtedly to tliat, to which he applied 
 the measure of rest that did actually belong to him; — to 
 reflection on his destiny and his duties, thereby to ennoble 
 himself and his fellow-men. But how was that possible in 
 the state of animalism which he assumed, how was it possible 
 without the previous culture which he could only obtain in 
 the state of civilization ? He thus insensibly transplanted 
 himself and society into this State of Nature, ivU/t all that 
 cultivation ivkich they could only acquire by coming out of 
 the State of Nature; he imperceptibly assumed that they 
 had already left it and had traversed the whole path of 
 civilization, and yet had not left it and had not become 
 civilized. And thus we have arrived at Rousseau's false 
 assumption, and are now able to solve his paradoxes with- 
 out any serious difficulty. 
 
 Rousseau would not transplant men back into a State of 
 Nature with respect to spiritual culture, but only with 
 resjiect to independence of the desires of sense. And it is 
 certainly true, that as man approaches nearer to the highest 
 end of his existence, it must constantly become easier for 
 him to satisfy his sensual wants; — that his physical exist- 
 ence must cost him less labour and care; that the fruitful- 
 ness of the soil will increase, the climate become milder ; an 
 innumerable multitude of new discoveries and inventions 
 will be made to diversify and facilitate the moans of sub- 
 sistence; — that further, as reason extends her dominion, the 
 wants of man will constantly diminish in strength, not aa 
 in a rude State of Nature, becau.se he is ignorant of the de- 
 lights of life, but because he can bear their deprivation; — 
 he will be ever equally ready to enjoy the best with relish, 
 when it can be enjoyed without violation of duty, and to 
 suffer the-Avant of everything which he cannot obtain with 
 honour. Is this state considered ideal, — in which respect it is 
 unattainable like every other ideal state, — so is the golden 
 age of sensual enjoyment without physical labour which the
 
 EXAMINATION OF ROUSSEAu's THEORY. 69 
 
 old poets describe. Thus what Eousseaii, under the name 
 of the State of Nature, and these poets by the title of the 
 Golden Age, place behind us, lies "actually before us. (It may 
 be remarked in passing, that it is a phenomenon of frequent 
 occurrence, particularly in past ages, that what we shall be- 
 come, is pictured as something which we already have been ; 
 and that what we have to attain is represented as something 
 which we have formerly lost : a phenomenon which has its 
 proper foundation in human nature, and which I shall explain 
 on a suitable occasion.) 
 
 Rousseau forgot that humanity can and should only 
 approach nearer to this state by care, toil, and struggle. 
 Nature is rude and savage without the hand of man: and 
 it should be so, that thereby man may be forced to leave 
 his natural state of inactivity, and elaborate her stores; 
 that thereby he himself, instead of a mere product of 
 nature, may become a free reasonable being. He does most 
 certainly leave it; he plucks at all hazards the apple of 
 knowledge, for the impulse is indestructibly implanted 
 within him, to be like God. The first step fi-om this state 
 leads him to misery and toil : his wants are awakened, and 
 clamorously demand gratification. But man is naturally 
 indolent and sluggish, like matter from whence he pro- 
 ceeded. Hence arises the hard struggle between want and 
 indolence : the first triumphs, but the latter bitterly com- 
 plains. Now in the sweat of his brow he tills the field, 
 and it frets him that it should bear thorns and thistles 
 which he must uproot. Want is not the source of Vice,— ^ 
 it is the motive to activity and virtue ; indolence, slug-gish- 
 ness, is the source of all Vice. How to enjoy as much as 
 jyossible, — how to do as little as possible, — this is the ques- 
 tion of a perverted nature, and the various attempts made 
 to answer this question are its crimes. There is no salva- 
 tion for man until this natural sluggishness is successfully 
 combated, — until he find all his pleasures and enjoyments
 
 70 LECTURE V. 
 
 in activity, and in activity alone. To that end pain is 
 associated AvitU the feeling of want. It should rouse us 
 to activity. 
 
 This is the object of all pain; it is peculiarly the object 
 of that pain which we experience at every view of the 
 imperfection, depravity, and misery of our fellow-men. 
 He who does not feel this pain, — this bitter indij^mation, 
 is a mean-souled man. He who does feel it, should en- 
 deavour to release himself from it, by directing all his 
 powers to the task of improving, as far as possible, all 
 within his sphere and ai'ound him. And even supposing 
 that his labours should prove fruitless, and he should see 
 no use in their continuance, still the feeling of his own 
 activity, the consciousness of his own power which he calls 
 forth to the struggle against the general depravity, will 
 cause him to forget this pain. Here Rousseau foiled. He 
 had energy, but energy rather of suffering than of action ; 
 he felt strongly the miseries of mankind, but he was far 
 le.ss conscious of his own power to remedy them; — and 
 thus as he felt himself he judged of others; as he con- 
 ducted himself amid his own peculiar sorrows, so did hu- 
 manity at large, in his view, endure the common lot. He 
 took account of its sorrows, but he forgot the power which 
 the human race possesses, — to help itself. 
 
 Peace be with his ashes, and blessings upon his memory ! 
 He has done his work. He has awakened tire in many 
 souls, who have carried out what he began. But he wrought 
 almost without being conscious of his own influence; — he 
 wrought without intending to rouse others to the work, 
 without weighing their labour against the sum of general 
 evil and depravity. This want of endeavour after self- 
 activity reigns throughout his whole system of ideas. He 
 is the man of passive sensibility, not at the same time of 
 proper active resistance to its power. His lovers, led astray 
 by passion, become virtuous ; but we do not rightly perceive
 
 ESAMIXATIOX OF ROtJSSEAu's THEORY. 71 
 
 how they become so. The struggle of reason against passion 
 — the victory, gradual and slow, gained only by exertion, 
 labour and pain — that most interesting and instructive 
 of all spectacles-, he conceals from our view. His pupil is 
 developed by himself alone. The teacher does little more 
 than remove the obstructions to his growth, and leaves the 
 rest to the care of Nature. She must henceforth and for 
 ever retain him under her guardianship. The energy, ar- 
 dour, and firm determination to war against and to subdue 
 her, he has not taught him. Among good men he will be 
 happy; but among bad, — and where is it that the majority 
 are not bad? — he Avill suffer unspeakable misery. Thus 
 Rousseau throughout depicted Reason at peace, but not in 
 strife; — he iveaTcened Sense, instead of strengthening Reason. 
 I have undertaken the present inquiry tn order to solve 
 the famous paradox which stood so directly opposed to our 
 principles : but not for that jjurpose alone. I would at the 
 same time show you, by the example of one of the greatest 
 men of our own age, ivhat you shoidd not he. I would, by 
 his example, unfold to you a true lesson for your whole life. 
 You are now learning by philosophic inquiry what the men 
 shoidd he, with whom you have not as yet generally entered 
 into any near, close, and indissoluble relations. You wiU 
 soon come into closer relations with them. You will find 
 them very diff"erent in reality from what your philosophy 
 would have them to be. The nobler and better you are 
 yourselves, the more painfully will yoix feel the experience 
 which awaits you. Be not overcome by this pain, but 
 overcome it by action: — it does not exist without a j^ur- 
 pose; it is a part of the plan of human improvement. To 
 stand aloof and lament over the corruption of man, without 
 stretching forth a hand to diminish it, is weak efi'eminacy; 
 to cast reproach and bitter scorn on man, without showing 
 him how he may become better, is imfriendly. Act ! act ! 
 — it is to that end we are here. Should we fret ourselves
 
 72 LECTURE V. 
 
 tliat others are not so perfect as we arc, when we ourselves 
 are only somewhat more perfect than they? Is not this our 
 greatest perfection, — the vocation which has been given 
 to us, — that we must labour for the perfecting of others'? 
 Let us rejoice in the prospect of that widely extended field 
 which we are called to cultivate ! Let us rejoice that power 
 is given to us, and that our task is infinite! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 20. FREDERICK STREET, EDINBUROH.
 
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 jects of theoretical and proclical poluics. 
 No one in all probability will give an abso- 
 lute assent to all its conclusions, but the 
 reader of Mr. Smith's vokime will in any 
 case be induced to give mure weitiht to the 
 important principle insisted on." — Tail's 
 Maoa-ine. 
 
 " Embracing, with a vast range of con- 
 stitutional learning, used in a singularly 
 attractive form, an elaborate review of all 
 the leading questions of our day."— Eclec- 
 tic Herien'. 
 
 " This is a book, therefore, of immediate 
 interest, and one well worthy of the most 
 studious consideration of every reformer ; 
 but it is also the only complete and correct 
 exposition we have of our political system ; 
 and we mistake much if it does not take its 
 place in literature as our standard text-book 
 of the constitution." 
 
 " The special chapters on local self-go- 
 vernment and centralization will be found 
 
 chapters of the soundest practical philo- 
 sophy ; every page bearing the marks of 
 profound and practical thought." 
 
 " The chapters on the crown, and on 
 common law, and statute law, display a 
 thorough knowledge of constitutional law 
 and history, and a vast body of learning is 
 brought forward for popular information 
 without the least parade or pedantry." 
 
 " Mr. Toulmin Smith has made a most 
 valuable contribution to English literature ; 
 for he has given the people a true account 
 of their once glorious constitution ; more 
 than that, he has given them a book replete 
 with the soundest and most practical views 
 of political philosophy."— Weehlij Noes. 
 
 " There is much research, sound princi- 
 ple, and good logic in this book ; and we 
 can recommend it to the perusal of all who 
 wish to attain a competent knowledge of 
 the broad and lasting basis of English con- 
 stitutional law and piactice."— Morning 
 Advertiser. 

 
 ^^9^ 
 
 f 
 
 MR. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Tlir, HISTORY OF ANCIKNT ART AMONii TIIK (IRKEKS. 
 
 Ry John Winckki.mann. From tlie German, by G. II. Lodge. Demy 
 
 8vo, clotli, with illustriitioii*, price 12«. 
 
 " Tlmt Wiiiiki'liiianii was well tilted for or loss iixlcbtcj. He pnsscsscd extensive 
 tlip task of writiiiK o lli^lory of Ancient liif(>rinutioii,a retlneil taste, innl i;reat zetil. 
 
 Art, III! oni' can ili'iiy wlio is uci|Uainleil witli 
 his prrifiinnd leurnlni; and genius. . . . 
 He undoul'tedly possessed in the lii'iliest 
 deitree tlie jMUver of appreclatiiis; artistic 
 sivill wherever it was met with, Imt never 
 more so tlian wlieii seen in llie (tarl) of aii- 
 
 tiipiity The work is of 'no 
 
 common order,' and u carefnl stndy of the 
 i;reat |)rineiplc8 endaxUed in it must neces- 
 sarily tend to form a pure, correct, und 
 elevated taste." — Evlrrtic llrririr. 
 
 " I'lie work is tluonghoni lucid, and free 
 from the pedantry of technicality. Its 
 clearness constitutes its great charm. It 
 
 His style is plain, direct, ami specific, so 
 that you are never at u loss for his imaninK. 
 Some very ifooil outlini's, representiin; tine 
 tyi)es of AiK'ient (ireek Art, illustrate the 
 text, and the vtdume is got u|> in u style 
 worthy of its snhjt'cl." — S/irrtator. 
 
 "'i'o all loM-rs of art this v<dume will 
 furnish the most necessary ami safe |(uidc 
 in studying the pure )>rinciple8 of nature 
 
 and bi'auty in creative art We 
 
 cannot wish better to KnKlish art than for 
 a wide circnlaiionof this iiivaluablework." 
 — Stiiiii/iin/ lit' Frrciloni. 
 
 The mixture of the i)hilosopher and 
 
 does not discuss any one subject at ^reat artist in Winckelman's mind gave it at 
 length, but aims at a general view ot Art, once an elegance, neiielration, and know- 
 witli attention to its minute developments, leilge, which fitted him to a marvel for the 
 It is, if we may use the phrase, a Grammar task he undertook. . . . Such a work ought 
 of (Jreek Art, a sinp f/mi nun to all who to be in the library of every artist anil man 
 would thoroughly investigate its language of taste, and even the most general reader 
 of form." — Litfrnnj W'oilil. ; will find iji it much to instruct, and much 
 
 " Winckelnnm is" a standard writer to , to interest him." — Atlas. 
 whom most students of art have been morel 
 
 THE ARTIST'S MARRIRD LIFE: BETNTi THAT OF ALliKRT 
 
 DURKR. For devout Disciples of the Arts, Prudent Miiidcus, tis well 
 lis for the Profit and Instruction of all Christendom, {jiven to the light. 
 Translated from the German of LEOi-oLt) Sciiefek, by Mrs. J. R. 
 Stodaut. 1 vol. fop. 8vo, ornamental binding, Cs. 
 
 "The work reminds us of the liappicst 
 
 efforts of Tieck The design is to 
 
 show how, in sj)iteof every obstacle, genius 
 will manifest itself to the world, and give 
 
 " It is the worthy aim of the novelist to 
 show that even the trials of genius are part 
 of its education — that its ver^' wounds are 
 furrows for its harvest. . . . No<me, indeed, 
 would havi' a riuht to expect from the 
 author of the ' Laienbrevier ' (see Ath. No. 
 4o7) such astern and forcible pictureof old 
 times and trials as a Meinbold <'an give — 
 still less the wire-drawn sentimentalities of 
 a Hahn-Hahn; but pure thoughts — high 
 morals — lender feelings — might be looked 
 
 for The merits of this story consist 
 
 in its tine purpose, and its tboni.'lilful, and 
 for the most part just, exposition of man's 
 inner life. To those who, cbietly appie- 
 cialiiig such iiualities, can disjiense with 
 the stimulants of incident and passion, 
 the book before us will not be unaccept- 
 able." — At hen feu III. 
 
 H HARTS m MORTMAIN, X^]) 
 
 8vo, price lOn. Cxi. 
 
 "To come to such writings as ' Hearts in 
 Mortmain, and Cornidia' alter the anxieties 
 and roii^lmess ol our worldly struggle, is 
 llki' batliing in fresh waters after tin- dust 
 
 and heat of boilily exertiim To a 
 
 Iieculiar and attractive grace they join con- 
 siilerable dramatic jiower, and oni' or two 
 of till' characters are conceived and exe- 
 CMleil wall real genius." — J'nisjwctirr 
 Jtrririr. 
 
 " Koth stories contain matter of thought 
 and retleclioii which would set up a dozen 
 common-iilace circulating library produc- 
 tions." — Ji.iiiininrr. 
 
 "It is not ofteu now-a-days that two 
 works of such a rare denree of excellence 
 in t'jeir class are to be found in one volume ; 
 
 liape and substance to its beautiful dreams 
 
 and fancies It is a very inire and 
 
 deliglitfiil composition, is tastefully pro- 
 duced in an antliiue style, and retains in 
 tlic translation all the ))eiuliarities (without 
 which the book would lose lialf its merit) 
 of German thought and idiom." — Jiri- 
 tmniht. 
 
 " Simply then we assure our readers that 
 we ha\e been much pleased with this work. 
 The narrative portion is well conceived, 
 and completely illustrates the author's 
 moral; wliile it is intersitersed with many 
 passages which are full of beauty and 
 pathos." — Inquirer. 
 
 CORNELIA. A Novel, iu 1 VOL post 
 
 it is rarer still to find two works, each of 
 which contains matter for two volumes, 
 bound ui) in these limes in one cover." — 
 Oliivifir. 
 
 "The above is nn extremely pleasing 
 book. The first story is written in llie anli- 
 i|uated form of letters, but its simplicity 
 and good taste redeem it from the tedious- 
 ness and appearanceof egotism which gene- 
 rally attenil that style of comiiosition." — 
 Kfnnoiiiixt. 
 
 " Wtdl written and interesting."— Dai/w 
 Si-n-f. 
 
 " Two very pleasing and elegant novels. 
 Some passages display descriptive powers 
 of u high order." — liritannia. 
 
 ■^^^y
 
 €W€^- 
 
 -^5a>- 
 
 MR. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 A* 
 
 PHASES OF FAITH, OR PASSAGES FEOM THE HISTORY OF 
 
 MY CREED. Bj' Fr.vjjcis William Newjian, Author of " The 
 History of the Hebrew Jloiiarchy," " The Soul : her Sorrows and her 
 Asph-atious." Post 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 "Besides a style of remarkable fascina- 
 tion, from its perfect simplicity and the 
 absence of all thought of writing, the lite- 
 rary character of this book arises from its 
 display of the writer's mind, and the narra- 
 tive of his struggles In addition to 
 
 the religious aiid metapliysical interest, it 
 contains some more tangible biographical 
 matter, in incidental pictures of the writer's 
 career, and glimpses of the alienations and 
 social persecutions he underwent in conse- 
 quence of his opinions." — Spectator. 
 
 " The book altogether is a most remark- 
 able book, and is destined, we think, to 
 acquire all the notoriety which was attained 
 a few years since by the ' Vestiges of Crea- 
 tion,' and to produce a more lasting effect." 
 — Weekly Neics. 
 
 " Xo work in our experience has yet been 
 published so capable of grasping the mind 
 of the reader and carrying him through 
 the tortuous labyrinth of religious contro- 
 versy ; no work so energetically clearing 
 the subject of all its ambiguities and sophis- 
 tications; no work so capable of making a 
 path for the new reformation to tread se- 
 curely on. In this history of the conflicts 
 of a deeply religious mind, courageously 
 
 seeking the truth, and conquering for itself, 
 bit by bit, the right to pronounce dogmati- 
 cally on that which it had heretofore ac- 
 cepted traditionally, we see reflected, as in 
 a mirror, the history of the last few centu- 
 ries. Modern spiritualism has reason to be 
 deeply grateful to Mr. Newman: his learn- 
 ing, his piety, his courage, his candour, 
 and his thorough mastery of his subject, 
 render his alliance doubly precious to the 
 cause." — The Leader. 
 
 " Mr. Newman is a master of style, and 
 his book, written in plain and nervous 
 English, treats of too important a subject 
 to tail in commanding the attention of all 
 thinking men, and particularly of all the 
 ministers of religion."— i?eo«onu'sf. 
 
 "As a narrative of the various doubts 
 and misgivings that beset a religious mind 
 
 j when compelled by conviction to deviate 
 from the orthodox views, and as a history 
 
 ' of the conclusions arrived at by an intelli- 
 
 ■ gent and educated mind, with the reasons 
 and steps by which such conclusions were 
 
 I gained, this work is most interesting and 
 of great importance." — Morning Adver- 
 tiser. 
 
 NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. 
 
 THE SOUL: HER SORROWS AM) HER ASPIRATIONS. An 
 
 Essay towards the Natural History of the Soul, as the basis of Theo- 
 logy. By Francis Willlui NE^^^HAN, formerlj- Fellow of Balliol 
 College, Oxford, and Author of " A Historj^ of the Hebrew Monarchy." 
 Post 8vo, cloth, &s. 
 
 "The spirit throughout has our warmest 
 sympathy. It contains more of the genuine 
 life of Christianity, than half the books that 
 are coldly elaborated in its defence. The 
 charm of the volume is the tone of faithful- 
 ness and sincerity which it breathes— the 
 evidences which it affords in every page, of 
 being drawn direct from the fountains of 
 conviction." — Prospective Kevieiv. 
 
 "On the great ability of the author we 
 
 need not comment. The force with which 
 he puts his arguments, whether for good 
 or for evil, is obvious on every page." — 
 Literary Oazette. 
 
 " We have seldom met with so much preg- 
 nant and suggestive matter in a small com- 
 pass, as in this remarkable volume. It is 
 distinguished by a force of thought and 
 freshness of feeling, rare in the treatment 
 of religious subjects." — Inquirer. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE HEBREW MONARCHY, from the Administra- 
 
 tion of Samuel to the Babylonish Captivity. By Fk.\ncis Willia:h 
 Newjiax, formerly Fellow of BaUiol CoUege, Oxford, and Author of 
 " The Soul : her Sorrows and her Aspirations," &c. 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6rf. 
 
 ,^ 
 
 " It is truly refreshing to find .Jewish 
 histoi'y treated, as in the volume before us, 
 according to the rules of sound criticism, 
 
 and good sense The publication of 
 
 such a work will form an epoch in biblical 
 literature in this counti^y." — Inquirer. 
 
 "The Author has brought a very acute 
 mind, familiar with knowledge that is 
 beyond the range of ordinary scholarship, 
 to the task of combining and interpreting 
 the antique and fragmentary records which 
 
 contain the only materials for his work." — 
 Prospective lievicw. 
 
 "This book must be regarded, we think, 
 as the most valuable contribution ever made 
 in the English Language to our means of un- 
 derstanding that portion of Hebrew History 
 to which it relates .... The Author has 
 not the common superstitious reverence for 
 the Bible, but he shows everywhere a large, 
 humane, and CIcristian spirit." — Massa- 
 chusetts Quarterly Sevieiv. 
 
 -^^^^ 
 
 ''5^^
 
 f^ 
 
 '*^iS^: 
 
 MR. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 TEE LTPE OF JESUS, CRTTfCALLY EXAMINED. 
 
 l'"uiEDKicii SniAL'ss. 3 voli. 8vo, 1/. 16s., cloth. 
 
 By Dr. DA\nD 
 
 "The eitrnordiimry merit of tliis book 
 
 Striiiiss's (liuliH'tic deiUTity, his 
 
 forensic coolness, the even polish of his 
 style, |)res<>nt hini to iis ils theuccomplished 
 pleiiiler, too completely master of his work 
 to feel the teniplutiou to unfair advnnlaite 
 
 or unseemly temper We can testily 
 
 that the Iranslalor has achieved a very timuli 
 \vork with reniarkalile spirit and nilrlity. 
 The author, tliou;{h indeed a (?ood writer, 
 could hardly have spoken better had liis 
 country and language been JOnRlish. The 
 work has evidently fallen iuto the hands 
 of one who has not only etl'ective command 
 of both lanKuat;es, but a familiarity with 
 the subject-matter of theoIoKieal eritieism, 
 and an iiiitiution into its technical phra:>eo- 
 loffv." — fVcstminntcr aiid Foreign Quar- 
 tcrlii Hrrieti', 1H47. 
 
 " Whoever reads these volumes without 
 any n'I'erence to the German, must be 
 pleased with the easy, perspicuous, idiom- 
 atic, and harmonious l^rce of the English 
 style. Ihit he will be still more satisfied 
 when, on turuinc; to the original, he finds 
 that the renderin;:f is word for wont, thought 
 for tbou'^ht, anil sentence for sentence. In 
 prtparing so beautiful a rendering as the 
 I)iisiiit, the difiieulties can have been 
 neither few nor small in the way of pre- 
 serving, in various parts of the work, the 
 exactness of the translation, combined with 
 that uniform harmony and clearness of 
 style, which impart to the volumes before 
 
 us the nir and spirit of an original. A 
 modest and kindly care for his reader's con- 
 venience has inducfd the translator often 
 to supply the rendering into Knglish of a 
 (ireek quotation, where there was no cor- 
 responding rendering into Oennan in the 
 origiinil. Indeed, Strauss may well say, as 
 he does in the notice, which he writes for 
 this Knglish edition, that as far as he has 
 examined it, the translation is, "et accu- 
 ratJi et \tcTS\iic\Hi.'"— Prospect ire lleririr. 
 
 "In regard to learning, aeiiteness, and 
 sagacious conjectures, the work resembles 
 Niebuhr's ' History of Rome.' The general 
 manner of treating the subject and ar- 
 ranging the chai>ters, sections, and parts of 
 the argument, indicates consumnnite dia- 
 lectical skill ; while the style is clear, the 
 expression direct, and the author's open- 
 ness in referring to his sources of informa- 
 tion, and stating his conclusions in all their 
 simplicity, is candid and exemplary .... 
 It not only surpasses all its predecessors of 
 its kind in learning, acuteness, and thorough 
 investigation, but it is marked by u serious 
 and earnest spirit." — Christian Exiiininrr. 
 
 "I found in M. Strauss a young man full 
 of candour, gentleness, ana modrsty— one 
 possessed of a soul that was almost myste- 
 rious, and, as it were, saddened by the 
 reputation he had gained. He scarcely 
 seems to be the author of the work under con- 
 sideration." — Quinct, llccuc (lea Moiules. 
 
 EXBEAYOimS AFTER THE CHlllSTIAN LIFE, first series. 
 
 By James Martineau. Second Edition. 12mo, 7s. 6d., cloth. 
 
 ENDE.WOURS AFTER THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 
 
 By James JLvrtineau. V2xno, 7s. 6d., cloth. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 " Heartily 
 volume of 'Kndeavours alter the Christian 
 J.iie,' because when all that suits not our 
 taste is omiiled, we have still left more to 
 instruct, interest, improve, and eU'vate, than 
 in almost any other volume with which we 
 
 are a('(|uainted Whatever may be 
 
 its deieels, we regaril it as one of the most 
 luc'cious gifts to the religious world in 
 moil.'rn times." — Iiitjiiircr. 
 
 "Vr. Martineau is known, much beyond 
 the limits of his own clmoininalion, as a 
 man of great gifts and aceomplishments. 
 and his niiblications have Ih'i'ii all inarkeil 
 by subtle and vigorous thought, much 
 hrauty of imaifinatinn, and certain ehurins 
 of comiiosition, which are sure to find 
 
 admirers There is a delicacy and 
 
 ethereality of ethical sentiment in these 
 discourses which must commend them, and 
 
 we may safely say that many of the ortho- 
 dox in all ilei)artinents nii^^lit receive from 
 tliem intellectual stimulus, moral polish, 
 and in some moods religious edification." — 
 XoniDnJorDiist. 
 
 "One of the most interesting, attractive, 
 and most valuable seriesof essays wiiieh the 
 literature of t'hristianily has received irom 
 piiest or layman for many a year. 
 
 " Volumes that have in Ibein i»ilh intel- 
 lect and true eloiiuence, and whi<'h satisi'y 
 the understanding while they please the 
 taste and improve the heart. 
 
 " \\hen we say that these Disroiirses are 
 eminently /(r«c/avi/, we mean that they are 
 ada|)ted, not only for man in the abslrari — 
 to teach the duties of Cliristianily every- 
 where — but also with reference to the cir- 
 cumstances of society — of the age and 
 country iu which our lot is cast." — Critic. 
 
 -^^m-.
 
 %s^ 
 
 ^% 
 
 -^*^ 
 
 jm. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 f 
 
 ITALY: PAST X^D PRESEXT. Or, General views of its Histoiy, 
 Eeligion, Politics, Literature, and Art. By L. JLvkiotti. 2 vols, post 
 
 8vo, cloth, lO*-. Gd. 
 
 "This is a useful book, informed with 
 lively feeling and sound judgment. It 
 contains an exhibition ot Italian views of 
 matiers, social and political, by an Italian 
 who has learned to speak through English 
 thoughts as well as English words. Par- 
 ticularly valuable are the sketches of recent 
 Italian history; for the prominent charac- 
 ters are delineated in a cordial and sympa- 
 thetic spirit, yet free from enthusiastic 
 ideas, and with unsparing discrimination 
 
 The criticisms on 'The Past' will 
 
 richly repay perusal ; it is, however, in 
 'The Present' of Italy that the main in- 
 terest of the book resides. This volume 
 
 does not merely possess an interest similar 
 to that of conlcmporary works; it supplies 
 a desideratum, and is well adapted to aid 
 the English reader in forming a just esti- 
 mate of the great events now in progress in 
 Italy. Xot tke least wonderful part of the 
 book is the entire maslery the author has 
 acquired of our languase."— Examiner, 
 April, 
 
 " Our author lias an eiarnest, nav, entliu- 
 siaslic, love and admiration of his native 
 country ; wiili the ability and eloquence to 
 render his subject very interesting and at- 
 tra.cti\e."—31orniiio Advertiser, 
 
 The followuig notices refer to the first volume of the work : — 
 
 "The work is admirable, useful, instruc- 
 tive. I am delighted to find an Italiyn 
 coming forward with so mucli noble en- 
 thusiasm, to vindicate his country and 
 obtain for it its proper interest in tlie eyes 
 of Europe. The English is wonderiul. . . . 
 I never saw any approach to such a stvle 
 in a foreigner before — as full of beautv' in 
 diction as in thought." — iStr JE. Buhcer 
 Lytton, Bart. 
 
 "I recognise the rare characterisfics of 
 genius— a large conception of the topic, a 
 picturesque diction founded on projound 
 thou";ht, and that passionate sensibiiiiv 
 vvliich becomes thesubject — a sulyeet beau- 
 tiful as its climate, and inexhaustible as its 
 soil."— £. Diaraeli, Esq., M.P, 
 
 "A very rapid and summary rfsvnie of 
 the fortunes of Italy from il.e fall of the 
 Roman Empire to the piescnt moment. — 
 A work of industry and lal)our, v. ri'ien 
 with a good purpose. — A bird's-eye view of 
 the subjtot that will re^ ive the rec'llections 
 of tlie scliolar, and seduce the tyro into a 
 longer course of reading." — Athenatait. 
 
 "This work contains more information 
 on the subject, and more references to the 
 present position of Italy, than we have seen 
 in any recent production." — Foreign 
 Quarterly Hevicrc. 
 
 " In reference to style, the work before 
 us is altogether extraordinary, as that of a 
 
 foreigner, and in the higher quality of 
 I thought we may commend the author for 
 ■ his acute, and often original, criticism, and 
 his quick perception of the grand and 
 beautilul in his native literature." — Pres- 
 cott, ill the North American Review. 
 
 "The work before us consists of a con- 
 tinuous parallel I if the political and literarv 
 history of Italy from the earliest period o"f 
 the middle ages to the present time. The 
 author not only penetrates the inner rela- 
 tions of those duiil appearances of national 
 life, but possesses the power of displaying 
 them to the reader with great clearness and 
 effect. We rememix-r no other work in 
 which the civil conditions and literary 
 achievements of a people liave been blended 
 in sucii a series of living pictures, repre- 
 senting successive periods of history." — 
 Algemeine Zeitung. 
 
 " An earnest and eloquent work.' 
 amiuer. 
 
 -Ex- 
 
 A work ranking distinctly in the class 
 of belles-lettres, and well deserving of a 
 library place in England."— iifera/v/ Ga- 
 zette. 
 
 "A work warmly admired by excellent 
 judges."— r«jt'« Magazine. 
 
 " An admirable work written with great 
 power and beauty." — Pco/'. LonafeUoiv. 
 —Poets and Poetry of Eur ope. 
 
 HISTOrJCAL SKETCHES OF THE OLD PAIXTEES. By the 
 
 Author of the " Log Cabin." 2s. Qd., paper cover ; 35., cloth. 
 
 k 
 
 €0€^- 
 
 I
 
 ;<ap€-- 
 
 MR. CIIArMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 A DTSCOrnSF. OF MATTKUS rHRTAIXI^^G TO RELIGION. 
 
 By Theodore I'aukeh. Post 8vo, 7a., cluth. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Book 1. — Of Religion in General ; or, 
 a Discourse of the Sentiment and 
 its Msmifestutions. 
 
 Book 2. — The RoiiUioii of the Reli- 
 gious Sentiment to God; or, a Dis- 
 course ot liis])iriiti()n. 
 
 Book 3. — The lic-hition of the Reli- 
 gious Seiitiineiit to .Jesus of Naza- 
 reth ; or, a Discourse of Christianity. 
 
 Book 4.— The Relation of the Reli- 
 gious Sentiment to the Greatest 
 of Books; or, a Discourse of the 
 Bible. 
 
 Book 5. — The Relation of the Reli- 
 gious Sentiment to the Greatest of 
 Human Institutions; or,aDiscourse 
 of the Church. 
 
 HEBREW EECOEDS : An nistorical Enquiry concerning the Age, 
 Autliorship, and Authoiiticity of the Old Testament. By the Rev. Dr. 
 Gii.KS. Demy 8vo, cloth, i)nce 10»'. Cxi. 
 " Tlioro arc cvifU'iices of pxtcniiive road- I talent and scholarship in Rabbinical lore." 
 
 ing, of long .and severe study, of muchl—tt'ccldi/ Dispatch. 
 
 LECTURES ON SOCLVL SCIENCE, and the organization 
 
 of I,ubi)ur. By James Hole. Demy 8vo, stiff cover, price 2s. Gd. 
 
 " An able and excellent exposition of the | opinions of the Socialists."— JKco«OH(i«<. 
 
 THE DECAY OE TRADITTOXAL FAITIE AND REESTAliLlSH- 
 
 MENT OF EAiril UPON I'lllLOSOPlIY. Two Lectures delivered 
 at Finsbury Chapel, South Place. By Heniu' Ierson, M.A. Post 
 8vo, paper cover, price Is. 
 
 By the same Authok. 
 PuVTlON-VL EAITII, Three Lectures delivered at Finsbury Chapel, 
 South Place. Post 8vo, paper cover, price Is. 
 
 AN INTRODITTrON TO THE llEIJiilON OF NATURE, Being 
 
 the above Five Lectures delivered at Finsbury Chapel, South Place. 
 By Uenuv Ierson, M.A. Post 8vo, paper cover, price 2s. 
 
 ^im^ 
 
 -*«*"
 
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 ME. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF D.\MASCUS : a Historical Novel 
 NiSBET. In 3 vols, post 8vo, 1/. lis. 6d. 
 A romance of very unusual power, 
 
 By James 
 
 such as must arrest attention by its quali 
 ties as a work of tiotion, ami lielp tlie good 
 cause of liberty of tliouglit."— i<'«rff /-. 
 
 " Tliere is an occasional inequality of 
 style in the writing, but, on the whole, it 
 
 may be pronounced beyond the average of 
 modern novelists .... wliilst descriptive 
 passages might be selected that betray a 
 very high order of merit."— Ma7icliester 
 Examiner. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S WIFE : a lale of the Papacy. Translated from 
 the German of Leopold Schefer. With a Historical Notice of the 
 Life and Times of Hildebraud (Pope Gregory VII.), to which it relates. 
 By Mrs. J. R. Stodart. Fcap. 8vo, 4s. 
 
 CATHOLICITY, SPIEITUAL AND INTELLECTUAL, An Attempt 
 
 at Vindicating the Harmony of Faith and Knowledge. A Series of 
 Discourses. By Thojias Wilson, M.A., late Minister of St. Peter's, 
 Mancroft, Norwich, Author of " Travels in Egypt and Syria," etc. 8vo, 
 cloth, 5s. May be had separately, Is. each, paper cover. 
 
 No. I.— RELATIVE RANK OF OUR EARTH AMONG STELLAR 
 
 WORLDS. 
 No. II.— THE INNER KINGDOM. 
 No. III.— SALVATION. 
 No. IV.— SCHOLASTIC THEOLOGY. 
 
 A HISTOEICAL AXALYSIS OF CHKISTIAX CIYILI- 
 
 ZATION. By L. Raymond de Vericour. In 1 vol. post 8vo, cloth, 
 price 10s. 6cZ. 
 
 " It is succinct, clearly-written, and 
 may be called a manual of European his- 
 tory."— jBco/iomisi. 
 
 "A useful book of historical reference, 
 being well filled with facts and dates." 
 — Westminster Iteciew. 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF CHAINING, with an Essay prefixed. By 
 WiLLiAJVi MouNTFORD. 12mo, cloth, 2s. Qd. 
 
 "This is really a book of beauties. It is 
 no collection of shreds and patches, but a 
 faitliful representative of a mind which 
 deserves to have its image reproduced in 
 a tliousand forms. It is sucli a selection 
 from Channing asClianning himself might 
 have made. It is as though we had the 
 choicest passages of those divine discourses 
 
 read to us by a kindred spirit 
 
 Tliose wlio have read Martyria will feel 
 that no man can be better qualified than 
 its author, to bring together those passages 
 whicli are at once most characteristic, and 
 most rich in matter tending to the moral 
 and religious elevation of human beings." 
 — Inquirer. 
 
 CHEISTIANITY : THE DELKERANCE OF THE SOUL, AND 
 
 ITS LIFE. By Williaji Mountford, M.A. Fcp. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 
 
 V 
 
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 A RKTIlOSIM-rT OF THE ItKridlOl'S Lll'K 
 
 or, the Church, Puritanism, lunl Tree Inquiry. 
 Taylek, B.A. Post 8vo, 10s. G</. cloth. 
 
 OF ENGLAXD; 
 
 By John J.vsies 
 
 " Tins work is writton in B cliastcly hcuu- 
 tiful slyli', iiiiuiifi'sts cxlriisivt' rcudiin; iiiid 
 curcful ri'scurcii ; is full of tliiiu..'li(, ami 
 (lec'iili'illy oi-iniiiiil i" ils cliunii'lir. It is 
 iiuirkrd also by tlii' inoilcsty w liicli usually 
 cliaracloriscs trur moil." — Inijiiinr. 
 
 " Mr. 'I'uykr is artualcd by no sccluriaii 
 bias, and »<' licarlily tliank liiiii for this 
 add ilioM to our nlijiious literature." — M'cst- 
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 " It is not often our good fortune to meet 
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 various phases of tin' national mind, de- 
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 Tavler, furnish inexhaustible inateiial for 
 retlection. Mr. Tayler retjardsall parties in 
 turn from an (•(luitabli' ])oint of view, is 
 tolerant towards intolerance, and ailmires 
 zeul uud excuses lunuticism, wherever he 
 
 sees honesty. Nny, he openly asserts that 
 the religion of mere reason is not the reli- 
 gion to produce u practical efl'ect on a 
 people; and therefore regards his own class 
 oidy as one eleujent in a hrttfr prinrli)le 
 (■liiin-/i. The cliMir and comprehensive 
 L;rasp with which he niar>hals his facts, is 
 even less admirable (ban the imnarliiildy, 
 nay, more than that, the Keneral kindliness 
 Willi which he reflects upon them.— iiX- 
 iiiiiinrr. 
 
 "'I'he writer of this volume has all the 
 calmness belonging to one who feels him- 
 self not mixiil up willi the Mriitigle lie de- 
 scribes. There is about it a lone of (;reut 
 moderation and eaiiibxir: and we cannot 
 hut leel conlident that we lime here, at 
 least, the product of a thoroughly honest 
 mind." — Lowe's Edinburoh Magazine. 
 
 By William Maccall. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF INDIVIDUALISM. 
 
 Post 8vo, 7s. Grf., cloth. 
 
 "It is a book worthy of perusal. Kven ' IndiriihinJixm a book of strong and gene- 
 fhose who can (ind no symiJalby with ils ral iiileresl."— ( V/7/c. 
 philosoiiby, will derive pleasure and iiii- " We have been singularly interested by 
 
 proveinent from the many ex<iuisite touches this book lleie is a siicaker and 
 
 of feelin^^ and the many pictures of beauty thinker vvboni we may securely feel to be a 
 which mark its jiatres. hirer ofhiitli, exhibiiiici in his work a 
 
 "The ex))aiisi\e philosophy, the jienetra- form and temper iif mind verv rare and 
 five intellect, and the general huiiianity of peculiar in our time." — Manchester i'x- 
 the author, have rendered The El v incuts t}J\ unilner. 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF TASTE, a Series of Lectures. By Williaji 
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 THE AGENTS OF CRILTZ.VTION. a Series of Lectures. By Wil- 
 
 LLUt Maccall. 12uio, '•is. Gt/., cloth. 
 
 AN IMiriliY CONCEUNIN(i TIIK OlIKilN OF CHItlSTIANITY. 
 
 By (jHARLEa C. Ui!:NNELL. Second Edition, 8vo, 125., cloth. 
 
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 A SECOND EDITION, WITH EXPLANATORY PREFACE. 
 
 THE NEMESIS OF EAITH. By J. a. Froude, M.A., late FeUow of 
 Exeter College, Oxford. Post 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 '"The Nemesis of FoUh' possesses the 
 first requisites of a book. It has power, 
 matter, and mastery of subject, with that 
 largeness which must arisefrmn the writer's 
 mind, and tliat individual cliaracter — those 
 truths of detail — which spring from expe- 
 rience or observafion. The pictures of an 
 English home in childhood, youih, and 
 early manhood, as well as the thoughts and 
 feelings of the student at Oxford, are 
 painied with feeling pervaded by a current 
 of thought: the reuiarks on the humbug of 
 the three learned prnfessioiis, more espe- 
 cially on the wiuldliness of the church, are 
 not mere declamaiiou, but the outpouring 
 of an earnest conviction : (he Picture of 
 Anglican Protestantism, dead to faith, to 
 love, and to almost everything but wealth- 
 worship, with the statement of the objects 
 that Newman first proposed to himself, 
 form the best defence of Traclarianism that 
 has appeared, tlK^ugh defence does not seem 
 
 to be the object of the author As 
 
 the main literary object is to display the 
 struggles of a mind with the growth and 
 grounds of opinion, incidents are subordi- 
 nate to the intellectual results that spring 
 from them : but there is no paucity of inci- 
 dent if the work be judged by its own 
 standard."— 6>eefn'f or. 
 
 "The most striking quality in Mr. 
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 before us, and have no sameness. His 
 quickness of eye is manifest equally in his 
 
 insight into human minds, and in his per- 
 
 cepfions of natural beauty The 
 
 style of the letters is everywhere charming. 
 The confessions of a Sceptic are often bril- 
 liant, and always touching. The closing 
 narrative is fluent, graphic, and only too 
 highly wrought in painful beauty." — Pro- 
 spective lierien-, Mmj, 1^4'J. 
 
 " The book becomes in its soul-burning 
 truthfulness, a quite invaluable record of 
 tlie fiery struggles and temptations through 
 which the youth of this nineteenth century 
 has to force its way in religious matters 
 
 Especially is it a great warning 
 
 and protest against three great falsehoods. 
 Against self-deluded word orthodoxy and 
 biljliolatry, setting up the Bible for a mere 
 dead idol instead of a living witness to 
 Christ. Against frothy philosophic Infi- 
 delity, merely chunking the chaft' of old 
 svslems for the chaff of new, addressing 
 rnen's intellects and ignoring their spirits. 
 Aaainst Tractarianism, trying to make 
 men all belief, as Strasburgers make geese 
 all liver, by darkness and cramming : 
 manufacturing state folly as the infidel 
 slate wisdom: deliberately giving the lie to 
 God, who has made man in his own image, 
 body, soul, and spirit, by making the two 
 first decrepit for the sake of pampering the 
 
 last Against these three falsehoods, 
 
 we say, does the book before us protest : 
 after its own mournful fashion, most 
 strongly when most unconsciously." — 
 Frazer's May., May, 1849. 
 
 THE PURPOSE OE EXISTENCE, Popularly considered, in relation 
 to the ORICxIN, DEVELOPMENT, and DESTINY of the HUMAN 
 MIND. Crowu 8vo, cloth, 7s. M. 
 
 "This singularly thoughtful essay em- much learning, and an eloquence and 
 braces a wide range of topics, but without elevation of style, peculiarly appropriate 
 ever departing from its proper theme. In to the loftiness of the subject-matter."— 
 the performance of his task, the author , Critic. 
 has displayed great power of reflection, I 
 
 GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF THE PHIT.OSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 With an Outline of some of its recent developments among th.3 Ger- 
 mans, embracing the Philosophical Systems of Schelling and Hegel, 
 and Oken's System of Nature, by J. B. St^vllo, A.M. Post 8vo, 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE PPiINCIPLES OF NATURE, HER DIVINE REVELATIONS, 
 
 AND A VOICE TO MANKIND. By and through Andrew Jack- 
 son Davis, the " Poughkeepsie Seer," and " Clah-voyaut." 2 vols. 
 large 8vo, cloth, 18s. 
 *»* The work consists of 800 pages, including a history of its production, 
 
 with a Biographical Sketch, and Portrait (engraved on Steel) of the 
 
 Author. 
 
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 ^Ife««^ 
 
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 THK IJFK OF TIIK RFT. JOSEPH BLANCO WIIITF, Written 
 
 by Hiiiisflf. Willi Portions of his Coircsponiience. L^ilited by JouN 
 Hamilton Tiiom. 3 vols. j)ost 8vo, 1/. is., cloth. 
 
 "This is n book wliicli rivets tlio atten- 
 tion, and inakt's tlit; liciut tilicd. It lias, 
 indciMl, with rcnaril to liiiiisclf, in its sul>- 
 gtance, tliout.'li not in its arrant^cnu'nt, an 
 nlnio>t ilniinutic clianutir : so clfurly and 
 Btroo'^ly is till' li\ in^, lliinkinK.activi' man 
 prnjiclcd liDni tliu I'ucu of tliu rfcords 
 whn-li lit' lias Ict't. 
 
 "His spirit was a battli'-fiold, upon 
 which, with, tInctuatinK forlnnc and sin- 
 gular intensity, the jiowers of belief and 
 scepticism wa'^eil, from first to last, their 
 unceasini; war; and within the comi>ass of 
 his experience are iireseiit<'d to our view 
 most of the (treat moral and sjiiritual 
 problpins tliat attach to the couditioii of 
 our race. — Qiiarfrrh/ Jlcriov. 
 
 "This hook will improve his (Blanco 
 White's) reputation. Tlieru is much in the 
 
 peculiar construction of his mind, in its 
 close union of the moral with the intellec- 
 tual faculties, and in its restless desire for 
 truth, wliiih may remind the reader of 
 Dr. Arnold." — JC.riniihifr. 
 
 "Tliere is a depth and force in this hook 
 wliirh tells." — Cliristiini Itiiiiriiiliriinrrr. 
 
 "These volumes have an interest beyond 
 the character of Iilanco^^'llite. And beside 
 the intrinsic int<'resl of his self-portraiture, 
 whose character is indicated in some of our 
 extracts, the correspondence, in the letters 
 of Lord Holland, Soiithey, Coleridge, 
 ('haiinim;, Nurton, Mill, Professor I'nwell, 
 Dr. Hawkins, and otiiernaincs of celebrity, 
 has considerable attractions in itself, with- 
 out any relation to the bioi;ra|ihical pur- 
 pose with wliich it was published." — i<jjcc- 
 tator. 
 
 LirE OF GOBFIIF.Y 
 
 12mo, 3s. 6(/., cloth. 
 
 "We commend this book, not only to 
 scholars ami men of science, but to all our 
 readers who love to conleinplato the life 
 and labours of a great ami nood man. It 
 merits the special notice of all who are in- 
 
 AV. YON LEIBNITZ. By j. m. Mackie. 
 
 terested in the business of eduention, and 
 deserves a place, by the side of Hicwster's 
 Life of Newton, in all the libraries of our 
 schools, academies, and literary institu- 
 tions." — Chrittiaii Watchman. 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE FEELl^fGS. 
 
 Second Edition. Post 8vo, cloth, 2s. Gd. 
 
 By Charles Bkay. 
 
 THREE EXFEIilMENTS OF LIVING ;—Wlthi.i the Means. Up to 
 the Means. Beyond the Means. Fcp. 8vo, ornamental cover and gilt 
 edges, is. 
 
 STOIiTES EOT] SUNDAY AFTEHNOONS. From the Creation to the 
 Advent of the Jlessiali. For the use of Children from u to 11 years of 
 age. By Mrs. Gkorge Dawson (late Miss Susan Fanny Crompton). 
 Ifimo, Is. Gd., cloth. 
 
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 HKe. It purposes to infuse into that tender 
 age Some actpiaintance with the facts, and 
 
 tJiste for the study of the Old Testa lit. 
 
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 yoniii;, ami in layini; the foiindalion of 
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 --^^^
 
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 HYMNS FOR THE CHRISTIM^ CHURCH MD HOME. Edited 
 
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 "In this little verse-pamphlet of some 
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 evidences of a true poet; of a fresh and 
 natural fount of genuine song; and of a 
 purpose and sympathy admirably suited to 
 
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 wise and charitable thounlits, many gene- 
 rous emotions, and muili i-iihn and quiet, 
 yet deep reflection." — Kxiiiiiiner. 
 
 " Remarkable for earnestness of thought 
 
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 TWO ORATIONS AGAINST TAKING AWAY HUMAN LIEE, 
 
 Under any Circumstances ; and in explanation and defence of the 
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 "Mr. Cooper possesses undeniable abili- 
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 worthy of all honour." — Noncoiifbnitist. 
 
 " Mr. Cooper's style is intensely clear 
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 ous." — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 " These two orations are thoroughly im- 
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 lately been making rapid progress in many 
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 interest in that great movement, we would 
 recommend this book, on account of the 
 fervid eloquence and earnest truthfulness 
 whicli pervades every line of it." — Man- 
 chester Examiner. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S KEY TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF SOCIALISM; 
 
 Being Hints and Aids towards an Analytical Enquiry into the Prin- 
 ciples of Social Progress, with a View to the Elucidation of the great 
 practical problem of the present day,— the Improvement of the Con- 
 dition of the Working Classes. In Ten Propositions, by Upsilon. 
 Post 8vo, paper cover, Is. 
 
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 mi. CUAl'MANS rUBLlCATIONS. 
 
 Tlll'l Dl'TY OF ENGIiAXI): a Protestant Layman's Reply to Cardinal 
 
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 " Till- ' I'rotcsliint I.iiyniiin ' aritups tlip loirical nrtrmnont, fri-e inniiiry, und free 
 (IMc'Stiiiii ill till' rinlit s|>iril. lie wiiiild tlimisilil, iiiibiiisseil by uutliority." — Miin- 
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 KCCLHSrASTfCAL I'HKTKNSIONS, I^OMISH AND KNGIJSH ; 
 
 with the Antidote which a Catholic Protestantism Supplies. A Tract 
 for the Times, being A SERMON, ])reached in Ucnshuw Struct Chai)c-1, 
 LivuriX)ol, Sunday, November 17, I8.J0. By Joun ILuulton Tiiom. 
 
 IIELIGION, TIIK CHURCH, AND THE PEOPLE. A sermon, 
 
 preached in Lcwin's Mead Chapel, Bristol, September 23rd, 1849, on 
 beh.ilf of The Ministry to the Poor in Bristol. By Jons Hamilton 
 Tuo.m. Published by lloijuest. 12mo, paper cover, jiricc Is. 
 
 THE PROSPECTIVE EEYIEW. 
 
 A Quarterly Journ.al of Theology and Literature, price 2s. Gd. 
 
 "ThfiPRoarBCTiVE Review is devoted 
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 of vi'rl)al iiispirutioii are not only d('|)ii» iiiur 
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 triiv interpretation, but even deslroyini; 
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 any letter, can reci'i>e the living.'/'//*' of 
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 that ' the exercise of the reasoning and 
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 enlarging views, are requisite to keep elive 
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 which makes Christianity hut a lifeless 
 
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 EELIGIOUS MYSTEEY CONSIDEEED. cioth, price 2.. 
 
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 GOD IX CHEIST. Discourses by Horace Bushnell. Iu 1 vol.. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. — Preliminary dissertation on the 
 nature of language as related 
 to thought and spirit. 
 II. — A discourse on the divinity of 
 Christ. 
 
 " Mr. Bushnell's dissertation is valuable 
 as giving us a perfect theoretical founda- 
 tion for those practical ettbrts to secure 
 peace and extend toleration which are now 
 making in the world." — Economist. 
 
 " The author of the discourses before us 
 
 III. — A discourse on the Atonement. 
 IV. — A discourse on Dogma and 
 
 Spirit ; or the true reviving of 
 
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 is original in that sense in which no faith- 
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 thought so. He is original in having gone 
 himself to the fountain-head of truth, in 
 spite of all imposing creeds and customs." 
 — Inquirer. 
 
 ^POPULAE CHEISTIANITY : its Transition State and probable 
 Development. By FnEDERiCK Foxton, A.B., formerly of Pembroke 
 College, Oxford, and perpetual Curate of Stoke Prior and Docklow, 
 Herefordshii-e. Cloth, 6s. 
 
 " Few writers are bolder, but his manner 
 is singularly considerate towards the very 
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 Willing for effect. But what most distin- 
 guishes him from many with whom he 
 may be compared is, the positiveness of 
 his doctrine. A prototype for his volume 
 may be found in that of the American, 
 Theodore Parker — the 'IJiscourse of Keli- 
 gion.' There is a great coincidence in the 
 train of ideas. Parker is more copious 
 and eloquent, but Foxton is far more 
 explicit, definite, and comprehensible in 
 his lae-diwrn^."— Spectator. 
 
 " He has a penetration into the spii-i(ual 
 desires and wanf^ of the age possil.le only 
 to one who pa'lakes of them, and he has 
 uttered llie most prophetic fact of our 
 religious condiiion, wiih a force of convic- 
 tion which itself gives confidence, that the 
 
 fact is as he sees it. His book appears to 
 us to contain many just and profound 
 views of the religious character of the 
 present age, and its indications of pro- 
 eress. He often touches a deep and fruit- 
 ful truth with a power and fulness that 
 leave nothing to be desired."— Pro«y?ecfJfe 
 Merieiv, ^"o>: 1849. 
 
 " It contains many passages that show a 
 warm aopreciation of the moral beauty of 
 Christianity, — written with considerable 
 power ."^ — Inquirer. 
 
 " . . . . with earnestness and eloquence." 
 — Critic. 
 
 " We must refer our readers to the work 
 itself, which is most ably written, and 
 evinces a spirit at once earnest, enlight- 
 ened, and liberal ; in a small compass he 
 presents a most lucid exposition of views, 
 many of them original, and supported by 
 arguments which cannot fail to create a 
 deep sensation in the religious world."- 
 Observer. 
 
 >v 
 
 -^^m^-]
 
 --'5^- 
 
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 THE CATHOLIC SER\ES— continued. 
 
 HKPKKSEXTATIYH MKN. 
 
 Wai.do K.mekson. Clotli, 5s. 
 
 "Mr. Knicrson's book is fnr us rallior I 
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 lie striiins after ctrrct by iiiiaiiit pbnisf- I 
 oloiiv— tlic novelty will (.'uin bim udiiiirers 
 iincr'readers. At tlie same time tliere is 
 guuil sterlinu stull' in bim ;— alreaily pos- 
 sessing n Kreat name in bis own country, 
 and beinRwell known to llie readini; world 
 of Kurope, bis present wiirk, gpeakini; of 
 men and tbinnswilb wliicb weare familiar, 
 will extend bis fame. It is more real and 
 material tban bis former volunii-s; more 
 pointedly written, more terse and pitby, 
 contains" many niw views, and is on tlie 
 whole botli a good and a readable book." j 
 
 "Tliere are many sentences tbat glitter 
 and sparkle like erystals in tbe sunlit;bt: 
 and many ihougbts, wbicli seem invoked 
 
 SEVEN LECTURES. By Ealph 
 
 by a stern pliilosopby from tlie depths of 
 tbe heart." — Wcehlij j\rirA. 
 
 "There is more practical sense and 
 wisdom to lie foiiml in it (this liook) than 
 in any of the Hooks lie has given to the 
 
 worlil, since his first When Kmer- 
 
 son keeps within liis de|)th, be scatters 
 nliout bim a great deal of true wisdom, 
 mingled with nmcli genuine poetry. There 
 is also a merit in bim wliicli it would be 
 ungrateful not to aeknriwledge; he has 
 made others think; be has directed the 
 minds of thousands to loftier exercises 
 than they had known before; he has 
 stimulated the rellective faculties of mul- 
 titudes, and thus led to inquiry, and 
 iiifpiiry certaiidy will conduct to truth." — 
 Critic. 
 
 MEMOm OF JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE. b, wt.- 
 
 LiAM Smith. Second Edition, cnliirged Cloth, 4s. 6f/. 
 
 in philosophical discussion since the time 
 
 of Luther Kiebtc's opinions may be 
 
 true or false; but bis character as a thinker 
 can be sliiiblly valued only by such as 
 know it ill; and us a man. approved by 
 action and siitl'eriner, in bis life and in his 
 death, be ranks with a class of men who 
 were common only in better ages than 
 0UV8."— State of German Literature, by 
 Tliomaa Carlylc. 
 
 " A Life of Ficbte, full of noble- 
 ness and instruction, of grand purpose, 
 
 tender feeling, and brave effort! 
 
 the compilation of wliieb is executed with 
 great judgment and fidelity." — I'rospec- 
 tire l!rrii;n\ 
 
 " We state Ficbte's character as it is 
 known and ailmitti'd by men of sdl parties 
 anioiig the (icrnians, when we say tbat so 
 robust un intellect, a soul so calm, so lofty, 
 massive, and immoveable, has not mingleu 
 
 THE WAY TOWAEDS THE BLESSED LIFE ; or, The 
 
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 WILIJAM VON 
 
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 HUMP,()L1)T'S LETTERS TO A FE- 
 
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 The work is in every way worthy of the 
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 "These admirable letters were, we believe, 
 first iiitrodui-ed to notice in Kiiglanil by 
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 boon was ever coiiterreii upon tbe r.nglish 
 reader than in tbe publicatinn of tb<' two 
 Voluines wliieli contain thisexcelleiit trans- 
 lation of William Humboldt's portion of 
 a lengtbeneil correspomlence with his 
 female friend." — Westminster and Fo- 
 reiijn Uiiarterlii Jterieir. 
 
 "The beautitiil series of W. Von Hum- 
 boldt's letters, now for tbe first time trans- 
 lated and published couijilete, possess not 
 
 only liisl" intrinsic interest, but an interest 
 arising from tlie very striking circum- 
 stances in which they originated 
 
 We wish we had space to verify our re- 
 marks. Hut we should not know where to 
 iiegin, or where to end; we have therefore 
 no all<riiati\e but to recommeml tin' entire 
 book to careful perusal, and to iiromise a 
 conliniiaiice of occasional extracts into 
 our columns from the beauties of thought 
 and feeling with which it abounds." — Man- 
 rlirster IC.nniii/ier nitd Tiiiiex. 
 
 " It is the fUily complete collection of 
 these remarkable letters, which has yet 
 been iiublisbed in Knglisb, and tbe transla- 
 tion is singularly perfect ; we have seldom 
 i( ad such a rendering of rierman thoughts 
 into llie Knglisb tongue."— Critic. 
 
 -<^*^^^- 
 
 ^^,:
 
 m^^ 
 
 -"^m^: 
 
 MR. CHAPIIAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE CATHOLIC SERIES— cowtowerf. 
 
 THE YOCATIOX OF MAN. By Jonj^ Gottlieb Fichte. 
 Translated froui the German, by William Sjiith. Cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 " In the progress of my present work, I 
 have taken a deeper glance into relision 
 than ever I did before. In me the emotions 
 of the heart proceed only from perfect in- 
 tellectual clearness;— it cannot be but that 
 the clearness I have now attained on this 
 subject shall also take possession of my 
 heart." — Fichte' s Corrr.ywndence. 
 
 " ' The Vocation of Man ' is, as Fichte 
 truly savs, intellis;ible to all readers who are 
 really able to understand a book at all ; 
 and as the history of the mind in its various 
 phases of doubt, knowled'ze, and faith, it is 
 of intei'est to all. A book of this stamp is 
 
 sure to teach you much, because it excites 
 thought. If it rouses you to combat his 
 conclusions, it has done a good work ; for 
 in that very etfort you are stirred to a con- 
 sideration of i)oints which have hitherto 
 escaped your indolent acquiescence." — 
 Foreign Quarterly. 
 
 "This is Fichte's most popular work, 
 and is every way remarkable." — Aflii-f. 
 
 "It .appears to us the boldest and most 
 emphatic attempt that has yet been made 
 to explain to man his restless and uncon- 
 querable desire to win the True and the 
 Eternal." — Sentinel. 
 
 THE CHAEACTEEISTICS OF THE PEESENT AGE. 
 
 By JoHANN Gottlieb Fichte. Translated fi-om the German, by Wil 
 LiAJi Smith. Cloth, 7s. 
 
 "A noble and most notable acquisition 
 to the literature of England." — JOouglas 
 Jcrrold's Weekly Paper. 
 
 " We accept these lectures as a true and 
 most admirable delineation of the present 
 age; and on this ground alone we should 
 bestow on them our heartiest recommend- 
 ation ; but it is because they teach us how 
 we may rise above (he age that we bestow 
 on them our most emphatic praise. 
 
 " He makes us tliink, and perhaps more 
 sublimely than we have ever formerly 
 thought, but it is only in order that we 
 may the more nobly act. 
 
 "As a majestic and most stirring utter- 
 ance from the lips of the greatest German 
 prophet, we trust that the book will find a 
 response in many an English soul, and 
 potently help to regenerate English society." 
 —The Critic. 
 
 THE YOGATION OF THE SCHOLAE. By johann gott- 
 
 LiEB Fichte. Translated from the German, by William Smith. 
 
 Cloth, 2s. ; paper cover, Is. 6d 
 
 presented to the public in a very neatform. 
 .... No class needs an earnest and sincere 
 spirit more than the literary class : and 
 therefore the ' Vocation of the Scholar,' the 
 ' Guide of the Human Race,' written in 
 Fichte's most earnest, most commanding 
 temper, will be welcomed in its English 
 dress by public writers, and be beneticial 
 to the cause of truth." — Economist. 
 
 "'The Vocation of the Scholar' 
 
 is distinguished by the same high moral 
 tone, and manly, vigorous expression which 
 characterize all Fichte's works in the Ger- 
 man, and is nothing lost in Mr. Smith's 
 clear, unembarrassed, and thoroughly Eng- 
 lish translation." — Douglas Jcrrold's 
 Ne/rspaper. 
 
 " We are glad to see this excellent trans- 
 lation of one of the best of Fichte's works 
 
 OX THE NATUEE OF THE SCHOLAE, AND ITS 
 
 MANIFESTATIONS. By Johann Gottlieb Fichte. Translated 
 from the German, by William Smith. Second Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " With great satisfaction we welcome 
 this tirst English translation of an author 
 who occupies the most exalted position as 
 a profound and original thinker; as an 
 irresistible orator in the cause of what he 
 believed to be truth ; as a thorouglily 
 honest and heroic man The appear- 
 ance of any of his works in our language 
 is, we believe, a perfect novelty. . . . These 
 orations are admirably fitted for their pur- 
 pose ; so grand is the position taken by the 
 lecturer, and so irresistible their eloquence." 
 — Examiner. 
 
 "Tliis work must inevitably arrest the 
 attention of the scientific physician, by the 
 grand spirituality of its doctrines, and the 
 
 pure morality it teaches Shall we be 
 
 presumptuous if we recommend these views 
 to our professional brethren? or if we say 
 to the enlightened, the thoughtful, the 
 serious. This — if you be true scholars — is 
 your Vocation? We know not a higlier 
 morality than tliis, or more noble principles 
 than these : they are full of truth." — British 
 and ForeignMedico-Chirurgical Review. 
 
 ^^^S^$^-
 
 ■ew^^- 
 
 -^^^M 
 
 MR. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE CATHOLIC SERIES— con/inwed. 
 
 THE POPULAli WOEKS OF JOHAXN GOTTLIEB 
 
 FICHTE. Cloth, 12s. per volume. 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 1. Memoir of the Author, by William Smith. 
 
 2. The Vocation of the Scholar. 
 
 3. The Nature of the Scholar. 
 
 4. The Vocation of Man. 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 
 
 1. The Characterisitics of the Present Age. 
 
 2. The Way towards the Blessed Life; or, the Doctrine of 
 
 Religion. 
 
 SERMONS OF CONSOLATION. By f. w. p. greenwood, 
 
 D.D. 3a-. cloth. 
 
 "This a ronlly dcliKlitfiil volume, which 
 wc would chiilly see vpioducing its purify- 
 ins; anil elemting intluences in all our 
 fuinilics." — Iiiijiiirrr. 
 
 " This beautiful volume we are sure will 
 
 meet with a prnteful reception from nil who 
 seek instruction on tlie topics most interest- 
 ing to a thoughtful mind. There are 
 twenty-seven sermons in the volume." — 
 Christian Examiner. 
 
 SELF-CULTUEE. 
 
 cover ; Is. cloth. 
 
 By WiLLiA.-Ni Elleuy Cn.\^'xiNG. Gd. paper 
 
 THE CEITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS WTJTINGS 
 
 OF THEODOHE PAHKER. Cloth, Gs. 
 
 " It will be seen from these extracts that 
 Theodore I'lirker is ii writer of coiisideriilile 
 power iind fresliness, if not oriiiiniility. Of 
 the school of t'arlyle, or riither taking the 
 same Ui'rman originals lor liis models, 
 Parker hiis a more sober style and a liss 
 tbeairic tusie. Mis composition wants the 
 grotescjiie animation and riclmess of Car- 
 lyle, l)ul it is vivid, slruiii;, and frciineiilly 
 piclurescue. wiili a Iniileriicss that the 
 great Scolcliman does not possess." — iSy;cc- 
 t(i(or. 
 
 "Viewing li>m o-s a most useful, as well 
 as hi:4!'lv-iiried man, we cordially welcome 
 the iiDOeiiiame of an lOnglisb reprint of 
 some of bis best productions. The Miscel- 
 laneous' I''eces are characterised by the 
 peculiar elo<|uence which is without a 
 parallel in the works of Knglish writers. 
 
 His Iang;uage is almost entirely flgunitive : 
 the glories of nature are pressed into his 
 service, and cunvcy bis most careless 
 llioiiglit. This is the i)riiicipul charm of 
 bis writings; bis eloqiK iice is altiigetbi'r 
 unlike that of the Knglish orator or 
 essayist; it partakes of the grandeur of the 
 forests in bis native land ; and we seem, 
 when listening to bis speech, to hear the 
 music of the woods, the rustling of the 
 jiiiie-lrees, and the ringing of the wood- 
 niaii's axe. In Ibis respect he resembles 
 Kmerson; but, unlike that celebrated inaiK 
 be never discourses audibly with himself, 
 in a language unknown to the world— he 
 is never obscure; the stream, though deep, 
 reveals the itlilleriiig gems which clusUir 
 so thickly on its bed."— i;i(/»/>Yr. 
 
 ^^&^ 
 
 --^^1
 
 MR. CHAPMAN'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE CATHOLIC SER\ES— continued. 
 
 THE LIFE OF JEAN PAUL FE. KICHTEE. compiled 
 
 from various sources. Together with his Autobiography, translated 
 from the German. Second Edition. Illustrated with a Portrait en- 
 gi-aved on Steel. Cloth, 7s. 6d. 
 
 "The autobiography of Richter, which 
 extends only to his twelfth year, is one of 
 the most interesting studies of a true poet's 
 childhood ever given to the world." — 
 Lowe's Edinburgh Magazine. 
 
 " Richter has an intellect vehement, 
 rugged, irresistible, crushing in pieces the 
 hardest problems ; piercing into the most 
 hidden combinations of things, and grasp- 
 ing the most distant ; an imagination vague, 
 sombre, splendid, or appalling, brooding 
 over the abysses of being, wandering through 
 infinitude, and summoning before us, in 
 its dim religious light, shapes of brilliancy, 
 solemnity, or terror; a fancy of exube- 
 rance literally unexampled, for it pours 
 its treasures with a lavishness which knows 
 no limit, hanging, like the sun, a jewel on 
 every grass-blade, and sowing the earth at 
 large ^vith orient pearls. But deeper than 
 all these lies humour, the ruling quality of 
 Richter — as it were the central tire that 
 pervades and vivifies his whole being. He 
 IS a humourist from his inmost soul ; he 
 thinks as a humourist; he imagines, acts, 
 feels as a humourist : sport is tlie element 
 in which his nature lives and works." — 
 Thomas Carhjle. 
 
 " With such a writer it is no common 
 treat to be intimately acquainted. In the 
 proximity of ^reat and virtuous minds we 
 imbibe a portion of their nature — feel, as 
 mesmerists say, a healthful contagion, are 
 braced with the same spirit of faith, hope, 
 and patient endurance — are furnished with 
 data for clearing up and working out the 
 intricate problem of life, and are inspired, 
 like them, with the prospect of immortality. 
 No reader of sensibility can rise from the 
 
 Eerusal of these volumes without becoming 
 oth wiser and better." — Atlas. 
 " Apart from the interest of the work, as 
 the life of Jean Paul, the reader learns 
 something of German life and German 
 thought, and is introduced to Weimar 
 during its most distinguished period — 
 when Goethe, Schiller, Herder, and Wie- 
 land, the great fixed stars of Germany, in 
 conjunction with Jean Paul, were there, 
 surrounded by beautiful and admiring 
 
 women, of the most refined and exalted 
 natures, and of princely rank. It is full 
 of passages so attractive and valuable that 
 it IS difficult to make a selection as ex- 
 amples of its character." — Inqvirer. 
 
 "The work is a useful exfiibition of a 
 great and amiable man, who, possessed of 
 the kindliest feelings, and the most bril- 
 liant fantasy, turned to a high purpose 
 that humour of which Rabelais is the great 
 grandfather, and Sterne one of the line of 
 ancestors, and contrasted it with an exalta- 
 tion of feeling and a rhapsodical poetry 
 which are entirely his own. Let us hope 
 that it will complete the work Isegun by 
 Mr. Carlyle's Essays, and cause Jean Paul 
 to be really read in this country."— £0:- 
 aminer. 
 
 " Richter is exhibited in a most amiable 
 light in this biography — industrious, 
 frugal, benevolent, with a child-like sim- 
 plicity of character, and a heart overflow- 
 ing with the purest love. His letters to 
 his wife are beautiful memorials of true 
 affection, and the way in which he perpe- 
 tually speaks of his children shows that he 
 was the most attached and indulgent of 
 fathers. Whoever came within the spiiere 
 of his companionship appears to have con- 
 tracted an atfectiiin for him that death only 
 dissolved : and while his name was re- 
 sounding through Germany, he remained 
 as meek and humble as if he had still been 
 an unknown adventurer on Parnassus." — 
 The Appreatice. 
 
 "The life of Jean Paul is a charming 
 piece of biography which draws and rivets 
 the attention. The affections of the reader 
 are fixed on the hero with an intensity 
 rarely bestowed on an historical character. 
 It is impossible to read this biography 
 without a conviction of its integrity and 
 truth; and though Richter's style is more 
 difi3cult of translation than that of any 
 other German, yet we feel that his golden 
 thoughts have reached us pure from the 
 mine, to which he has given that impress 
 of genius whicli makes them current in all 
 countries."— 67tri6<j«/4 Reformer. 
 
 THE EATIONALE OF EELIGIOUS INQUIEY ; or, the 
 
 Question stated, of Reason, the Bible, and the Church. By Ja3ies 
 Maetineau. Third Edition. With a Critical Lecture on Rationalism, 
 Miracles, and the Authority of Scripture, by the late Rev. Joseph 
 Blanco White. As. paper cover ; 4s. Qd. cloth. 
 
 ^lae^^ 
 
 -^ 
 
 '^^^\
 
 ^^§S^: 
 
 MR. CIIArMAN-S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE CATHOLIC SERIES-co««nu«d. 
 
 THE rnTLOSOIiry of AKT. a., Omtion on the Relation of 
 the Plastic Arts to Xature. Translated from the German of V. W. J. 
 VON SciiELLiNo, by A. JuUNsoN. Is. paper cover ; Is. Gd. cloth. 
 
 "This pxcellont oration is an application 
 to art of ScliflliiiK's Bcncral pliilosi>i)liiu 
 princi|)li'S. SclicllinK tuki-s tlie l)olcl coursp. 
 unci ili'ciiiros timt wliat is ordinarily called 
 liaturi' is not tlir siiiiiiiilt of (KTl'i'ilion, Imt 
 is only tlio inailrcjuatc nianircstatioii of a 
 hii^h idea, wliicli it is tlic otKcc of man to 
 penetrate. The true astronomer is not lie 
 who notes down laws and causes which 
 were never revealed to sensuous or);ans, 
 and which are often opposed to the prhnii 
 fiiiie inllnenees of sensuous olisiTvers. 
 The true artist is not he who merelv imi- 
 tates an isolated ohjeet in nature, hut he 
 who can penetrate into the unseen essence 
 that lurks heliind the visilile crust, and 
 afterwards reproduce it in a visihle form. 
 In the surroundins; world means and enils 
 are clashed und jarred togetliur; iu the 
 
 work of art the heteroRenoous is pzcliidpd, 
 
 und a unity is attained not to he found 
 elsewhere. Schellintt, in his oration, chiefly, 
 not exclusively, reirards the arts of paintini; 
 anil sculpture; hut his ri'inarks will equally 
 apply to others, such as iioetry an<l music. 
 This oraticm of SchelUni;'s deserves an 
 extensive perusal. The translation, with 
 the exception of a few trilling inaccuracies, 
 is adiniraldy done hy .Mr. .lohnson; unu 
 we know of no work in our lan^uuKC 
 hetler suited to cive a notion of tlie turn 
 which tiernian philosophy took after it 
 ahandoned the sulijeclivily of Kant und 
 Kichte. The notion will, of course, he u 
 faint one; hut it is something to know the 
 lalitnde and lonv,itudc of a mental posi- 
 tion." — Examiner. 
 
 ESSAYS. BY E. W. EMl-.ESOX. (Second Series.) With a 
 Notice by Thomas Caki.yi.e. 3s. paper cover ; 3s. 6rf. cloth. 
 
 "The difficulty we find In pivinK a proper 
 notice of this volume arises from the i)er- 
 vadinirness of its excellence, anil the com- 
 pression of its matter. \\'M\ more learning 
 than Hazlilt, more perspicuity than C'ar- 
 lyle, more vinour and depth of tlioutrht 
 than Addison, and with as much orii.'in:ility 
 and fascination asaiiy of them, this \olunu' 
 is a hrilliant addition to the Table Talk of 
 intellectual men, he they who or wliere 
 they may." — Proxiiri'tirr Jtrririr. 
 
 "Jlr. Kmerson is not a ciiinmoii man, 
 and everything he writes contains sutttres- 
 tive matter of much thought und eurnest- 
 ness." — K.vinniiiC)'. 
 
 "That Kmerson is, in a high degree, 
 po.ssessed of the faculty and vision of the 
 Sfrr, none can douht who will earnestly 
 and with a kind and reverential sjiiri't 
 peruse tliese nine ICs-ays. lie deals only 
 with llie true and the eternal. His piercing 
 gaze at once shoots ssviftly, surely, through 
 the outward and the siiperiicial, to the 
 inmost causes and \vorkiie.:s. Any one can 
 tell the tinu' who looks on the face of the 
 clock, hut he loves to lay hare the machinery 
 and show its moving principle. His words 
 and his thoughts are a fresh spriiiK, tliat 
 invigorates the soul that is steeped therein. 
 Ills mind is ever ilealing with the eternal; 
 and those who only live to exercise their 
 lower intellectual faculties, and desire only 
 new facts und new images, and tho.se who 
 
 have not a feeling or an interest In the great 
 question of mind and matter, eternity ami 
 nature, will disregard him as unintelligihie 
 and iniiiilerestiii'..', as they do liucon and 
 I'lato, and, iiiilriil, philosophy itself." — 
 Dininliis ./rn(>li/'.i M/ii/iiziiic. 
 
 " lliyoiid social scieni-e, hecause beyond 
 and outside social existence, there lies the 
 science of self, the development of man in 
 his individual existence, within jiimself 
 and for himself. Of this latter science, 
 which may perhaps be called the philo- 
 sophy of individuality, .Mr. Kmerson is an 
 able apostle and interpreter."— /.crtf/i/f. 
 
 " As regarils the particular volume of 
 ICmkuson before us, we think it un im- 
 juoveinent upon the tirst series of essays. 
 I'he subjects are hi Iter chosen. Tliey come 
 home more to the experience of the mass 
 of inaiikiiid, and are consei|uently more 
 interesting. Their treatment also iiidicutes 
 un artistic improvement in the composi- 
 tion." — Spectator. 
 
 All lovers of literature will read Mr. 
 Kmersiiii's new voliiuie, as the most of 
 them have read his former one; and if 
 correct taste, and sober views of life, and 
 Mich ideas on the higher subjectsof thought 
 I as we have been accustomed to account as 
 ' triilhs, are sometimes oiilraired, we at least 
 meet at every step with oriuinality, iinui;i- 
 iiation, und elonuencc."— i/K/n/rpr. 
 
 ■t&^^ 
 
 'k^ 
 
 -^m^
 
 
 
 nrnttrrijntinn nf tjii^ CntjiDlir Inirs 
 
 BY THE PRESS. 
 
 " The various works composing the ' Catholic Series,' should be known 
 to all lovers of literature, and may be recommended as calculated to in- 
 struct and elevate by the proposition of noble aims and the inculcation of 
 noble truths, furnishing reflective and cultivated minds with more whole- 
 some food than the nauseous trash which the popular tale-writers of the 
 day set before their readers." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " Too much enconi-agement cannot be given to enterprising publications 
 like the present. They are directly in the teeth of popjular prejudice and 
 popular trash. They are addressed to the higher class of readers — those 
 who think as well as read. They ai-e works at which ordinary publishers 
 shudder as ' unsaleable,' but which are really capable of finding a verj- 
 large public." — Foreign Quurterhj. 
 
 " The works already published embrace a great variety of subjects, and 
 display a great variety of talent. They are not exclusively, nor even chiefly, 
 religious ; and they are from the pens of German, French, American, 
 as well as English authors. Without reference to the opinion which they 
 contain, we may safely say that they are generally such as all men of free 
 and philosophical minds would do well to know and ponder." — Noncon- 
 formist. 
 
 " This series deserves attention, both for what it has already given, and 
 for what it promises." — Tait's Magazine. 
 
 " A series not intended to represent or maintain a form of opinion, but 
 to bring together some of the works which do honour to our common 
 nature, by the genius they disi^lay, or by their ennobling tendency and 
 lofty aspirations." — Inquirer. 
 
 " It is highly creditable to Mi\ Chapman to find his name in connexion 
 with so much ^'ell -directed enterprise in the cause of German literature 
 and philosophy. He is the first publisher who seems to have proposed to 
 himself the worthy object of introducing the English reader to the philo- 
 sophic mind of Germanj-, uninfluenced by the tradesman's distrust of the 
 marketable nature of the article. It is a very praiseworthy ambition ; and 
 we trust the public will justify his confidence. Nothing could be more un- 
 worthy than the attempt to discourage, and indeed punish, such unselfish 
 enterjjrise, by attaching a bad reputation for orthodoxy to everything con- 
 nected with "German philosophy and theology. This is especially unworthy 
 in the ' student,' or the ' scholar,' to borrow Fichte's names, who should dis- 
 dain to set themselves the task of exciting, by their friction, a popular pre- 
 judice and clamour on matters on which the populace are no competent 
 judges, and have, indeed, no judgment of their own, — and who should feel, 
 as men themselves devoted to thought, that what makes a good book is 
 not that it should gain its reader's acquiescence, but that it should multiiily 
 his mental experience; that it should acquaint him with the ideas which 
 philosophers and scholars, reared by a training (UMerent from their own, 
 have laboriously reached and devoutly entertain ; that, in a word, it should 
 enlarge his materials and his sympathies as a man and a thinker." — Pro- 
 spective Review. 
 
 " A series of serious and manly publications." — Economist. 
 
 V 
 
 -^0^ '^m'
 
 --*«ft^] 
 
 NOW READY, 
 
 No. I. 
 
 OF 
 
 ibravi) for tijc |!copIc: 
 
 "SKETCHES OF EUEOPEAN CAl'IIALS," 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM WARE, M.D., 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ZENOBIA ; OR. LETTERS FROM PALMYRA," " ACRELIAN," BTC. 
 
 Post 8vo, ornamental cover, price Is. 
 
 In the press, and ■will be published Xov. 1st, 
 
 No. IL 
 "LITEEATUHE AND LIFE." 
 
 LECTURES BY 
 
 EDWIN W WIHTPLE, 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Lecture I. Authors in their Relations 
 
 to Lil'c. 
 „ II. Novels and Novelists — 
 
 Cliarlc's Dickens. 
 „ III. Wit iind Humor. 
 
 Lecture IV. The Ludicrous Side of 
 
 Life. 
 „ V. Genius. 
 „ VI. Intellectual Health .and 
 
 Disease. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN CHAPMAN, 142, STRAND. 
 
 MDCCCLI.
 
 r* 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara College Library 
 Santa Barbara, California 
 
 ; __ Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 
 f ^C^ TThis book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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