factor promoting this result was found to lie in an element common to them all, hut merely analogous with ' the holy'. The interpretation of them as actual appearances of the holy itself in its own nature meant, we saw, a confounding of the category of holiness with something only outwardly resembling it: it was not a genuine ' anamnesis ', a genuine recognition of the holy in its own authentic nature, made manifest in appearance. And therefore we find that such false recognitions of the holy are later rejected and wholly or partly extruded as inadequate or simply unworthy, so soon as a higher level of development and a purerreligious judgement have been reached. There is a precisely parallel process in another department of judgement, that of aesthetic taste. While the taste is still crude, a feeling or fore-feeling of the beautiful begins to stir, which must come from an obscure a priori conception of beauty already present, else it could not occur at all. The man of crude taste, not being capable of a clear ' recognition' of authentic beauty, falls into confusion and misapplies this obscure, dim conception of the beautiful, judging things to bo beautiful which are in fact not beautiful at all. Here, as in the case of the judgement of holiness, the principle underlying the erroneous judgement of beauty is one of faint analogy. Certain elements in the thing wrongly judged to be beautiful have a closer or remoter analogy to real beauty. And later here, too, when his taste has been educated, the man rejects with strong aversion the quasi-beautiful but not really beautiful thing and becomes qualified to see and to judge rightly, i. e. to recognize as beautiful the outward object in which the 1 beauty' of which he has an inward notion and standard really 'appears'.
Let us call the faculty, of whatever sort it may be, of genuinely cognizing and recognizing the holy in its appearances, the faculty of divination. Does such a faculty exist, and, if so, what is its nature ?
To the ' supernaturalistic' theory the matter is simple enough. Divination consists in the fact that a man encounters an occurrence that is not ' natural ', in the sense of being inexplicable by the laws of nature. Since it has actually occurred, it must have had a cause; and, since it has no ' natural' cause, it must (so it is said) have a supernatural one. This theory of divination is a genuine, solidly rationalist theory, put together with rigid concepts in a strict demonstrative form and intended as such. And it claims that the capacity or faculty of di.ination is the understanding, the faculty of reflection in concept and demonstration. The transcendent is here proved as strictly as anything can he proved, logically from given premisses.
It would he almost superfluous to adduce in detail in opposition to this view the argument that we have no possibility of establish.ing that an event did not arise from natural causes or v as in conflict with the laws of nature. The religious con-sciou ness itself rises against this desiccation and materialization of what i:i all religion is surely the most tender and living moment, the actual discovery of and encounter with very deity. Here, if an\ w nere, coercion fey fjroof and demonstration and the mistaken application of logical and juridical processes should be excluded ; here, if anywhere, should be liberty, the unconstrained recognition and inward acknowledgement that comes from deep within the soul, stirred spontaneously, apart from all conceptual theory. If not ' natural science' or ' m. taphysics', at hast the matured religious consciousness itself spurns such ponderously solid intellectualistic explanations. '1 hey are horn of rationalism and engender it again ; and, as for genuine 'divination', they not only impede it, but despise it as extravagant emotionalism, mysticality, and false romanticism. Genuine divination, in short, has nothing whatever to do with natural law and the relation or lack of relation to it of something experienced. It is not concerned at all with the way in which a phenomenon be it event, person or thing—came into existence, but with what it meant-, that i , with its significance as a 'sign ' of the holy.
The faculty or capacity of divination appears in the language of dogma hidden beneath the fine name 'testimonium Spirit us ncli internum', the inner witness of the Holy Spirit —limited, in the case of dogma to the recognition of Scripture as ' Holy . And this name is the only right one,and right in a more than figurative sense, when the capacity of divination is itself grasped and appraised by divination. This is not our task here. We therefore employ a psychological rather than a religious expression as being more appropriate to the nature of our discussion.
In this sense, then, ' divination' is no new theological discovery. Schleiermacher, in his Discourses upon Religion (1799), Jacob Friedrich Fries, in his doctrine of 'Ahndung ' ('inkling', surmise, presage), and Schleiermacher's colleague and Fries's pupil, De Wette, have all in effect made use of it and given it a footing in theology, the last-named with special reference to the divination of the divine in history, under the name ' Surmise of the divine government of the world '. I have discussed Schleiermacher's discovery at greater length in my edition of his Discourses,1 and in my volume, Kantisch-Fries'sche Religionsphilosophie und ihre Anwendung auf die Theologie, I have given a more precise statement of the ' Ahndung' theory, as it is found in Fries and De Wette. To these two works the reader is referred for a more detailed exposition of the matter, and I shall here note only very briefly the more salient features of this doctrine.
What Schleiermacher is feeling after is really the faculty or capacity of deeply absorbed contemplation, when confronted by the vast, living totality and reality of things as it is in nature and history. Wherever a mind is exposed in a spirit of absorbed submission to impressions of ' the universe ', it becomes capable—so he lays it down—of experiencing ' intuitions'and 'feelings' (Anschauungen and Gefühle) of something that is, as it were, a sheer overplus, in addition to empirical reality. This overplus, while it cannot be apprehended by mere theoretic cognition of the world and the cosmic system in the form it assumes for science, can nevertheless be really and truly grasped and experienced in intuition, and is given form in single ' intuitions'. And these, in turn, assume shape in definite statements and propositions, capable of a certain groping formulation, which are not without analogy
1 Schleiermacher's Uber die Religion, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Güttingen, pp. 17 ff.
with theoretic propositions, but are to be clearly distinguished from them by their free and merely felt, not reasoned, character. In themselves they are groping intimations of meanings figuratively apprehended. They cannot be employed as 'statements of doctrine' in the strict sense, and can neither l>e built into a system nor used as premisses for theoretical conclusions. But, though these intuitions are limited and inadequate, they ate none the less indisputably true, i.e. true as far as they go ; and for all Schleiermacher's aversion to the word in this connexion they must certainly be termed cog id'inns, modes of knowing, though, of course, not the product of reflection, but the intuitive outcome of feeling. Their Import is the glimpse of an Eternal, in and beyond the temporal and penetrating it, the apprehension of aground ami meaning ol things in and beyond the empirical and transcending it. They are surmises or inklings of a Reality fraught with mystc ry and momentousness. And it is to be noted that Schli'ieimacher himself sometimes availHhimself of the term (atkndrn' (divining, surmise) instead of his principal ones, 'intuition' and 'feeling', and expressly connects together the di. ¡nation of prophecy and the knowledge of ' miracle ' in the religious sense of a ' sign '.
When Schleiermacher, in expounding the nature of the experience, tries to elucidate its object by giving examples, he is for the most part led to adduce impressions of a higher rt'Aof, an ultimate mysterious, cosmic purposiveness, of which we have a prescient intimation. Here he is quite in agreement with the exposition of Fries, who defines the faculty of ' Ah ¡tilling ' as being just a faculty of divining the 'objective teleology ' of the world. And De Wette says the same thing even more um eservedly. But in Schleiermacher this rational element is none the less grounded in eternal mystery, that basis of the cosmos that goes beyond reason. i his is shown in the groping, hesitant, tentative manner in which the meaning of the experienc« always reveals itself. Anil it is emphasized especially forcibly when Schleiermacher shows wHtc in his own case this experience i- to be found in the world he confronts, that it is not so much in its universal conformity to law—a rational quality, interpretable by the intellect in terms of purpose—but rather by means of what appears to us as a baffling ' exception' to law, thereby hinting at a meaning that eludes our understanding.1
No intellectual, dialectical dissection or justification of such intuition is possible, nor indeed should any be attempted, for the essence most peculiar to it would only be destroyed thereby. Rather it is once again to aesthetic judgements we must look for the plainest analogy to it. And the faculty of judging (Urteilsvermögen),here presupposed by Schleiermacher, certainly belongs to that ' Judgement' (Urteilskraft), which Kant analyses in his Third Critique, and which he himself sets as ' aesthetic judgement' in antithesis to logical judgement. Only, we may not infer from this that the particular several judgements passed in this way need be judgements of ' taste ' in their content. Kant's distinction between the 'aesthetic' and logical judgement did not mean to imply that the faculty of ' aesthetic' judgement was a judgement upon ' aesthetic' objects in the special narrow sense of the term ' aesthetic', as being concerned w~ith the beautiful. His primary intention is simply and in general terms to separate the faculty of judgement based upon feeling of whatever sort from that of the understanding, from discursive, conceptual thought and inference ; and his term ' aesthetic ' is simply meant to mark as the peculiarity of the former that, in contrast to logical judgement, it is not worked out in accordance with a clear intellectual scheme, but in conformity to obscure, dim principles which must be felt and cannot be stated explicitly as premisses. Kant employs sometimes another expression also to denote such obscure, dim principles of judgement, based on pure feeling, viz. the phrase ' not-unfolded' or ' unexplieated concepts' ('unavsgewickelte Begriffe'); and his meaning is here exactly that of the poet, when he says:
Und wecket der dunklen Gefühle Gewalt,
Die im Herzen wunderbar schliefen.2 1 Op. cit., p. 53.
5 ' It waketh the power of feelings obscure That in the heart wondrously slumbered."
(SciiillÍr: Der Grafton Ilabslurg.)
Was von Menschen nicht gewusst Oder nicht bedaeht, Duroh das Lab\ rinth der Brust Wandelt l>ei der Naeht.1
On the other hand, those judgements that spring from pure contemplative feeling also resemble judgements of aesthetic ta-te in claiming, like them, objective validity, universality, and necessity. The apparently subjective and personal character of the judgement of taste, expressed in the maxim : ' De gu-tibus noil disputanduin', simply amounts to this, that tastes of ditl'erent degrees of culture and maturity are tirst compared, then so opposed one to the other that agreement is impossible. But unanimity, even in judgements of taste, grows and strengthens in the measure in which the taste matures with exercise; so that even here, despite the proverb, there is the possibility of taste being expounded and taught, the possibility of a continually improving appreciation, of con-\ incement ami conviction. And if this is true of the judgement arising from aesthetic feeling in the narrower sense, it is at least equally true of the judgement arising from 'contemplation'. Where, on the basis of a real talent in this direction, 'contemplation ' ¿jrows by careful exercise in depth and inwardness, there what one man feels can be 'expounded' and 'brought to consciousness ' in another : one man can both educate himself to a genuine and true manner of feeling and be the means of bringing others to the same point; and that is what corresponds in the domain of ' contemplation' to the part played by argument and persuasion in that of logical conviction.
Schleiermacher's exposition of his great discovery sutlers from two defects. We will consider one of them here, leaving the other to the next chapter. Schleicrmacher, then, naively and unreflectingly assumes this faculty or capacity of 'divination ' to bo a Universal one. In point of fact it is not
1 What bcfoM our conscious knowing Or our thought's cxtremest span Thread« bj nipht the labyrinthine I'athwajs of the breast of man.'
(Goethe An den Mnnd.)
universal if this means that it could be presupposed necessarily in every man of religious conviction as an actual fact, though of course Schleiermacher is quite right in counting it among the general capacities of mind and spirit, and regmding it indeed as the deepest and most peculiar element in mind, and in that sense—man being defined by his intelligent mind— calling it a ' universal human' element. But what is a universal potentiality of man as such is by no means to be found in actuality the universal possession of every single man; very frequently it is only disclosed as a special endowment and equipment of particular gifted individuals. And Schleiermacher gives an excellent indication of how the matter rightly lies in liis very interesting exposition of the nature and function of the ' Mittler' (mediator) in his first ' Discourse Not Man in general (as rationalism holds), but only special ' divinatory' natures possess the faculty of divination in actuality; and it is these that receive impressions of the transcendent, not the undifferentiated aggregate of homogeneous individuals in mutual interplay, as held by modern social psychology.1
It is questionable whether Schleiermacher himself, in spite of his (re-)discovery of ' divination ', was a really ' divinatory ' nature, although in his first ' Discourse,' he maintains that he is. One of his contemporaries, to wit, Goethe, wTas at any rate decidedly his superior in this respect. In Goethe's life the power of divination, not latent but finding vital exercise, plays an important part, and it finds singular expression in the meaning he gives to the term ' daemonic', put with such emphasis in Dichtung und Wahrheit, Book 20, and in his Talks with Eckermann.2 Let us brieily examine these. The most characteristic feature in his notion of the ' daemonic' is
1 And this is undoubtedly true as far back as the lowest levels of development, when the ' religious dread ' first begins to stir in primitive form and to manifest itself in ideas. To derive these from an original group- and mass-fantasy collectively operating is itself sheer fantasy, and the results this theory helps to produce are about as queer and grotesque as any of the ideas of which it twits.
2 Cf. Otaethe's SdmtHohe lf'wii«"ed. Cotta, vol. xxv, pp. 124if.; Ecker-niann, Gespi-flihe mil Goethe, ed. A. v. d. Linden, Part II, pp. 140 ff.
that it goes beyond all 'conceiving', surpasses 'understanding' and ' reason ', and consequently is ' inapprehensible ' anil cannot properly be put into a statement:
'The Daemonic is that which cannot be accounted for by understanding and reason. It chooses for itself obscure times of darkness. ... In a plain, prosaic Sown like Berlin it would hardly tind an opportunity to manifest itself. ... In Poetry there is from lirst to last something daemonic, and especially in its unconscious appeal, for which all intellect and reason is insutlieient, and which, therefore, has an efficacy beyond all concepts. Such is the effect in Music in the highest degree, for Music stands too high for any understanding to reach, and an all-mastering efficacy goes forth from it, of which however no man is able to give an account, lleligious worship cannot therefore do without music. It is one of the foremost means to work upon men with an effect of marvel.'
' Does not the daemonic (asks Eckermann) also appear in events ?' 1 Pre-eminently so,' said Goethe, ' and assuredly in all w liieh we cannot expbiin by intellect or reason. And in general it is manifested throughout nature, visible and invisible, in the most diverse ways. Many7 creatures in the animal kingdom are of a wholly daemonic kind, and in many we see some aspeet of the daemonic operative.'
We notice here how the elements of the numinous we discovered plainly recur: the wholly7 non-rational, incomprehensible by concepts, the elements of mystery, fascination, awefulness, and energy. The note of the ' daemonic ' in the animal kingdom reminds us of Job and the 'leviathan'. But in another respect Goethe's intuition falls f ir short of Job's intuition of the ' mysterium '. By his ignoring of the warning of the book of Job and by applying to the 'mysteri'im ' the standards of the rational understanding and reason and conceptions of human purpose, the non rational comes to involve for Goethe a contradiction between meaning and mean-inglessness, sense and nonsense, that w Inch promotes and that v. hieh frustrates human ends. Sometimes, however, he approximates it to uns<lum, as when he says:
'So there was something daemonic governing the ¿ileum stances of my acquaintance with Schiller all through. We might have met earlier or later. But that we should have met just at the time when I had my Italian tour behind me ami Schiller had begun to weary of his philosophical speculations—that was a fact of great significance and fraught with success for both of us.'
It even comes near the divine:
'Such occurrences have often befallen me throughout my life. And one comes in such cases to believe in a higher influence (Einwirkung), something daemonic, to which one pays adoration, without presuming to try to explain it further.'
Invariably the ' daemonic' has an import of ' energy ' and ' overpoweringness', and sets its stamp upon men of vehement and overpowering personality.
' Napoleon ', said I, ' seems to have been a daemonic sort of man.'
' He was so absolutely and to such a degree', Said Goethe, ' that hardly any other man can be compared with him in this respect. The late Grand Duke also was a daemonic nature, full of limitless, active force and r«§tlessness.'
' Has not Mephistopheles also " daemonic " traits? '
' No, he is much too negntive a being. The daemonic manifests itself in a downright positive and active power.'
In Dichtung und Wuhrheit (p. 126) he delineates still better the impressions such numinous persons make, and in this passage especially sets in the foreground our ' tremendum ' as the element alike of 'dread' and 'overpoweringness '.
' This daemonic character appears in its most (theadful form when it stands out dominatingly in some man. Such are not always the most remarkable men, either in spiritual quality or natural talents, and they seldom have any goodness of heart to recommend them.1 But an incredible force goes forth from them and they exercise an incredible power over all creatures, nay, perhaps even over the elements. And who can say how far such an influence may not extend ?'
But the efficacy and influence of such a ' daemonic' man, even when it is beneficent, moves to amazement rather than to admiration ; it is more a tumultuous urgency than ordinary agency, and is at any rate absolutely non-rational. This is
1 i. e. they are merely ' numinous', nut ' holy ' men.
what Goethe tries to describe in the series of antitheses in Diehtung uml Wahrheit (p. lit):
'. . . Something that only manifested itself in contradictions and therefore could not be comprehended under any concept, still less under any one word. It \vas not divine, for it seemed unreasonable; not human, for it lacked understanding; not devilish, for it was beneficent ; not angelic, for it often displayed malicious joy. It was like chance, for it pointed to no consequence; it resembled providence, for it indicated connexion and unity. All that hems us in seemed penetrable to it; it seemed to dispose at will of the inevitable elements of our being, contracting time anil expanding space. Only in the impossible did it seem at home, and the possible it spurned from itself with contempt.
'Although this daemonic, thing can be manifested in everything coiporeal and incorpoiTBul, finding indeed most notable exprc-sion among animals, still it is pre-eminently with men that it stands in closest and most wonderful connexion, and there fashions a power which, if not opposed to the moral world order, yet intersects it in such a way that the one might be taken for the warp and the other for the woof.'
There can be no clearer expression than this of the prodigiously strong impression which divination of the numinous may make upon the mind, and that obviously not on a single occasion but repeatedly, till it has become almost a matter of habit. But at the same time this 'divination ' of Goethe is not one that apprehends the numinous as the prophet does. It does not rise to the elevation of the experience of Job, where the non-rational mystery is at the same time experienced and extolled as supra-rational, as of profoundest value, and as holiness in its own right. It is rather the fruit of a inind which, for all its depth, was not equal to such profundities as these, and to which, therefore, the non-rational counterpoint to the melody of life could only sound in confused consonance, not in its authentic harmony, indefinable but palpable. Therefore, though it is genuine divination, it is the divination of Goethe 'the pagan', as he sometimes used to call himself. Indeed, it is a divination that functions only at the level of the ' daemonic.' which, as we saw, precedes religion proper, not at the level of the divine and the holy in the truest sense ; and it shows very clearly how that sort of merely ' daemonic' experience of the numinous may in a highly cultivated mind only stir emotional reactions of bewilderment and bedazzlement, without giving real light or warmth to the soul. Goethe did not understand how to adjust this divination of the ' daemonic' to his own higher conception of the divine; and, when Eckermann turned the conversation to that, his answer was hesitating and evasive :
' The operative, efficacious force (said I tentatively), which we call the "daemonic", does not seem to lit in with the idea of the divine.' ' Dear boy,' said Goethe, ' what do wTe know of the idea of the divine, and what can our narrow conceptions presume to tell of the Supreme Being ? If I called him by a hundred names, like a Turk, I should yet fall short and have said nothing in comparison to the boundlessness of his attributes.'
But, if we leave out of account the comparatively low level of Goethe's 'divination', we have yet in it a most exact example of what Schleiermacher had in mind. These are ' intuitions and feelings', if not of something divine, still of something numinous in the natural world and in history, and intuitions brought to the higher vitality by an individual with an innate ' divinatory ' gift. At the same time the principles on which this divination works cannot even be suggested, for all the examples Goethe may give. What does the ' daemonic ' really consist in ? How does he come to be conscious of it? How does he identify it as one and the same through all the manifold and contradictory forms in which it manifests itself? These are the questions to which Goethe can suggest no answer. It is evident that in this experience he is being guided by 'mere feeling', that is, by an a priori principle that is not explicit and overt, but dim and obscure.
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