# On the Nature of the Scholar/Lecture 9

Besides those possessors of the Idea, whose business it is, by guiding and ordering the affairs of men, to introduce the Idea immediately into life, there is yet another class—those, namely, who are peculiarly and by preëminence called Scholars, who manifest the Idea directly in spiritual conceptions, and whose calling it is to maintain among men the conviction that there is, in truth, a Divine Idea accessible to human thought, to raise this Idea unceasingly to greater clearness and precision, and thus to transmit it from generation to generation fresh and radiant in ever-renewed youth.
This latter Vocation again divides itself into two very different callings, according to the immediate purpose in view, and the mode of its attainment. Either the minds of men are to be trained and cultivated to a capacity for receiving the Idea; or the Idea itself is to be produced in a definite form for those who are already prepared for its reception. The first calling has particular men for its primary and immediate objects;—in it the only use which is made of the Idea is as a means of training and cultivating these men so that they may become capable of comprehending the Idea by their own independent effort. It follows that, in this calling, regard must be had solely to the men who are to be cultivated, the degree of their cultivation, and their capacity of being cultivated; and that an influence is valuable here only in so far as it may be efficiently applied to those individuals upon whom it is specially directed. The second has for its immediate object the Idea itself, and the fashioning of the Idea into a distinct conception, and has no reference whatever to any subjective disposition or capacity of men; it has no one specially in view as peculiarly called to or fitted for the reception of the Idea in the form thus given to it; the work itself settles and determines who shall receive it, and it is addressed only to those who can receive it. The first object will be best and most fitly attained by the verbal discourses of the Teacher; the second by literary writings.
Both these callings belong to the vocation of the Scholar in its proper and highest sense, and not to the subordinate Scholar-occupations, which devolve upon a man only because he has not attained the proper end of his studies. He who prosecutes his studies conscientiously, and so acquires a conviction of the importance of the vocation of the Scholar, but yet does not feel within himself a clear consciousness of the capacity to fulfil it, shows that he recognises its sacred character by not undertaking it;—he who does undertake it, manifests the same conviction by exercising it worthily. In the next lecture we shall speak of the true Author; to-day we shall discourse of the upright Teacher of future Scholars.
The Teachers and Educators of those who devote themselves to the occupation of the Scholar may be divided into two classes:—they are Teachers either in the lower Schools of learning, or in the higher or Universities. Not without deliberation do I class the Teachers in the lower Schools among true and not subaltern Scholars, and therefore demand of them that they attain possession of the Idea, and be penetrated by it,—if not with perfect light, yet with living warmth. He who is destined to study will, even while a boy, surround himself invisibly with the Idea and with its sanctity, and bathe his whole being in its influence. Nothing from which any ideal result may one day unfold itself will be pursued by him as a piece of vulgar handicraft, or used only as a means to the attainment of a partial object. Happily the subjects of study which are peculiar to these Schools are of such a nature as to elevate him who pursues them thoroughly and conscientiously, and through him those who are committed to his care, above vulgar modes of thought; did but the outward circumstances of the Teacher answer to his dignity, and his independence and station in society correspond with his most honourable calling. The subjects of school-instruction, I said. In a fundamental study of Language, pursued, as it must be, amid old modes of speech, far removed from our habits of thought, a deeper insight into ideas is gained; and from the works of the Ancients, by means of which this study is pursued, an excellent and ennobling spirit speaks to the youthful mind. For this reason, the Teacher in these lower Schools should be a partaker of the Idea, because it is his task imperceptibly to familiarize the youth with the high and noble before he is able for himself to distinguish these from the vulgar, to accustom him to these, and to estrange him from the low and ignoble. Thus guarded in his early years, and thus prepared for higher progress, the youth enters the University. Here, for the first time, can he be clearly taught, and led to comprehend and acknowledge that which I have endeavoured to utter to you in these lectures, that our whole race has its only true existence in the Divine Thought, that its only worth consists in its harmony with this Divine Thought, and that the class of Scholars has therein an existence only to the end that they may comprehend this Divine Thought and imprint it on the world. At the University the Student first receives a clear idea of the nature and dignity of that vocation to which his life has been devoted beforehand. He must obtain that clear idea here: the Teacher in the lower Schools may look forward to another education for his pupils, and counts upon that; but the Academic Teacher has no higher instruction to calculate upon except that which the Progressive Scholar may bestow upon himself, to the capacity for which, however, the Teacher must train him so that he may have it in his power to become his own instructor; once released from the lecture-room he is committed to himself and to the world. Herein, therefore, lies the characteristic difference between the lower and the higher Schools, that at the lower School the youth has only a presentiment of his vocation, while at the University he clearly comprehends and recognises it; and from this distinction the specific duties of the Teacher in the respective institutions may easily be deduced.
The Academic Teacher, of whom chiefly we have to speak, ought to train the Student who has been made acquainted with the nature and dignity of his calling, to the capacity of receiving the Idea, and to the power of developing it anew, and giving it a form peculiar to himself:—he should do all this if he can. But in every case, and unconditionally, he must fill the Student with respect and veneration for the proper calling of the Scholar. The first object of all study,—to lay hold of the Idea from a new and peculiar point of view, is by no means to be given up either by the Student himself, or by the Teacher on his behalf; but it is nevertheless possible that it may not be attained, and both must reconcile themselves beforehand to this possibility. Should this first object of study remain unaccomplished, the Student may still become a useful, worthy, upright man. But the second object of study,—that he acquire a reverence for the Idea during his efforts to attain it,—that on account of this reverence he forbear from undertaking anything for which he does not know himself to be qualified,—that he consecrate himself to the service of the Idea, at least by permanently cherishing this reverence for what is unattainable by him, and contributing to the extent of his ability to maintain such a reverence among men;—this object is never to be relinquished; for were it not attained, then even through his wasted study would his dignity as a man be lost, and he would sink the lower in consequence of the height to which he ought to have risen. The attainment by the Student of the first object of study is, to the Academic Teacher, a conditional duty,—conditioned by the possibility of its fulfilment. The attainment of the second he must ever look upon and acknowledge as his unconditional duty, which he must never deliberately relinquish. It may indeed happen that he cannot accomplish even this, but he must never admit a doubt of its ultimate attainment.
What, then, can the Academic Teacher do for the attainment of this second object? I answer, he can do nothing for it exclusively; he can do nothing else than that which he must do for the first and higher object by itself. In pursuing and attaining the second, he is advancing to the attainment of the first. Would he inculcate upon his pupils reverence for Knowledge?—they will not believe him if he do not himself exhibit in his whole life the profound reverence which he recommends to them. Would he thoroughly impress them with this reverence?—let him teach it, not in words only, but in deeds; let him be himself the living example, the abiding illustration, of the principles which he desires them to accept as the guides of their life. He has described to them the Nature of the Scholar-vocation as a manifestation of the Divine Idea,—he has told them that this Idea entirely pervades the True Scholar, and establishes its peculiar life, in place of his own, within him;—perhaps he has even told them by what precise way he himself, for his part, has to fulfil the purposes of Knowledge, and in what his peculiar calling, as an Academic Teacher, consists. Let him show himself before them in his proper and essential character,—as devoted to his vocation,—as a perpetual offering before its altar,—and they will learn to comprehend that Knowledge is a sacred thing.
The duties of the Academic Teacher are not indeed changed by this aspect of his vocation; for, as we have said, he can do nothing for the attainment of the latter object but what he must have done for the former and higher by itself;—but his own view of his calling becomes thereby more confirmed and immovable. Although it should not become directly visible and evident to him that he has attained his peculiar object,—of leading those who are entrusted to his care from mere passive dependence to spontaneous activity, from the dead letter to the living spirit;—yet will he not suppose that he has laboured in vain. To Academic Study must succeed that special study to which the first is but a preparative. He can never know that he has not roused a powerful incentive to this study,—that he has not thrown into the soul some sparks of love and devotion to it which, though now unapparent, will blaze forth at the proper time. Even in the worst possible event,—that he has not accomplished even so much as this,—his activity has still another object; and if he has done something for it, his labour has not been utterly lost. If he has, at least, upheld, and in some breasts quickened or renewed, the faith that there is something worthy of the reverence of men; that by industry and faithfulness men may elevate themselves to the contemplation of this object of reverence, and in this contemplation become strong and blessed; if some have only had their work made holier in their eyes, so that they may approach it with somewhat less levity than before; if he can venture to hope that some have left his hall, if not precisely with more light, yet with more modesty than they entered it;—then he has not laboured wholly in vain.
We said, that the Academic Teacher becomes an example of reverence for Knowledge, by showing himself to be thoroughly and entirely penetrated by and devoted to his calling,—an instrument consecrated to its service.
What does this calling demand? Is the Academic Teacher to prepare men for the reception of the Idea?—then he must himself know the Idea, have attained it, and be possessed by it; otherwise how could he recognise in others the capacity for receiving that to which he himself is a stranger? He must first have cultivated this capacity in himself, and have a distinct and clear consciousness of possessing it; for it can be recognised only by him who truly possesses it, and the art of acquiring it can be understood only by him who has himself acquired it. He can cultivate this capacity in men only by means of the Idea itself, by presenting it to them, and testing it for them, in all its varied forms and applications. In this the Idea differs wholly from all that is merely mechanical in knowledge;—only by its reception can man cultivate the power of receiving it. By the mechanical communication of knowledge man may become versed in such mechanism, but can never be raised to the Idea. It is an obligation from which the Academic Teacher cannot be released, that he shall have comprehended the Idea with perfect clearness as Idea; that, in the Idea, he shall have also comprehended the particular branch of Knowledge which he cultivates, and through the Idea have understood the true nature, meaning, and purpose of this branch of Knowledge;—even his particular science is on no account to be taught merely for its own sake, but because it is a form or aspect of the one Idea; and in order that this form may be tested by the Student, and he be tested by it. If, at the conclusion of his university training it were found that even then the Student could not be made to comprehend the true nature of study, then study would altogether disappear from the world;—there would be study no longer, but the number of handicrafts would be increased. He who is not conscious of a living and clear comprehension of the Idea, and is at the same time an upright and honourable man, will forbear to assume the vocation of the Academic Teacher. He will thus show his respect for that vocation the nature of which he must have learned in the course of his studies.
The vocation of the Academic Teacher requires him to communicate the Idea,—not as the Author does, abstractly, in the one perfect conception under which it presents itself to his own mind,—but he must mould, express, and clothe it in an infinite variety of forms, so that he may bring it home, under some one or other of those adventitious vestures, to those by whose present state of culture he must be guided in the exercise of his calling. He must thus possess the Idea, not as a mere abstraction, but in great vitality, power, and flexibility. Above all, he must possess that which we have already described as the creative or artist-talent of the Scholar; namely, a perfect readiness and capacity to recognise, under any circumstances, the first germ of the Idea as it begins to unfold itself; in each individual case to discover the most suitable means of aiding it to the attainment of perfect life, and in every case to associate it with an appropriate form. The Author may possess only one form for his Idea,—if that form be perfect, he has fulfilled his duty;—the Academic Teacher must possess an infinite multiplicitv of forms, it is not his business to discover the most perfect form, but in each case to find the most suitable form. A good Academic Teacher must be capable of being also an excellent Author if he choose; but it does not follow that, on the other hand, a good Author should also be a good Academic Teacher. Yet this skill and versatility exist in different degrees, and he is not to be entirely excluded from the Academic calling who does not possess them in the highest degree.
From this skill which is required of the Academic Teacher in the embodiment of the Idea, there arises another demand upon him,—this, namely, that his mode of communication shall be always new, and bear upon it the mark of fresh and active life. Only living and present thought can enter other minds and quicken other thought: a dead, worn-out form, let it have been ever so living at a former time, must be called back to life by the power of others as well as its own; the Author has a right to require this from his readers, but the Academic Teacher, who in this matter is not an Author, has no right to demand it.
The upright and conscientious man, as surely as he accepts this calling, and so long as he continues to practise it, gives himself up entirely to its fulfilment; willing, thinking, desiring nothing else than to be that which, according to his own conviction, he ought to be; and thus he shows openly his reverence for Knowledge.
For Knowledge, I say, as such, and because it is Knowledge,—for Knowledge in the abstract,—as the Divine Idea one and homogeneous through all the different forms and modes in which it is revealed. It is quite possible that a Scholar who has devoted his life to a particular department of knowledge may entertain a prepossession in favour of that department and be apt to esteem it above all others,—either because he has accustomed himself to it, or because he thinks that his more distinguished calling may reflect some of its lustre upon himself. Whatever ability such an one may bring to the cultivation of his own department, he will never present to the unprejudiced spectator the picture of one who reveres Knowledge for its own sake, and will never persuade the acute observer that he does so while he shows less respect for other departments of knowledge which are as essential as his own. It will only thereby become evident that he has never conceived of Knowledge as one perfect whole,—that he does not think of his own department as a portion of this whole, hence that he does not love his own department as Knowledge, but only as a handicraft; which love for a handicraft may indeed be praiseworthy enough elsewhere, but in the domain of Knowledge excludes him entirely from any right to the name of a Scholar. He who, although labouring in a limited province, has become a partaker of Knowledge as a whole, and accepts his own calling as but a part thereof, may perhaps have little even historical acquaintance with other provinces, but he has a general conception of the nature of all others, and will constantly exhibit an equal reverence for all.
Let this love of his vocation and of Knowledge be the sole guide of his life, visible to all men;—let him be moved by nothing else, regarding no personal interest either of himself or of others. Here, as elsewhere, I shall say nothing of the common and vulgar desires which may not enter within the circle of him who has approached and handled the sacred things of Knowledge. I shall not suppose it possible, for instance, that a Priest of Knowledge, who seeks to consecrate other Priests to her service, should refrain from saying to them something which they do not hear willingly, in order that they may continue to hear him willingly. Yet I may perhaps be permitted to mention one error not quite so ignoble and vulgar, and to hold up its opposite to your view. In every word uttered by the Academic Teacher in the exercise of his calling, let it be Knowledge that speaks,—let it be his longings to extend her dominion,—let it be his deep love for his hearers, not as his hearers, but as the future ministers of Knowledge:—Knowledge, and these living desires to extend her dominion, let these speak, not the Teacher. An effort to speak for the mere sake of speaking,—to speak finely for the sake of fine speaking, and that others may know of it,—the disease of word-making,—sounding words, in which nevertheless no idea is audible,—is consistent with no man's dignity, and least of all with that of the Academic Teacher, who represents the dignity of Knowledge to future generations.
Let him give himself up entirely to this love of his vocation and of Knowledge. The peculiar nature of his calling consists in this,—that Knowledge, and especially that side of Knowledge from which he conceives of the whole, shall continually burst forth from him in new and fairer forms. Let this fresh spiritual youth never grow old within him; let no form become fixed and rigid; let each sunrise bring him new love for his vocation, new joy in its exercise, and wider views of its significance. The Divine Idea is absolutely fixed and determined,—all its individual parts are likewise determined. The particular form of its expression for a particular Age may also be determined; but the living movement of its communication is infinite as the growth of the Human Race. Let no one continue in this calling in whom the mode of this communication, although it may have been the most perfect of his Age, begins to grow old and formal,—none in whom the fountain of youth does not still flow on with unimpaired vigour. Let him faithfully trust himself to its current so long as it will bear him forward: when it leaves him, then let him be content to retire from this ever-shifting scene of onward movement;—let him separate the dead from the living.
It was a necessary part of the plan which I marked out to you, to treat of the dignity of the Academic Teacher. I hope that in doing so I have shown the same strictness with which I have spoken of the other subjects which have fallen under our notice,—without allowing myself to be seduced into any lenity towards it by the consideration that I myself practise the calling of which I have spoken, and that I have practised it even in speaking of it. Whence I have derived this firmness,—on what feeling it rests,—you may inquire at another time; it is sufficient for you now to understand clearly, that Truth, in every possible application of it, still remains true.