vation, but in studying the objects of nature, we add no new phenomenon to the phenomena already there;—whereas, on the contrary, in studying ourselves we do add a new phenomenon to the other phenomena of our being—we add, to wit, the fact that we are thus studying ourselves. Be this new phenomenon important or unimportant, it is, at any rate, evident that in it is violated the analogy between physics and philosophy—between the study of man and the study of nature. For what can be a greater or more vital distinction between two sciences or disciplines than this; that while the one contributes nothing to the making of its own facts, but finds them all (to use a very familiar colloquism) cut and dried beneath its hand—the other creates, in part at least, its own facts—supplies, to a certain extent, and by its own free efforts, as we shall see, the very materials out of which it is constructed.
But the parallel between physics and philosophy, although radically violated by this new fact, is not totally subverted; and our popular philosophy has preferred to follow out the track where the parallel partially holds good. It is obvious that two courses of procedure are open to her choice. Either following the analogy of the natural sciences, which of themselves add no new fact to their objects, she may attend exclusively to the phenomena which she finds in man, but which she has no hand in contributing—or else, breaking loose from that analogy, she may direct her attention to the novel and unparalleled phenomenon which she, of herself, has added to her object, and which we have already described. Of these two courses philosophy has chosen to adopt the former: and what has been the result? Surely all the ready-made phenomena of man have been, by this time, sufficiently explored. Philosophers, undisturbed, have pondered over his passions—unmoved they have watched and weighed his emotions. His affections, his rational states, his sensations, and all the other ingredients and modifications of his natural framework have been rigidly scrutinised and classified by them; and, after all, what have they made of it—what sort of a picture have their researches presented to our observation? Not the picture of a man; but the representation of an automaton, that is what it cannot help being—a phantom dreaming what it cannot but dream—an engine performing what it must perform—an incarnate reverie—a weathercock shifting helplessly in the winds of sensibility—a wretched association-machine, through which ideas pass linked together by laws over which the machine has no control—any thing, in short, except that free and self-sustained centre of underived, and therefore responsible activity, which we call Man.
If such, therefore, be the false representation of man which philosophy invariably and inevitably pictures forth, whenever she makes common cause with the natural sciences, we have plainly no other course left than to turn philosophy aside from following their analogy, and to guide her footsteps upon a new line and different method of inquiry. Let us, then, turn away the attention of philosophy from the facts which she does not contribute to her object; (viz. the ready-made phenomena of man); and let us direct it upon the new fact which she does contribute thereto—and let us see whether greater truth and a more practical satisfaction will not now attend her investigations.
The great and only fact which philosophy, of herself, adds to the other phenomena of man, and which nothing but philosophy can add, is, as we have said, the fact that man does philosophize. The fact that man philosophizes is (so often as it takes place) as much a human phenomenon as the phenomenon, for instance, of passion is, and therefore cannot legitimately be overlooked by an impartial and true philosophy. At the same time, it is plain that philosophy creates and brings along with her this fact of man; in other words, does not find it in him ready-made to her hand:—because, if man did not philosophize, the fact that he philosophizes would, it is evident, have no manner of existence whatsoever. What, then, does this fact which philosophy herself contributes to philosophy and to man, contain, embody, and set forth, and what are the consequences resulting from it?
The act of philosophizing is the act of systematically contemplating our own natural or given phenomena.
