I.

At the “Fiftieth Meeting of German Naturalists and Physicians,” held at Munich, September, 1877, Professor C.V. N�geli, of Munich, took up a well known lecture of his Berlin colleague, Du Bois-Reymond, and delivered a remarkable address on the Limits of Scientific Knowledge. One is bound to admit that the Munich professor has, in point of truth and clearness, far surpassed his Berlin colleague; still he, too, was unable to rise to the level of his time.

He nearly explained the whole thing; but the small point which he missed at the conclusion is just the vital point, – the one which marks the wide gulf that divides physics from metaphysics, sober science from romantic belief. Such a lecture, proceeding as it does sharply up to that point, offers a welcome opportunity to show once more the superiority of the Social-Democratic conception of the world.

Prof. N�geli treats his subject in the following manner:

“Many methodical scientists who, by their exact mode of research, augment the stock of well based facts, while holding a fundamental solution inadmissible, answer the question as to the Limits of Knowledge of Nature by a simple statement of fact: ‘Belief invariably begins where knowledge ends.’ The statement that our belief begins where knowledge ends – the lecturer continues – is a practical solution for certain definite purposes. Our interest is not satisfied thereby. We turn our special attention to the theoretical side of the problem. We want to know whether the limits where human knowledge must stop are at all definable, and if so, how far can knowledge penetrate into the domain of Nature; how much of Nature could the human mind conceive, if it were to occupy itself during an unlimited time – say, an eternity – with natural sciences and have at its command all imaginable means of research, – in a word, what is the fundamental line of demarkation between the domain of knowledge and that of belief?”

As is well known, his predecessor, Du Bois-Reymond, tried to prove that there really is such an impassable line of demarkation, that consequently belief will, under all circumstances, have a domain of its own left to it. It is only owing to the reservation of this little refuge for religious romanticism that his lecture has gained its seeming importance and popularity. Since that time the champions of the Inconceivable have not ceased singing Hosanna. True enough, Prof. N�geli is little edified by this song, but his official privileged position as a professor does not allow him to enter the fight in a whole hearted manner. After showing his predecessor clearly and by all manner of means that he has misunderstood the nature of scientific knowledge, he concludes as follows: “Du Bois-Reymond winds up his lecture with the crushing words, Ignoramus and Ignorabimus. I should like to conclude mine with the qualified, but withal, consoling expression of opinion that the fruit of our researches is not merely knowledge, but actual truth which contains within itself the germ of an almost (!) infinite growth, without thereby coming nearer by the smallest step to omniscience. If we adopt an attitude of a reasonable resignation, if we, as finite and transient beings that we are, content ourselves with human knowledge instead of claiming divine cognition, then we may say with full confidence in ourselves and in the future: ‘We know and we shall know.’”

These concluding remarks contain the essence of the question. They also unmistakably express both the religious and subservient consciousness of the Berlin professor and the tame and timid inconsistency of the Munich one. The religious romanticism of Du Bois-Reymond calls all results of scientific research “merely knowledge,” and not “real truth.” Such true cognition is not attainable by the poor human understanding. The professor literally says that “the whole of our knowledge of Nature is in reality not cognition, but a substitute of an interpretation.”

Our science, then, can only yield chicory instead of coffee. Our scientific interpretation may very well allow itself to be buried, perhaps it may rise transfigured on the day of judgment. And such reactionary word-splitting wants to dominate our universities!

Then comes the other one, N�geli, to whom that pious resignation seems rather too strong. The nice distinction between knowledge and cognition does not recommend itself to him. He is convinced that “we know and shall know.” But observe how gently he breaks this news to us: “without thereby coming nearer to omniscience by the smallest step.” He, too speaks humbly of “human” cognition as against that of the higher Non-Humanity. We must submit to a “rational” resignation and lay no claim to “divine knowledge.” Is it possible that so learned a professor should “resign” himself monklike to divine cognition and even call such resignation rational? All natural cognition is divine, that is, glorious and wonderful. When, however, our professor opposes to human cognition a divine one, then he proceeds beyond the limits of Nature and lands in the same romanticism in which his predecessor has landed before him.