Chapter II

§ 43. Science and Sin

The subjective character which is inseparable from all spiritual science, in itself would have nothing objectionable in it, if it had not been given a most dangerous exponent by sin. If there were no sin, nor any of its results, the subjectivity of A would merely be a variation of the subjectivity in B. In virtue of the organic affinity between the two, their subjectivity would not be mutually antagonistic, and the sense of one would harmoniously support and confirm the sense of the other. In the days of the Reformation, the impulse that impelled so many thousands to reform was preponderantly subjective. But the fact that in all these subjects a common conviction aimed at a common end, accounts for the irresistible force that was born from the cooperation of these many subjectivities. But, alas, such is not the case in the domain of science. It is all too often evident, that in this domain the natural harmony of subjective expression is hopelessly broken; and for the feeding of scepticism this want of harmony has no equal. By an investigation of self and of the cosmos you have obtained a well-founded scientific conviction, but when you state it, it meets with no response from those who, in their way, have investigated with equally painstaking efforts; and not only is the unity of science broken, but you are shaken in the assurance of your conviction. For when you spoke your conviction, you did not mean simply to give expression to the insight of your own ego, but to the universal human insight; which, indeed, it ought to be, if it were wholly accurate.

But of necessity we must accept this hard reality, and in every theory of knowledge which is not to deceive itself, the fact of sin must henceforth claim a more serious consideration. Naturally the terrible phenomenon of sin in its entirety can have no place in these introductory sections. This belongs in Theology to the section on sin (locus de peccato). But it is in place here to state definitely that sin works its fatal effects also in the domain of our science, and is by no means restricted to what is thelematic (i.e. to the sphere of volition). What the Holy Scripture calls, in Eph. iv. 17, 18, the "vanity of the mind," the "having the understanding darkened, because of the ignorance that is in them," even precedes the being "alienated from the life of God because of the hardening of their heart." Even without entering too deeply into the theological construction of this phenomenon, it may fearlessly be stated, (1) that falsehood in every sense and form is now in the world. And since more than one spiritual science hangs almost exclusively upon personal communications, and since in consequence of "falsehood" all absolute warrant for the trustworthiness of these data be wanting, it is sufficiently evident how greatly the certainty of these sciences suffers loss in consequence of sin. This will be more fully shown in our study of the conception of "truth." For the present this single suggestion must suffice. (2) Alongside of this actual falsehood we have the unintentional mistake, in observation and in memory, as well as in the processes of thought. These mistakes may be reduced by manifold verifications to a minimum in the material sciences, but can never be absolutely avoided, while in the spiritual sciences they practise such usury that escape from their influence is impossible. (3) Self-delusion and self-deception are no less important factors in this process, which renders nothing so rare as a scientific self-knowledge, a knowledge of your own person and character in more than a hypothetical form. Since almost all deeper studies of the spiritual sciences start out from the subjective image which we reflect of ourselves in our own consciousness, it needs no further proof how injuriously with the students of these sciences this selfdelusion and self-deception must affect their studies and the final results. (4) A fourth evil resides in our imagination. In a normal condition the self-consciousness would be able at once accurately to indicate the boundary line between wbat enters into 'our consciousness from the real world without, and what is wrought in our consciousness by our imagination. But this boundary line is not only uncertain because of sin, but in strongly impassioned natures it is sometimes absolutely undiscoverable, so that phantasy and reality frequently pass into one another. The difficulty does not consist merely in the uncertainty or in the destruction of this boundary line; the imagination itself is in an abnormal condition. In one it works too weakly, in another it is over-excited. When it is over-excited, it retains its imperfect images, subjects our minds to the dominion of these images, falsifies thereby our self-consciousness, so that the deliverance of our inner selves is lost in this imagery. This imaginary world will then assert its dominion over us, and weaken the susceptibility in us for knowledge of ourselves and of the cosmos. (5) Equally injurious are the influences which this abnormal element in the condition of other minds exerts upon us, since this evil, which by itself is already enough of a hindrance, is thereby given a coefficient. Not only are we subject to these influences from infancy, but our education frequently tends intentionally to give them domination over us. Language also adds its contribution. All kinds of untruths have entered into our every-day speech, and the names and words we use unconsciously mould our self-consciousness. The proverbs and common sayings (Schlagworter) which from our youth up we have adopted as a sort of axioms affect us no less strongly. "Truth defends itself" is what the ancients said, and theologians of the ethical color take up the refrain, but do not perceive that by this very thing our outlook upon history is blurred and our sense of duty weakened. Even in theological interests such an adage is bound to effect its fallacious influence, in causing the transcendence of God to be lost to our sense in a mere pantheistic consideration. Add to this the several ideas and current expressions

approved by the spirit of the times and inculcated in us, in the face of the fact that they are fallacious, and it becomes clear that our mind, which of itself lies ensnared in all manner of deceptions, is threatened to be entirely misled. (6) The effects worked by sin through the body claim here an equal consideration. In consequence of sin there is really no one in a normal bodily condition. All sorts of wrong and sickly commotions bestir themselves in our body and work their effect in our spiritual dispositions. They make one to tend strongly to the material, and another too strongly to the acosmic. They will make A a pessimist, and B a light-hearted optimist. They also modify the judgment upon history, for instance, according to the influences which we see at work upon persons. (7) Stronger still, perhaps, is the influence of the sin-disorganized relationship» of life,—an influence which makes itself especially felt with the pedagogic and the social sciences. He who has had his bringing-up in the midst of want and neglect will entertain entirely different views of jural relationships and social regulations from him who from his youth has been bathed in prosperity. Thus, also, your view of civil right would be altogether different, if you had grown up under a despotism, than if you had spent the years of early manhood under the excesses of anarchism. To which (8) this is yet to be added, that the different parts of the content of our consciousness affect each other, and no one exists atomistically in his consciousness. This entails the result that the inaccuracies and false representations which you have gleaned from one realm of life, affect injuriously again the similarly mixed ideas which you have made your own from another domain. And so this evil indefinitely multiplies. Especially the leading thought which we have formed in that realm of life that holds our chiefest interests, exercises a mighty dominion upon the whole content of our consciousness, viz. our religious or political views,— what used to be called one's life- and world-view, by which the fundamental lines lie marked out in our consciousness. If, then, we make a mistake, or a single inaccurate move, how can it fail but communicate itself disastrously to our entire scientific study?

All this refers merely to the formal working of sin upon our mind. But this is not all. Sin also works upon our consciousness through an endless variety of moral motives. "Everybody preaches for his own parish" (chacun preche pour sa paroisse) is the simple expression of the undeniable truth that our outlook upon things is also governed by numerous personal interests. An Englishman will look upon the history of the Dutch naval battles with the British fleet very differently from a Netherlandish historian; not because each purposely desires to falsify the truth, but because both are unconsciously governed by national interests. A merchant will naturally hold different views concerning free trade, fair trade and protection, from the manufacturer, simply because self-interests and trade-interests unconsciously affect his views. A Roman Catholic has an entirely different idea of the history of the Reformation from a Protestant's, not because he purposely violates the truth, but simply because without his knowing it his church interests lead him away from the right path. Thus our physicians will readily be inclined to think differently from the patients about the free practice of medicine; the jurist will judge the jury differently from the free citizen; a man of noble birth will maintain a different attitude toward democratic movements from that of a man of the people. These are. all moral differences, which are governed by self-interests, and which sometimes work consciously and lead to the violation of conscience, but which generally govern the result of our studies unconsciously and unknown to us.

No word has yet been said of that third class of influences which are essentially sinful because they result from the injurious effect worked by sin immediately upon our nature. The Christian Church confesses this to be the darkening of the understanding; which does not mean that we have lost the capacity of thinking logically, for as far as the impulse of its law of life is concerned, the logica has not been impaired by sin. When this takes place, a condition of insanity ensues. It must be granted that sin has weakened the energy of thought, so that in all the fulness of its glories this wondrous gift manifests itself only now and then in a rare athlete; and it must be acknowledged that sin all too often makes us the victims of a false and an apparently logical, but in reality very unlogical, reasoning; but man as man, or, if you please, the universal human consciousness, is always able to overcome this sluggishness and to correct these mistakes in reasoning. No, the darkening of the understanding consists in something else, and would be better understood if we called it the darkening of our conicioumess. Over against sin stands love, the sympathy of existence, and even in our present sinful conditions the fact is noteworthy, that where this sympathy is active you understand much better and more accurately than where this sympathy is wanting. A friend of children understands the child and the child life. A lover of animals understands the life of the animal. In order to study nature in its material operations, you must love her. Without this inclination and this desire toward the object of your study, you do not advance an inch. Hence there is nothing problematic in the fact that the Holy Scripture presents man in his original state before he fell as having both by sympathy and affinity a knowledge of nature, which is entirely lost by us. And this is significant in every department of study. Sin is the opposite of love. It has robbed us, speaking generally, of all seeking sympathy, only to leave us this seeking love within some single domain, and that in a very defective form. But, taken as a whole, standing over against the cosmos as its object, our mind feels itself isolated; the object lies outside of it, and the bond of love is wanting by which to enter into and learn to understand it. This fatal effect of sin must naturally find its deeper reason in the fact that the life harmony between us and the object has been disturbed. What once existed organically, exists now consequently as foreign to each other, and this estrangement from the object of our knowledge is the greatest obstacle in the way to our knowledge of it.

But there is more. The disorganization which is the result of sin consists not merely in the break in the natural life-harmony between us and the cosmos, but also in a break in the life-harmony in our own selves. More than one string has been strung upon the instrument of our heart, and each string has more than one tone. And its condition is normal only when the different motives and tones of our heart harmoniously affect one another. But such is no longer the case. Disharmony rules in our innermost parts. The different senses, in the utterances of our inner selves, affect each other no longer in pure accord, but continually block the way before each other. Thus discord arises in our innermost selves. Everything has become disconnected. And since the one no longer supports the other, but antagonizes it, both the whole and its parts have lost their purity. Our sense of the good, the true, the beautiful, of what is right, of what is holy, has ceased to operate with accuracy. In themselves these senses are weakened, and in their effect upon each other they have become mixed. And since it is impossible, in the spiritual sciences, to take one forward step unless these senses serve us as guides, it readily appears how greatly science is obstructed by sin.

And finally, the chiefest harm is the ruin, worked by sin, in those data, which were at our command, for obtaining the knowledge of God, and thus for forming the conception of the whole. Without the sense of God in the heart no one shall ever attain unto a knowledge of God, and without love, or, if you please, a holy sympathy for God, that knowledge shall never be rich in content. Every effort to prove the existence of God by so-called evidences must fail and has failed. By this we do not mean that the knowledge of God must be mystic; for as soon as this knowledge of God is to be scientifically unfolded, it must be reproduced from our thinking consciousness. But as our science in no single instance can take one forward step, except a bridge is built between the subject and the object, it cannot do so here. If thus in our sense of self there is no sense of the existence of God, and if in our spiritual existence there is no bond which draws us to God, and causes us in love to go out unto him, all science is here impossible. If, now, experience shows that this sense has not worn away entirely, and that this impulse has not ceased altogether, but that, in virtue of its own motive, sin has weakened this sense to such an extent as to render it oftentimes unrecognizable, and has so falsified this impulse, that all kinds of religious emotions go hand in hand with hatred of God, it is plain that every scientific reproduction of the knowledge of God must fail, as long as this sense remains weakened and this impulse falsified in its direction. From which it follows at the same time that the knowledge of the cosmos as a whole, or, if you please, philosophy in a restricted sense, is equally bound to founder upon this obstruction wrought by sin. Suppose that you had succeeded in attaining an adequate knowledge of all the parts of the cosmos, the product of these results would not yet give you the adequate knowledge of the whole. The whole is always something different from the combination of its parts. First because of the organic relation which holds the parts together; but much more because of the entirely new questions which the combination of the whole presents: questions as to the origin and end of the whole; questions as to the categories which govern the object in its reflection in your consciousness; questions as to absolute being, and as to what non-cosmos is. In order to answer these questions, you must subject the whole cosmos to yourself, your own self included; in order to do this in your consciousness you must step out from the cosmos, and you must have a starting-point (So? fioi irov O-tw) in the noncosmos; and this is altogether impossible as long as sin confines you with your consciousness to the cosmos.

From which it by no means follows, that you should sceptically doubt all science, but simply that it will not do to omit the fact of sin from your theory of knowledge. This would not be warranted if sin were only a thelematic conception and therefore purely ethic; how much less, now, since immediately as well as mediately, sin modifies so largely all those data with which you have to deal in the intellectual domain and in the building-up of your science. Ignorance wrought by sin is the most difficult obstacle in the way of all true science.

§ 44. Truth

In a preceding section reference has already been made to the grave significance to scientific investigation of the conception which one forms of "truth." This significance can now be considered more closely in relation to the fact of sin. It will not do to say that seeking after truth is directed exclusively against the possibility of mistake. He who in good faith has made a mistake, has been inaccurate but not untrue. Falsehood is merely a milder expression for the lie, and the search after truth has no other end in view than escape from the fatal power of what Christ called the lie (to i/rewSo?). This does not imply that "the mistake" does not stand equally related to sin. The former section tried to prove the contrary. But if the unconscious mistake stands in causal relation to sin, this relation is entirely different from what it is with the lie. The Holy Scripture teaches us to recognize an unholy principle in the lie, from which a caricature (Zerrbild) of all things is born, and the fatherhood of this lie is pointed out to us in Satan. In John viii. 44, we read: "The devil speaketh a lie — for he is a liar and the father thereof." This theological explanation need not detain us now, but it cannot be denied that a false representation of the real has made its way into almost every department of life; that with a closer investigation these several false representations appear to stand in an organic relation; and that a hidden impelling power is at work within this entire domain of the false and the untrue, which arouses our righteous indignation and bears a sinful character for our consciousness. The form of this spuriousness is not constant. It often happens that certain general ideas govern public opinion for a long time and then become discredited; that they maintain themselves a little longer with the less educated masses; and finally pass away altogether, so that he who still holds them is out of date. But with this shedding of its skin the serpent does not die. And Proteus-like, the false and untrue reappear in a new form, and the battle of life and death between truth and falsehood begins anew. Obviously, therefore, the lie is no mistake, nor a temporary dominating untruth, but a power, which affects injuriously the consciousness of man, and not merely puts into his hands phantasy for reality, and fiction for history, but intentionally brings into our mind a representation of existing things which proscribes reality, with the avowed aim of estranging us from it.

In this condition of affairs a holy interest is at stake in this struggle for the truth. This conflict does not aim at the correction of simple mistakes in the representation, neither does it combat prejudice, nor rectify inaccuracies; but it arrays itself against a power, which ever in a new form entangles our human consciousness in that which is false, makes us servants to falsehood, and blinds us to reality. Thus the saying of Christ, "I am the truth," has a deep significance; since he alone possessed such spiritual power of resistance that he was able to withdraw himself absolutely from the dominion of the false. The word "lie" itself confirms this interpretation. In our daily life this evil word is almost never used in circles where the lie is contraband; while on the other hand, in circles which, alas, admit the lie as a common weapon of defence, the contention for true or untrue is constantly in order with the reproachful epithet of "you lie." If you think of life in heaven, you perceive at once that every effort to establish truth falls away. Who would enter the arena in behalf of truth, in a place where the lie is not conceivable? Neither can truth have had a place among the conceptions which were originally common to man in the state of his innocence. As long as sin had not entered the heart, there could be no impulse to defend truth against the lie which had as yet no existence. In entire accordance with this the Scriptural narrative of the fall presents Satan as the first to whisper the lie, that what God had said was not true, and that moment marks the beginning of the conflict for the truth.

Hence it is none too strongly said, that the struggle for "truth" is legitimately only a result of sin. Science is entirely different from truth. If you imagine our human development without sin, the impulse to know and understand the cosmos, and by this knowledge to govern it, would have been the same; but there would have been no search after truth, simply because there could have been no danger of relying upon falsehood as a result of investigation. In our sinful condition, however, while the human consciousness is constantly ensnared in falsehood, from the very nature of the case science has the twofold calling, not only to investigate and understand the object, but also to banish the false representations of it.

But this is easier said than done, and as soon as you leave the material domain you see different men, who from their point of view are honest in their purposes, and whose talents for investigation are fairly equal, arrive at as many different and sometimes directly opposite results. This is less to be feared in the domain of pure matter, at least as long as one confines himself to the mere statement of what has been observed, and draws no inferences from his observations. As soon, however, as investigations reach the point where the reinforced eye and ear are no longer able to observe with absolute certainty, disputes may arise, though this has nothing to do with falsehood; and when, after all the applause that hailed Dr. Koch's preparation for tuberculosis, it was shown that this preparation not only failed of its purpose, but even caused injurious effects, he had to acknowledge it. When facts spoke, illusion was ended. It is entirely different, however, when one comes in contact with the non-material domain of life. The science of statistics, on which it was thought we could so safely build, is shown to be largely untrustworthy. And when we enter the domain of the real spiritual sciences, the most objective observation, such as the examination of documents, and the statement of a few tangible facts, are scarcely ended, but ideas everywhere separate, and there is no more objective certainty to compel universal homage, which can bring about a unity of settled result. This is not found in the domain of psychology; or of philosophy in the narrower sense; or of history; or of law; or in any spiritual domain whatever. Because here the subjective factor becomes preponderant; and this subjective factor is dependent upon the antithesis between falsehood and truth; so that both the insight into the facts and the structure which one builds upon this insight must differ, and at length become, first contrary and then contradictory.

The fatality of the antithesis between falsehood and truth consists in this, that every man from his point of view claims the truth for himself, and applies the epithet of "untrue" to everything that opposes this. Satan began by making God the liar and by presenting himself as the speaker of truth. And for our demonstration this applies more emphatically still to the custom among men; especially since in this section we speak exclusively of those persons who devote themselves to scientific research. Though we grant that in science also wilful mutilation of facts is not altogether wanting, it must be accepted, as a rule, that he who announces himself as a man of science is disposed to take things as they are, and to deal with them accordingly. Nobody writes a scientific thesis with the purpose of propagating falsehood; the purpose of all scientific labor is to champion the truth. And from this very fact it follows that where two scientific men arrive at directly opposite results, each will see the truth in his own result, and falsehood in the result of his opponent, and both will deem it their duty to fight in the defence of what seems to them the truth, and to struggle against what seems to them the lie. If this concerns a mere point of detail, it has no further results; but if this antithesis assumes a more universal and radical character, school will form itself against school, system against system, world-view against worldview, and two entirely different and mutually exclusive representations of the object, each in organic relation, will come at length to dominate whole series of subjects. From both sides it is said: "Truth is with us, and falsehood with you." And the notion that science can settle this dispute is of course entirely vain, for we speak of two all-embracing representations of the object, both of which have been obtained as the result of very serious scientific study.

If the objection be raised that science has cleared away whole series of fallacious representations, we repeat this concerned the forms only in which the lie for a time lay concealed, but that that same lie, and therefore the same antithesis against truth, is bound to raise its head in new forms with indestructible power. All sorts of views, which for centuries have been considered dead, are seen to vine again resuscitated in our age. As far as principle is concerned and the hidden impulse of these antitheses, there is nothing new under the sun; and he who knows history and men, sees the representatives of long-antiquated world-views walk our streets to-day, and hears them lecture from the platform. The older and newer philosophers, the older and newer heresies, are as like each other, if you will pardon the homely allusion, as two drops of water. To believe that an absolute science in the above-given sense can ever decide the question between truth and falsehood is nothing but a criminal self-deception. He who affirms this, al\vays takes science as it proceeds from his own subjective premises and as it appears to him, and therefore eo ipso stigmatizes every scientific development which goes out from other premises as pseudo-science, serviceable to the lie. The antithesis of principles among Theism, Pantheism, and Atheism dominates all the spiritual sciences in their higher parts, and as soon as the students of these sciences come to defend what is true and combat what is false, their struggle and its result are entirely governed by their subjective startingpoint.

In connection with the fact of sin, from which the whole antithesis between truth and falsehood is born, this phenomenon presents itself in such a form that one recognizes the fact of sin, and that the other denies it or does not reckon with it. Thus what is normal to one is absolutely abnormal to the other. This establishes for each an entirely different standard. And where both go to work from such subjective standards, the science of each must become entirely different.

and the unity of science is gone. The one cannot be forced to accept what the other holds as truth, and what according to his view he has found to be truth.

Thus, taken by itself, the triumph of Scepticism ought to result from this, and Pilate's exclamation, "What is truth," should be the motto of highest wisdom. But the process of history is a protest against this. However often Scepticism has lifted up its head, it has never been able to maintain a standing for itself, and with unbroken courage and indefatigable power of will thinking humanity has ever started out anew upon the search after truth. And this fact claims an explanation.

§ 45. Wisdom

The threatening and of itself almost necessary dominion of Scepticism, stranded first upon the ever more or less problematical phenomenon which is called Wisdom. In order to appreciate the meaning of this phenomenon, the combination "philo-sophia" should not claim our first attention, since it identifies "wisdom" too greatly with "science," and the leading characteristic of "wisdom" is that it is not the result of discursive thought. An uneducated and even an illiterate man may convey in large measure the impression of being a wise man; while, on the other hand, scientifically developed persons often fall short in wisdom of sense. The etymology of the words, by which the conception of "wisdom" is expressed in different languages, makes this distinction between a scientific disposition and a disposition for wisdom to be clearly seen. Wisdom (sapientia) and science (scientia) are not the same. Sapere means to taste, to try, and in its metaphoric use points to a knowledge of things which expresses itself not theoretically, but practically, and works intuitively. The Greek word o-d^o? (wisdom), in connection with aafyrp, aairpw;, and perhaps with Ottd?, belongs evidently to the same root, and points also to a radical-word which indicated the action of smelling or tasting. The Germanic word "wise" takes no account with the origin of this peculiar knowledge, but with its outcome. Wisel is the wellknown name of the queen of the bees, who, taking the lead, by this superiority governs the entire swarm. Here also the practical element of knowledge appears in the foreground. He is wise who knows and sees how things must go, and who for this reason is followed by others. With the limited development of Semitic etymology, the Hebrew expression D3PI is less clear, but from the description which the Chokmatic writings give us of this " wisdom," it appears the more convincingly that the Hebrew understood this wisdom to be something entirely different from what we call scientific development, and in this conception thought rather of a practical-intuitive understanding. The derivation of !"DPI, which means to cleave to something, would agree very well with this, as an indication of the spirit's sympathy with the object from which this Chokmatic knowledge is born. Phrases which are in common use with us, also, such as, for instance: "You have wisely left it alone," "When the wine is in the man, wisdom is in the can"; "He is a wise man ": or the Bible-text: "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God"; all agree entirely with this etymological result. The root-idea always appears to be, that one possesses a certain natural understanding of the nature and process of things, and understands the art of accommodating himself to them in practical life. Wisdom has nothing to do. therefore, with intellectual abstraction, but clings immediately to the reality, proceeds from it and works out an effect upon it. But again, it is not artistic skill, nor what is called talent, for it is not the action which proceeds from the insight but the insight itself which stands in the foreground. Wisdom is the quiet possession of insight which imparts power, and is at the disposal of the subject, even when this subject is not called to action. Wisdom is also distinguished from artistic skill and talent, in that it bears an universal character. He who excels in a certain department of science is not wise, neither is he wise who excels in a certain trade. Such an one-sided development of skill is rather opposed to the root-idea of wisdom. He who is wise, is centrally wise, i.e. he has a general disposition of mind which, whatever comes, enables him to have an accurate view of things, in conformity with which to choose and act with tact and with discretion. As the result, therefore, it may be stated that entirely apart from the development of science, there is in certain persons an aprioristic, not acquired, general insight, which in its efficient, practical excellence shows itself in harmony with the reality of things.

But if among your acquaintances you meet with but few persons who have this insight to such an extent as to entitle them to the epithet of "wise folk," all the others are not fools; and yet only this antithetical conception of foolishness elucidates sufficiently the exact conception of wisdom. A. fool and a lunatic are not the same. An insane man is he whose consciousness works in the wrong way, so that all normal insight has become impossible for him. A fool, on the other hand, is he whose consciousness works normally, but who himself stands so crookedly over against the reality of things, that he makes mistake upon mistake and constantly makes the wrong move on the chess-board of life. He acts foolishly who makes an evident mistake in his representation of reality, and who in consequence of his noticeable lack of accurate insight, chooses the very thing that will serve him a wrong end. He lacks the proper relation to the reality, and this accounts for his mistakes. Between these "wise folk" and these "fools" stands the great mass of humanity, who in all possible gradations form the transition from the wise to the foolish; while among these general masses is found what used to be called a sound mind, common sense, le sens commun. This implies something that does not scale the heights of wisdom, but which, nevertheless, maintains a relation to it and offers a general basis for it. We grant that, more especially since the close of the last century, this expression "common sense" has been used synonymously with that analogous "public opinion" in which the weakened form of Rationalism reflected itself, and that this spectre has repeatedly been evoked to banish idealism, to mock the faith, and to hush every nobler feeling; but this was simple abuse. Originally, "common sense" meant by no means the iteration of the program of a particular school, but, on the contrary, a certain accuracy of tact, by which, in utter disregard of the pretensions of the schools, public opinion followed a track which turned neither too far to the right nor to the left. This weakened wisdom, which generally directs the course of life, occasionally forsook public opinion, and this gave foolishness the upper hand, and mad counsels free courses; but, in the long run, common sense almost always gained the day. And in individual persons it is found, that if the particular "wise folk" be excluded, one class is inclined to foolishness, while another class remains subject to the influence of a weakened wisdom, and the latter are said to be the people of common sense; a term which does not so much express a personal gift (charisma), as the fact that they sail in safe channels.

If the phenomenon itself be thus sufficiently established, the question arises, how, culminating in wisdom and finding its antithesis in folly, this phenomenon of "common sense" is to be psychologically interpreted. It is not the fruit of early training, it is not the result of study, neither is it the effect of constant practice. Though it is granted that these three factors facilitate and strengthen the clear operations of this common sense and of this wisdom, the phenomenon itself does not find its origin in them. Two young men, brought up in the same social circle, of like educational advantages and of similar experience, will differ widely in point of wisdom; one will become a wise man, while with the other life will be a constant struggle. Thus we have to do with a certain capacity of the human mind, which is not introduced into it from without, but which is present in that mind as such, and abides there. The Dutch language has the beautiful word "be-*e/-fen" (to sense), which etymologically is connected with the root of sa^J-ientia, and indicates a certain immediate affinity to that which exists outside of us. In this sense prudence and wisdom innate; not an innate conception, but an insight which proceeds immediately from the affinity in which by nature we stand to the world about us, and to the world of higher things. Both point to a condition in which, if we may so express it, man felt Nature's pulse beat; in which he shared the life of every animate thing, and so perceived and understood it; and in which, moreover, he also apprehended the higher life not as something foreign to himself, but as "sensing" it in his own sense of existence. Or if we look ahead, both phenomena lie in the line, at whose end the seeing (dea>pelv) is reached, "the knowing as we are known." The energy of this intuition is now broken. With some it seems entirely lost, and these are called "fools." With some others it still works comparatively with great effect, for which reason they are called, preeminently, the wise folk. And between these extremes range the people of common sense; so called because in them something is still found of the old, sound, primitive force (Urkraft) of the human mind.

Now it is readily seen what a formidable dam wisdom and common sense prove against the destructive floods of Scepticism. If there were no other way open to knowledge than that which discursive thought provides, the subjective character which is inseparable from all higher science, the uncertainty which is the penalty of sin, and the impossibility between truth and falsehood to decide what shall be objectively compulsory would encourage Scepticism to strike ever deeper root. But since an entirely different way of knowledge is disclosed to us by wisdom and its allied common sense, which, independent of scientific investigation, has a starting-point of its own, this intuitive knowledge, founded on fixed perceptions given with our consciousness itself, offers a saving counterpoise to Scepticism. For now we have a certain insight, and on the ground of this insight a relative certainty, which has no connection with the discursive conflict between truth and falsehood, and which, being constantly confirmed in the fiery test of practical application in daily life, gives us a starting-point by which the conviction maintains itself in us that we are able to grasp the truth of things. And since this wisdom and common sense determine those very issues and principles of life, against which scepticism directs its most critical and important attacks, we find in this phenomenon, so mysterious in itself, a saving strength which enables the human mind to effect its escape from the clutches of Scepticism. This wisdom can never supersede discursive thought, nor can it take the place of empiricism, but it has the general universal tendency to exclude follies from the processes of discursive thought, and in empirical investigation to promote the accuracy of our tact.

In answer to the objection that it is difficult to harmonize this interpretation of "wisdom" with the conception of aocf>ia in our word "philosophy" (<£iXoaro(£i-a), we observe that for a just criticism of this apparent objection we must go back to the original conception of "wisdom" as held by the Greeks, and to the most ancient meaning of the combination of <f>iXelv with this word. As for "wisdom," we refer first of all to the noteworthy sentence of Heraclitus: ao(f>in aXnOe-a Xeyeiv Kal iroielv Kara <f>vaiv iiratovriK, i.e. "Wisdom consists in knowing how to speak the truth, and how to live according to nature," in which the last words especially indicate that "wisdom" is taken as ripening from a natural instinct, while the verb "to live" Qrroielv) exhibits its practical character. With Thales only it was thought that "wisdom" also bore a somewhat theoretical character. See Plutarch's Life of Solon, 3, 9: "And, on the whole, it is likely that the conception of wisdom was at that time carried further by Solon alone, in speculation, than its significance in common use; but in the case of others the name 'wisdom' arose from its use in civil affairs." What Xenophon narrates concerning Socrates leads to the same conclusion. See Xen. Mem. III. 9, 4: "(Socrates) did not separate (i.e. distinguish between) wisdom and prudence," even in this sense that " Those who do not act rightly he considered neither wise nor prudent." Undoubtedly with Plato it is already "A possession of the truth in contemplation" (p. 414, 6), and with Aristotle, "The science of things divine and human"; but this is not the original conception. With the oldest philosophers we do not find the mention of a philosophy which is the result of investigation. Their philosophy is rather an exposition of their insight into the relation of things, in the elaboration of which they deal more freely with their phantasy than with empiricism. Even in the word "theory " this ancient meaning of the wisdom-conception is still active. Etymologically, "theoria" refers to intuition, and as such it has nothing in common with the idea which we attach to the theoretical.

§ 46. Faith

Even more effectually than by "wisdom" Scepticism is counteracted by "faith" (7r«rrt?). Faith in this connection is taken formally, and hence considered quite apart from all content. By "faith " here, then, we do not mean the "faith in Christ Jesus" in its saving efficacy for the sinner, nor yet the "faith in God" which is fundamental to all religion, but that formal function of the life of our soul which is fundamental to every fact in our human consciousness. The common antithesis between "faith and knowledge" places the content obtained by faith in contrast to the content ohtained by knowledge. Thus we face two dissimilar magnitudes, which are susceptible neither of comparison nor of amalgamation. We encounter iron and clay, as Daniel pictures it; elements which refuse to intermingle. To take a position with reference also to this antithesis, it is necessary that we go back to the formal function of faith, and investigate whether this function does or does not exhibit an universal character. For if it does, this universal function of faith must also influence that particular function by which the scientific result is obtained, and the extent is traceable to which the function of faith is able to exert itself, as well as the point where its working stops. We purposely consider this function of faith, next to wisdom, M a similar reaction against Scepticism. All Scepticism originates from the impression that our certainty depends "pon the result of our scientific research. Since, however, this result constantly appears to be governed by subjective influences, and is affected by the conflict between truth and falsehood which is the result of sin, there is no defence against Scepticism except in the subject itself. The defence against Scepticism which the subject provides, can prove no benefit to our science, except it is evident that this defence bears no individual-subjective character; but that in its real significance it belongs to the subject as such, and may therefore be called subjective in a general and communal sense. And faith exhibits this character.

In the explanation of this two difficulties present themselves, which we must not allow to overshadow us. The first difficulty is, that faith is a conception which has been introduced into our common speech, especially from the New Testament, and has received thereby a religious, and in a more restricted sense a soteriological, stamp. Thus understood, this conception has no place in our Erkenntniss-theorie, and the appearance is given that faith bears no universal character at all. The second difficulty is, that profane literature almost never uses the conception of faith technically, and hence attaches no definite meaning to it. The old philosophy, for instance, never deals with faith as with a special function of the soul. It appears, however, as if Pythagoras attached something more to this conception and that he classified it, as we learn in Theol. Arithm. X., p. 60, how the Pythagoreans "in their mystical explanations called it (i.e. 7r6ra?) at one time the world; at another, the heavens; still again, the universe; then again, fate and eternity; and, yet again, might, faith, necessity"; yet this appears to be the case in a very superficial sense only, since of this irurrK at once this more exact explanation is given in Theol. Arithm., p. 61: "The number Ten indeed is called belief (or faith), since according to Philolaos by (the number) Ten, and its parts, which have to do primarily with realities, we have a clear idea of Belief." It may not be denied that Philolaos saw that in some instances faith stands on a line with avdyKrj (necessity); but he makes no mention of a general application of this conception.

Neither of these two difficulties, however, should prevent us from making a more general application of this conception. Not the difficulty derived from the Holy Scriptures, since Heb. xi. 1 anticipates our wish to restore faith to its more general meaning. There we read that faith is "the assurance (yiroaraaK) of things hoped for, the proving (eXey^o?) of things not seen." Thus faith is here taken neither in an exclusively religious sense, much less in a soteriological significance, but very generally as an " assurance " and " proving" of objects which escape our perception, either because they do not yet exist (ta iXirt^ofieva), or because they do not show themselves (r<t fir) ^Xeirofieva). Far from excluding, therefore, a more general interpretation, the Scripture itself calls our attention to it. And as for the backwardness of profane literature in denning this conception more exactly, the above-quoted saying of the Pythagoreans shows that the idea of taking up faith as a link in a demonstration was not entirely foreign to the ancients; and this appears stronger still from what Plutarch writes (Mor. 756, 6), "that in divine things no demonstration (o7rd8«£t?) is to be obtained," and that it is not needed, "For the traditional and ancient faith is sufficient; than which it is not possible to express nor discover a clearer proof; but this is, in itself, a sort of underlying common foundation and support for piety," — words which, although limited to the domain of religion, and rather used in connection with tradition, nevertheless betray a definite agreement with the teaching of Heb. xi. 1, and place faith as the ground of certainty over against "assurance."

Neither the etymology of 7rwTt? and the words synonymous with it in other languages, nor the use of these words, prove any obstacle in the way of this general application. Faith with the root-idea of ireiO<o (to persuade), and in connection with the derivatives .n-uno<;, Ttkttoo), irerroCdrjaK, airevO7ret07j?, and aireiOeia, points etymologically to an action by which our consciousness is forced to surrender itself, and to hold something for true, to confide in something and to obey something. Here, then, we have nothing but a certain power which is exercised upon our consciousness, to which it is forced to subject itself. Upon our consciousness, which is first unstable, uncertain, and tossed about, a check is placed which puts an end to uncertainty. There is a restraint imposed on us from which we cannot escape. Or, as far as onr consciousness itself desires this stability, this "underlying foundation and support" (eSpa Kal /Sa'<m u^ecrrwcra), as Plutarch expressed it, or, as Heb. xi. 1 states it, this "assurance " and this "proving" are offered us. Where the action of the irelBeiv (persuasion) is ended, certainty is obtained. In the middle voice irelOeaQai (to be persuaded) expresses the function of the soul by which it establishes itself in that stability. And faith therefore may express this certainty itself, as well as the action by which I grasp it. The same rootidea lies in pQKH. JSN (amen) is that which stands fast and does not change. The Hiphil expresses that by which this certainty is born in us. And our believing comes from a different source, but it allows the self-same universal tendency. With the Latin lubet, allied to the Sanscrit lubh, which means to appropriate something to oneself, and which stands in immediate connection with the Dutch words lieven and loven, it points to a cleaving to something, to holding fast to something, and to being linked to it by an inner sympathy. Thus in be-lieving the relation is more prominent than in irUrm or in njlON, but that relation is taken as something not uncertain, but certain. He who cleaves to something holds himself fast to it, leans upon and trusts in it; while in this believing lies the fine secondary meaning, that this cleaving unto, this holding fast to, is accomplished by an inward impulse. And if the etymology of any of these expressions does not prevent a more general application of this word, the difficulty presented in the accepted use of these words is equally insignificant. Not only was this Ttuttiv ex€lv C*0 have faith), a current term in Greek, applied to every department of life, and the tendency of ppKH almost wider still (see, for instance, Deut. xxviii. 66, Judges xi. 20, etc.), but, what is more noteworthy, in our Christian society the use of the word "to believe" is limited so little to the religious and soteriological domain, that even more than "to have faith" the term "to believe" has become common property for every relation.

There is no objection, therefore, to the use of the term faith for that function of the soul tyvxfi) by which it obtains certainty directly and immediately, without the aid of discursive demonstration. This places faith over against "demonstration "; but not of itself over against knowing. This would be so, if our knowledge and its content came to us exclusively by observation and demonstration, but, as we tried to prove in § 37, this is not so. To know and knowledge, to know and understanding, are not the same. I know all those things the existence of which, together with some relations of this existence, is actual fact to me. No demonstration can ever establish with mathematical certainty the question that governs your whole life, — who it is that has begotten you; and yet under ordinary circumstances no one hesitates to declare, " I know that this man is my father." For though men may talk here of the theory of probabilities, it is not at all to the point. A proof proves only what it proves definitely and conclusively, and everything which in the end misses this conclusive character is not obtained by your demonstration but from elsewhere; and this other source of certainty is the very point in question. Or rather, — for even now we do not speak with sufficient emphasis, — this other source, which we call faith, is the only source of certainty, equally for what you prove definitely and conclusively by demonstration.

That this is not generally so understood can only be explained from the fact that, in the search after the means at our command by which to obtain knowledge, the investigation is abandoned before it is finished. The building is examined, and its foundation, and sometimes even the piles that are underneath, but the ground on which the lowest points of these piles rest is not explored. Or to state it in another way, let us say that the need is felt of a continuous line drawn from the outermost point in the periphery of the object to the centre of your ego; but when the ego is as nearly reached as possible, the distance which still separates us from it is not bridged; we simply vault the gulf. And this is not lawful, because it is illogical. Of necessity a chain must fall when a single link is wanting; for the two links which it ought to connect lose their point of union.

This comes out at once in the self-consciousness by which we say /. A child, in which self-consciousness has not yet awakened, speaks of itself in the third person. There is some thinking in the child, and a certain amount of knowledge, but it is not yet his possession. There is a property, but the owner is still anonymous. Meanwhile, this selfconsciousness is an impenetrable mystery to us. To s&y that it originates through comparison is a vain attempt to soothe oneself with words, for the very subject to be compared is here in question. Neither can it be said that self-consciousness is identical with the nature of our soul, for then it ought also to be active in the child, and ought to stay with us under all circumstances of life, and that sort of insanity by which one thinks himself to be another would annul our human nature. Self-consciousness, therefore, is an entirely unaccountable phenomenon in the life of the soul, which reveals its activity only at a certain age, which sometimes may slumber, and may lose itself for years in insanity. It is a phenomenon that stays by us in the unconscious condition of our sleep, for in our dreams also it is ourselves who suffer anxiety and all things move themselves about our person. Neither is this self-consciousness an accidental something to that science which we seek to obtain. On this self-consciousness hangs the subject that investigates, and without that subject no investigation is conceivable. He with whom this selfconsciousness is still wanting is, like the child, unable to separate himself from the object, and equally unable to draw conclusions from his inward perceptions. Thus the starting-point actually lies in this self-consciousness, and there must ever be a gap if this self-consciousness be not duly considered. From this it also follows, that without faith you miss the starting-point of all knowledge. The expression, "you must believe in yourself," has certainly been abused in humanistic circles to weaken both the denial of ourselves and our faith in God, but it is actually the case that he who does not begin by believing in himself

cannot progress a single step. Nothing but faith can ever give you certainty in your consciousness of the existence of your ego; and every proof to the sum, which you might endeavor to furnish by the exhibition of your will, or if need be by the revelation of your ill will, etc., will have no force of demonstration, except before all things else, on the ground of faith, the knowledge of your ego is established for yourself. In the cogito ergo sum the logical fault has indeed long since been shown. The ego, which is to be proved in the sum, is already assumed in the premise by the cogito.

But the indispensableness of faith goes much farther, and it may safely be said that with the so-called exact sciences there is no investigation, nor any conclusion conceivable except in so far as the observation in the investigation and the reasoning in the conclusion are grounded in faith. No play is intended here on the word " faith." Faith is taken by us in its most real sense. By faith you are sure of all those things of which you have a firm conviction, but which conviction is not the outcome of observation or demonstration. This may result from indolence by which you apply the much easier and ever ready faith, where the more arduous duty of observation and demonstration is demanded. But this is the abuse of faith, which should ever be reproved. In this abuse, however, the formal character of faith remains inviolate. Properly used or misused, faith is and always will be a means of becoming firmly convinced of a thing, and of making this conviction the starting-point of conduct, while for this conviction no empirical or demonstrative proof is offered or found. Faith can never be anything else but an immediate act of our consciousness, by which certainty is established in that consciousness on any point outside of observation or demonstration. "The ground on which your faith rests," and "the ulterior ground of your faith," are often spoken of, but in all such expressions faith itself is not meant, but only its content, and this does not concern us now. Faith here is taken merely as the means or instrument by which to possess certainty, and as such it not only needs no demonstration, but allows none. And in that sense we referred to it in the first place, as the certainty concerning our ego in our own self-consciousness, which precedes every act of thought or observation, and which can only be established in us by faith, or, if you please, is not acquired by us, but is a received good, of which no account can be given.

This is equally true of the starting-point of perception. All perception takes place through the senses, whether j'ou allow them to act naturally, or whether you reinforce them by a technical apparatus. The case, however, is not that our senses perceive, for our ego perceives by means of those senses. The sick man who lies in bed with his eyes wide open, but whose mind is affected, perceives nothing; even though the images of his surroundings are reflected on the retina of his eyes. While you sleep, many sounds may vibrate in the air-waves of your room, but not waken you to hear and perceive them. To stop short with the senses is, therefore, both unscientific and superficial. The way of knowledge certainly leads through the senses, but it extends farther. It is also continued from the sense through the nerves and the brain, and back of these out of our sensorial avenues to that mysterious something which we call our consciousness, and, in the centrum of that consciousness, to what we call our ego. The students of the so-called exact sciences, who think that their as yet undemonstrated, immediate knowledge of the object rests exclusively upon the action of the senses, are thus entirely mistaken, and allow themselves a leap to which they have no right. If their ego is to obtain knowledge of the object, they must not stop with the action of the senses, but ask how the ego acquires certainty of the reality of the perception. By means of your senses, you receive sensations and impressions; but in your consciousness the result of this consists of forms, images, shapes, and figures, which are not dissimilar to those which loom up before your mind outside of perception, — in imagination, in dreams, or in moments of ecstasy. Your perception by means of your senses acquires

value only when you know that your senses gave you movements in your sensorial nerve-life, which came from a real object, and in their changes and successions are caused by the state of this object. Actually it amounts to this: that your ego believes in your senses. If by faith the action of your senses is brought into the relation of certainty with your ego, then you can depend upon perception by means of your senses, but not before. And the perception of faith and the certainty which it gives are so forcible that, as a rule, we grasp immediately the distinction between the products of dream, fancy and of perception. The action of faith becomes weaker when the condition of mind becomes abnormal, as in delirium of fever, in moments of anxiety, in hypochondria, or sudden insanity; then a feeling of uncertainty overtakes us as to what we perceive or think we perceive, which we know nothing of in a normal condition, when faith works regularly. It must be granted that wilful deception may tempt us to take for real what exists merely in appearance, but even these ever more or less humiliating experiences do not hinder us from resuming immediately our normal stand on reality, thanks to this faith. He who was deceived by the apparition of a ghost, which he afterward discovered to be unreal, will not be uncertain whether a runaway horse in the street is a real phenomenon or not, but will step out of the way of it. If, thus, it must be granted that this faith, by which our ego believes in our senses, can become abnormal by a perplexity of our mind, and in like manner can become the dupe of delusion, nevertheless this faith is, and always will be, a certainty-yielding process in our mind, which at once resumes its dominion.

This is even so true that we actually owe all our convictions of the reality of the object exclusively to faith. Without faith you can never go from your ego to the non-ego; there is no other bridge to be constructed from phenomena to noumena; and scientifically all the results of observation hang in air. The line from Kant to Fichte is the only hue along which you may continue operations. It is true that perception is susceptible of verification: the perception of one sense by that of the other; the perception of to-day by that of to-morrow; the perception of A by that of B. But in the first place, this is no help whatever as long as faith provides no certainty concerning a single perception. You cannot verify x by x. And on the other hand, it is an undoubted fact that, with the exception perhaps of some weak-minded philosopher, every man, without thinking of verification or applying any verification whatever, is certain every moment of the day that his surroundings actually are as they appear; so that on the ground of this certainty he acts and works without the least hesitation. When you sit in your room and some one comes in and addresses you, you do not consider it your first duty to verify this fact, for in that very moment you are certain that this person stands before you and speaks to you; and you deal with this fact and act accordingly. All human intercourse is founded on this fact, as is also all observation, and consequently all scientific knowledge, which is built up on observation; and this fact falls away at once if faith does not work in you to make your ego believe in your senses.

This is so true, that the most exact science properly begins its scientific task in the higher sense only when observation is finished. To observe bacteria or microbes is by itself as little an act of science as the perception of horses and cows pasturing in the meadow. The only difference between the two is, that horses and cows in the meadow are perceptible with the naked eye, and bacteria and microbes can be observed only with the reinforced eye. Let no one, however, be misled. The reinforcement of the eye is partly the result of invention, and partly of scientific construction. But the bacteriologist, who uses a maximum microscope in his laboratory, did not make this himself, he bought it; and all he does is to see by means of his microscope. An aged person can no longer distinguish letters with his naked eye and b uys glasses; but who will assert that he performs a scientific act, simply because with the aid of glasses he now reads what once he read without glasses. Technical skill is called into play in the use of the microscope; accuracy also; and a certain inventive instinct in the statement of what one observes. Scientific knowledge of the department in which one observes will also be a requisite. All this, however, does not deny that the observation itself bears no scientific character, and that the scientific task of the observer only begins when the result of the observation has been obtained. The fanner who, in his stables and fields, observes the data and phenomena of nature, exercises virtually the same function as the observer in his laboratory. To perceive is the common function of man, and perception in a full-grown man is not scientific study because an adult perceives more and better than a child. He who has a sharp and penetrating eye sees all sorts of things which a common observer does not see, but who has ever thought of calling the observation of a sharp-seeing man scientific? If then the observer in bis laboratory sees with the reinforced eye what would not reveal itself in any other way, how can this put the stamp of science on his labor? If suddenly our eye should be so greatly strengthened as to equal the microscope in power of vision, then every one would see what he sees. His advantage consists simply in this, that his eye is reinforced. Reinforced in the same way as the eye of the pilot on the bridge of a ship is reinforced, so that he discovers the approach of a coming ship at a great distance. Reinforced in the same way as the eye of the Alpine huntsman, who through tbe spy-glass discovers from afar the wild goat on the glacier. Only with a difference of degree. But how can this difference of degree in the reinforcement of vision ever lend a scientific character to work in the laboratory, which no one ever grants to a sea-captain or chamois-hunter? Grant therefore that the preparation of the chemist is scientific, that his purpose lies in science, that presently he will go to work scientifically with what has been observed. Very well, if only you concede that his observation as such lacks all scientific character, and that a chemist who confined himself to observation would not be prosecuting science at all. All certainty indeed, as far as obtained by perception and observation alone, rests exclusively on the faith that that which we acquire by the senses deserves our confidence.

If such is the case with the self-consciousness of our ego, and with the certainty obtained by observation, it is equally so with demonstration or with the action of our reasoning understanding. Here also you can pursue no course, unless you have a point of departure. For this reason men have always recognized axioms as fixed principles introductory to demonstration. This word, however, is not happily chosen, since it suggests an opinion, or a meaning; but even in this less-happily chosen word you confess that the fundamental principles on which you build are not results of demonstration; indeed, that they are not capable of proof. All you can say of them is, that no one denies them; that every one, consciously or unconsciously, consents to them; so that you will meet no opposition if you start out from them. This by itself however is nothing more than an argumentum ad homines, and no proof whatever. Nothing remains, therefore, but to declare that these axioms are given with our self-consciousness itself; that they inhere in it; that they are inseparable from it; and that of themselves they bring their certainty with them. Since certainty is your highest aim, nothing more can be demanded than the entire certainty of these axioms. And what is this again but faith? To you they are sure, they are lifted above every question of doubt, they offer you certainty in the fullest sense, not because you can prove them, but because you unconditionally believe them. Thus faith is here also the mysterious bond which binds your ego to these axioms. It certainly has happened, and may happen again, that one will accept all too quickly as an axiom, what later on will appear susceptible of proof; but at best this only shows that in connection with what we observed above about "wisdom" our mind also has intuitive knowledge, and that this intuitive knowledge may readily be mistaken for the formal action of our faith. If one takes merely the identity-conception that A = A, the fact is still a fact that the conviction itself, which forms the starting-point for all demonstration, is not fixed by demonstration, but only and alone by faith.

This has by no means exhausted the significance of faith for the "way of knowledge." As faith provides us the starting-point for our observation and the axiomatic starting-point for every demonstration, it also offers us the motive for the construction of science. This motive lies in the codification of the general laws which govern the phenomena. Observation itself is no science yet in its higher sense. Science is born of observation only when from those phenomena, each of which by itself furnishes nothing more than a concrete and separate case, we have reached the universal law which governs all these phenomena in their changes. You admit that without certainty of the existence and of the validity of these laws, all scientifice effort is futile. But how do you obtain the knowledge of these laws? Have you investigated beforehand all the phenomena that belong to one class, and do you now conclude, that because the same activity is seen to operate in all these phenomena in the same way, it should therefore be the law which, thus described, governs this class of phenomena? Of course not. It is not possible for you to do this. The very idea of such a general law even excludes such an all-embracing investigation. Just because it shall be a general law, it must have been valid in the ages when you were not yet born, and must be valid in the ages when you shall be no more. Moreover, while you live it must be valid everywhere, even in those places where you are not present, in which places, therefore, observation is impossible for you. Moreover, suppose that you had acquired your knowledge of this law in the aforementioned way, you would have lost your interest in it. For that which interests you in the knowledge of such a law, is the very fact that it enables you to state how this group of phenomena was conditioned before you were born, and how it shall be after you are gone. This law holds the key to the mystery, and it owes its attraction to this charm. But how did you acquire the knowledge of this law? You have observed a certain number of cases, which observation shows you a certain constant action; this constant action makes you surmise that this action will always be constant; you hear of others who have built like conclusions upon like observations; you apply a special test, and it appears that in this way you are able to call the same action into life; no case is known to you in which this action has not shown itself; no one contradicts your surmise; and every one who devotes his attention to what has attracted yours, arrives at the same conclusion: and, upon this ground, it is scientifically determined that in this group of phenomena such and such a law operates thus and so. Very well! But have you now demonstrated this law? Is the certainty which you have of the existence of this law, the result of demonstration? Your demonstration cannot extend farther than your observation, and your observation covered certainly not one billionth part of the cases which are concerned. Whether the post hoc in the cases observed is at the same time a propter hoc, can by no means always be empirically proved. This proof is only given when the genetic operation of the cause can be traced in its entire development. But no one hesitates to adopt a general conclusion, even where this genetic knowledge is wanting. That quinine counteracts intermittent fever is a generally accepted conclusion, even though no one has ever been able to explain genetically the action of quinine on the blood. In this case, however, no harm is done. But without knowing the genetic action of vaccine, the general conclusion was considered equally justifiable, that inoculation with this virus is a harmless preventive against smallpox, and, on the ground of this so-called scientifically discovered law vaccination has been enforced by public authority; while now, alas, in the end it appears how carelessly this conclusion was drawn. Hence extreme care is necessary, lest we proclaim as a general law what afterward appears to rest on defective observation. But even though we pass these cases by, and confine ourselves to those general laws which are no longer contradicted, the question ever returns, What foundation have you for your confidence that your conclusion is correct? You say: "I can show this at once and prove that it is so, since no one can call a phenomenon into being in which this law does not show itself." And again we say: Very well! The law of gravitation, etc., is as certain to us as to you; but we ask: Where is your proof? And to this question no answer can be given, except that here also faith enters in and makes you believe in the existence and in the absolute validity of such a law. Not that the formula of this particular law rests on faith. The formula is the result of your investigation. But the idea itself that there are such laws, and that when certain phenomena exhibit themselves, you are certain of the existence of such laws, does not result from your demonstration, but is assumed in your demonstration and is the basis on which your demonstration rests, and in the end it appears the means by which your certainty is obtained. Without faith in the existence of the general in the special, in laws which govern this special, and in your right to build a general conclusion on a given number of observations, you would never come to acknowledge such a law. For one of the primordial principles in your logic reads: A particulari ad generate noa valet conclusio, i.e. no conclusion from the special to the general, is valid. Just so, but all your observations deal with the special only. Hence you would never reach a general conclusion if faith did not give you both the idea of the general and the right to accept it as a fact.

Though this applies to all the sciences, it nevertheless creates no uneasiness in the man of science, because every student has the faith, in this universal sense, which is necessary for the self-consciousness of the ego, for securing the axiomatic starting-point and for the forming of general conclusions. This harmony may momentarily be disturbed by the report that some people still believe in the reality of miracle; but this alarming suggestion is readily dismissed. If miracles are real, they have no place in common science, for the very reason that they are miracles. Thus in scientific investigation faith is virtually taken as a quantity that can be neglected, because it is the same in all, and therefore makes no difference in the conclusion. This, of course, ought not to be so, and an ever stronger protest should be raised against this superficiality which is so unworthy of the name of science; but the false antithesis between faith and science is so generally current, that they who value science most, as a rule prefer the removal of the last vestige of the leaven of faith.

But when we leave the domain of the natural, and enter the domain of the mixed and the spiritual sciences, what then? Here, also, faith (ttuttk) enters in as the indispensable factor, and in a way which is not the same with all. In the mixed and spiritual sciences we touch immediately upon the diversity of the subject, and constantly encounter what in a preceding section we explained as the fact of sin. Take history, for instance. With the exception of a small part belonging to your own times, all observation is at second, third and fourth hand. There is tradition. Is it trustworthy? A certificate bears a signature. Is it the name of the certifier? You need to consult a document; is this document genuine? In such cases doubt is not unnatural. A representation of events which you yourself have witnessed, is often made in public meetings, in the press, and in reviews, which you know is incorrect; this is often given by persons who were eye-witnesses as well as yourself; you have no right in every case to assume bad faith, and yet it is sometimes as clear to you as day. If, then, the difficulty is so great in establishing the truth of an event, the parties of which are still alive, the official records of which are at your service, and every particular of which is known to you, what then becomes of the history of bygone ages, of entirely different lands and countries, which comes to you from documents, the very language of which at times is doubtful? This concerns merely the attestation of facts; and this gives chronicles, but no history. History demands psychological explanations; the discovery of a leading motive in events; a connection among these events; and a conclusion that leads to prophetic insight into the future. Back of the facts, therefore, you must interpret the characters, the plans, and purposes of the actors; and back of those persons you must search out the general impulses by which often unconsciously many people were impelled. As long as this general motive is not found, there is no science in history. Moreover, history is likewise a judge. The past is no kaleidoscope which you turn before your eye. In history there is a struggle of what you deem holy and true against that which you despise and lament. Thus you must pass judgment. Your sympathy and antipathy are active. In history you spy the root-life of what lives in yourself and in your own surroundings and in your own times. If this is so, how then can there ever be a place in the ranks of the sciences for a science of history, if in your authentication of the past, in your effort to explain the past, and in your judgment of that past, you exclude faith and accept nothing but what has been obtained by the immediate observation of the senses or by logical demonstration?

What has been said of history applies, mutatis mutandis, in lesser or greater measure, to all the spiritual sciences, simply because in all these sciences the mystery of man presents itself, and you are as unable to bring the mystery of your own being, as that of your neighbor, within the reach of your senses or of your logic. As soon therefore as medical science leaves the domain of pure empiricism, and thus becomes scientific, it has to deal more or less with the same difficulties. Not only in Psychiatry alone, but in Physiology and in Pathology as well, does it come in contact with influences and processes, the explanation of which is not found in matter, but in the psyche. For this reason, even after the interesting studies of Professor Bornheim, Magnetism and Hypnotism have not yet been naturalized by the medical science.

Ordinary experience shows that in all contact with this invisible world, faith, and nothing but faith, forms the ground in the human personality of every act. When some one announces himself to us, and tells us who he is, we at once accept it as true. We attach value to what he tells of himself, without having any proof of the truth or means of verification. Take away this mutual confidence from society, and conversation or intercourse is no longer possible. And so firmly and almost ineradicably is this confidence rooted in us, that even the constant experience of deception does not impair or take away this universal foundation of life. Experience makes us guarded and more careful; but as long as there is no reason for distrust, confidence remains the rule of society. This is accounted for by the fact that no one is able to disclose the inner life of a man except that man himself. What you call your observation is never anything else with man than the observation of his lifeexpressions. Since he has nine-tenths of these life-expressions entirely under his control, and is able to withhold or to falsify them, the knowledge of man obtained by observation is always extremely limited, and in itself uncertain. Not observation, but revelation, is the means by which knowledge of the human person must come to you. Hence, you know next to nothing of those individuals who are deaf-mute. And even the revelation which a person makes to you of himself is by itself of no use, unless you have in your person the allied data by which to interpret his revelation. There is certainly some verification by which one can judge of the self-revelation of another; but in the first place this verification is often of little use, and, again, it can only be applied in special cases. Hence in most cases the judge must depend upon the confessions of the accused and the explanations of witnesses, both of which obtain their force of evidence almost exclusively from faith. If such is the case in the acquisition of knowledge of your nearest surroundings, faith is still more strongly appealed to where it concerns persons who live at a distance from you, or who lived in former times. You only know what happens in Japan by what other people say; and though you may be entirely unable to verify these communications, you believe them grosso modo, and doubt not for a moment but that on reaching Japan you would find the conditions as stated. Your representation of many a part of Africa rests on the information of one man. This, however, does not make a sceptic of you. Yes, though time and again you may be disappointed in your credulity, you do not abandon your ineradicable confidence, simply because this confidence cleaves to your nature and is indispensable to life itself. And this is also true with reference to the past. Even with reference to your own past, you do not doubt for a moment that the woman whom you loved as mother was your mother, and that the man whom you addressed by the name of father was your father. You have not observed your conception and your birth. Equally unable are you to prove them. And yet when there is no special cause to make doubt compulsory, every child lives in the glad assurance of having its real father and mother. And herein lies the startingpoint of the power and right of tradition, which, though frequently mixed up with mistake and falsehood, in itself forms the natural tie which binds our consciousness to the past, and so liberates it from the limitations of the present.

All this but shows the utter untenability of the current representation that science establishes truth, which is equally binding upon all, exclusively on the ground of observation and demonstration, while faith is in order only in the realm of suppositions and of uncertainties. In every expression of his personality, as well as in the acquisition of scientific conviction, every man starts out from faith. In every realm faith is, and always will be, the last link by which the object of our knowledge is placed in connection with our knowing ego. Even in demonstration there is no certainty for you because of the proof, but simply because you are bound to believe in the force of the demonstration. That this is generally lost sight of, is because faith, which operates in our observation and demonstration, renders this service in the material sciences to all individuals equally and of itself. This prevents the rise of a difference of opinions. While in the spiritual sciences it has always been necessary to admit a certain unknown factor in the demonstration, and for the sake of this x to subtract something from the absolute character of the certainty obtained, which, however, has been disguised under the name of evidence or moral certainty. And for this reason it was very important to show that faith is the element in our mind by which we obtain certainty, not only in the spiritual, but equally in the material sciences. From which it follows that the lesser degree of certainty in the spiritual sciences is not explained by saying that in the spiritual sciences we have to deal with faith, which it is not necessary to do in the material sciences; but rather from the fact that in the spiritual sciences faith seems to operate differently in different persons. To obviate this difficulty the effort is now made to approach the spiritual sciences as much as possible from the visible world (physical and physicocratic psychology, etc.), but the knowledge of the psychical, which is the real object of these sciences, is not advanced thereby a single step. The cause of this unlike operation of faith in the domain of the spiritual sciences is twofold. On the one hand, the effect worked upon this faith by the disposition of the subject; and on the other hand, the fact that in spiritual science faith operates not merely formally, but also presents a content.

The first cause finds its explanation in the fact that in the spiritual sciences the unifying power of the object does not control the subjective differentiation. In the material sciences the subject is obliged to incline himself as far as possible from his psychical centre to the object, and this accounts for the fact that here all subjects present that side only, which is almost one and the same with all. As soon, however, as in {esthetic observation, as the subject resumes his active role, the subjective inequality and difference return at once, as is seen in the fine arts of painting and music. In the spiritual sciences the opposite takes place. Here the object is not physical, but psychical, and where the physical still claims considerable attention, as in the study of language, it is of a secondary order, and the psychical remains of first importance. As in the street, and especially in a foreign city, most people appear alike, and their differences of nature and character are seen only in their home life and in their drawing-rooms, so, in viewing the material world, all spirits (Vp"XaO show themselves one and the same; but in the psychic centrum their differences of nature come to light. The peculiar character of the spiritual sciences consists in this, that they look on the life of the psyche in its own home and in its own calling, and therefore in the domain of these sciences the result of faith is often so entirely different in one than in the other. The same phenomenon in language will make different impressions upon a Mongolian and upon a Romanic linguist; and a High Churchman will give an entirely different explanation of an event in English history from a partisan of the Old Covenanters. And if this subjective differentiation counts already for so much in Linguistics and in History, which have so strong a physical substratum in common, how much more powerful must be this influence of the subjective diversity, where psychology, morals, politics, economics, jurisprudence, etc., are in question. In these sciences almost everything depends upon the principles one starts out from, the meaning one attaches to words and the spiritual tendency by which one is governed. This subjective character of faith in these sciences is, therefore, no mistake, nor a defect, but a factor given of necessity in the nature of their object and their method. It is the essential condition (conditio sine qua non) by which alone these sciences can flourish.

The second cause of this unlike working of faith in the spiritual domain lies in the fact, that faith here not only renders the formal service of establishing the relation between the object and the self-conscious and thinking ego, but also becomes the immediate voucher of the content. This is not the case in the material sciences, but it is in daily life. Our walking, our climbing of stairs, our eating and drinking, are not preceded by scientific investigation, but are effected by faith. You run downstairs without inquiring whether your feet will reach the steps, or whether the steps are able to bear your weight. You eat bread without investigating whether it may contain poison, etc. But when the material world is the object of scientific investigation, everything is measured, weighed, counted, separated and examined, and faith renders the exclusively formal service of making us believe in our senses, in the >reality of the phenomena, and in the axioms and laws of Logic by which we demonstrate. In the spiritual sciences, on the other hand, this is different. In Psychology it is faith, and faith alone, which directly guarantees to me the presence of my soul, of my ego, and of my sense of self. All the data by which I labor on psychical ground fall away immediately as soon as I consign faith to non-activity. And when I go out of myself, in order to communicate with other persons, in nine cases out of ten faith is the only means at command by which I can receive the revelation of their personality and attach a value to that revelation. Let it be emphatically repeated here, that only because my mother revealed to me who my father was, do I know this as a fact; and in almost every case this all-important circumstance that affects my whole existence cannot be certified except by faith in the content of this revelation. This presents no difficulty as long as it concerns a content which touches me alone; as soon, however, as this content acquires a general character, and tends to establish the laws of psychic life, in the domains of morals, politics, economics, pedagogy, jurisprudence and philosophy, we see all sorts of groups of individuals separate into schools, and nothing more is said of unity and common certainty.

§ 47. Religion

That which in the given sense is true of all science of the creaturely, and by which in the end everything depends upon faith, is from the nature of the case still more eminently true of all scientific research which concerns itself with the matter of religion. Taking the conception of " religion " provisionally, without any more precise definition, this much is certain, that all religion assumes communion with something that transcends the cosmos, this cosmos being taken objectively as well as subjectively. Even when religion takes no higher flight than Ethics, it gropes about in that ethical world-order that it might find there a central ethical power which governs this whole domain, and before which every non-ethical phenomenon must vanish. As long as Ethics aims only at utility or eudemonism, it misses all religious character. Even with Kant this is the all-important point at which religion, however barren and abstract, enters into his ethical world. The ethical subject feels and recognizes a higher ethical will, to which his will must be subordinated. From which point of view, it follows of necessity that the whole world of phenomena is either reasoned out of existence as a mere semblance, or, as real, is subordinated to the ethical. But in whatever way it is interpreted, in any case the central power of the ethical world-order is made to be supreme, transcending all things else, and to it the subject not only subordinates himself, but also the object. With a somewhat higher religious development, however, this will not only not suffice, but there can be no rest until, surpassing the thelematic, this subordination of subject and object to this central power has also been found for one's consciousness. The object of religion is not only placed outside of this object-subject, but the subject as well as the object, and the relation of both, must find their ground and explanation in this central power. The psyche addresses itself not merely to the general in the special, and to the permanent in the transient, but to the cause (ama), the beginning (op^), the constitution (owracrt?), and end (re'Xo?) of both. This extra-cosmic and hyper-cosmic character, however, of every central power, which in the higher sense shall be the object of religion, is the very reason that neither observation nor demonstration are of the least avail in establishing the tie between our subject and this central power, and that your reasoning understanding is as unable to foster as to exterminate religion.

This is different, of course, with Theology, which as a science concerns itself with the matter of religion; but the nature of this science, its method and its certainty, sustain the closest relation to the character of this central power, which is the impelling motive in all higher religion. As a physiological and physicocratic study can be for years made of the expressions of human life, without ever touching upon the study of the psyche, a lifetime can be spent in all sorts of interesting studies of religious ideas, culture-forms, and usages, without ever touching upon the study of religion. Since we now have a psychology without pysche, we also hear a great deal said of a science of religion without religion. In which case all study remains phenomenal, but religion itself is not reached. Hence in this domain also, everything addresses itself to faith. If the subject were to construe his religion out of himself, religion itself would be destroyed. Its characteristic is that the subject places not only the cosmos outside of him, but primarily himself in absolute dependence upon the central power whose superiority he acknowledges. Consequently he can never place himself above this central power; this, however, is just what he would do, if he placed this power under himself as object of his investigation, or construed it out of himself. Much less can he construe this central power from the cosmos; for if the moral sense demands that we subordinate all that is cosmical to our ethical life, a fortiori this cosmical can never be adequate to the central power which dominates our ethical world-order. By the study of phenomena, therefore, many definite ideas of religion may be derived from the subject and from the cosmos, but with all this there is nothing gained unless I have first grasped the heart of religion, of which the phenomenal is merely the outshining.

Thus, what in the preceding section we found to be the case with respect to our relation to other subjects, repeats itself here with still greater emphasis. No sense, no perception, and no knowledge is here possible for us, unless this central power reveals itself to us, affects us, and touches us inwardly in the centrum of our psyche. When we as man stand over against man, we are always able from our own subject to form our idea of the other subject, on the ground of faith in our common nature. But in religion this inference fails us. Except, therefore, this central power makes itself felt by us, and with entire independence reveals itself to us in a way which bends to the form of our sense and of our consciousness, it has no existence for us, and religion is inconceivable. For this reason all those systems which try to construe this central power ethically from the subject, or naturalistically from the object, fall short of religion and virtually deny it. Against all such efforts the words of the Psalmist are ever in force: "In thy light shall we see light," and also the words of Christ: "Neither doth any know the Father save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him." Presently your demonstration may have a place in your theological studies of the knowledge that is revealed, and in your inferences derived from it for the subject and the cosmos; but observation or demonstration can never produce one single milligramme of religious gold. The entire gold-mine of religion lies in the self-revelation of this central power to the subject, and the subject has no other means than faith by which to appropriate to itself the gold from this mine. He who has no certainty in himself on the ground of this faith, about some point or other in religion, can never be made certain by demonstration or argument. In this way you may produce outward religiousness, but never religion in the heart.

It may even be asserted that faith obtains its absolute significance only in religion. In the cosmos you are supported by observation, in the knowledge of other persons by your own human consciousness and in the self-knowledge of your own person by the self-consciousness of your ego. But nothing supports you here. Especially not as the cosmos now is, and as your subject now exists. In that cosmos, as well as in your subject, all manner of things oppose your religious sense; and between you and the object of your worship there is always the fathomless abyss of the "transference into another genus" (fierdfiaaK; et? aXXo y6/09), the transmutation of that which is not God into God. This cannot be explained more fully now, because we must not anticipate the character of Theology. But enough has been said to show convincingly that without faith no forward step can be taken here, and that therefore there can be no science of religion unless, by faith, the inquiring subject holds communion with that which is the supreme element in the nature of all religion.