was wiser than the explicit
reason of science.
But this is not all that Comte means. For him the appeal to the heart is
not merely the appeal to feelings and intuitions, which are the result
of the past development of human intelligence, and especially of the
long discipline by which the Christian Church has moulded the modern
spirit; it is an appeal to the altruistic affections as original or
"innate" tendencies in man which are altogether independent of his
intelligence. It is not that the reason of man often speaks through his
feelings, but that feeling and reason have in themselves different, and
even it may be opposite, voices. In this sense, the attempt has often
been made in modern times to stop the invasions of critical reflection
by setting up the heart as an independent authority. From the Lutheran
theologian who said, "_Pectus theologum facit_," down to Mr. Tennyson
who declares that whenever he heard "the voice--Believe no more,"
"A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath, the heart
Stood up and answered, 'I have felt:'"
appeals have constantly been made to the feelings to resist the
intrusion of doubt. Such appeals, however, cannot be regarded as
otherwise than provisional and self-defensive. "The heart knoweth its
own bitterness, and a stranger doth not intermeddle with its joy;" but
just for that reason it has no general content or independent authority
of its own. Whether the "I feel it" mean little or much, depends upon
the individual who utters it. It may be the concentrated expression of a
long life of culture and discipline, or it may be the loud but empty
voice of untrained passion and prejudice. The "unproved assertions of
the wise and experienced," as Aristotle tells us, have great value,
especially in ethical matters; but it is not because they are unproved
assertions, but because we otherwise know that the speakers are wise and
experienced. To appeal to the heart in general, without saying "whose
heart," either means nothing, or it means an appeal to the natural
man--_i.e._, man as he is before he has been sophisticated by culture
and experience; but of the natural man, in this sense, nothing can be
said. The further we go back in the history of the individual or the
race the more imperfect does their utterance or manifestation become;
and when we reach the beginning, we find that there is no manifestation
or utterance at
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