over all the other impulses. For every impulse is imperious, and as such , attempts to philosophize. To be sure, in the case of scholars, in the case of really scientific men, it may be otherwise⁠—“better,” if you will; there there may really be such a thing as an “impulse to knowledge,” some kind of small, independent clockwork, which, when well wound up, works away industriously to that end, without the rest of the scholarly impulses taking any material part therein. The actual “interests” of the scholar, therefore, are generally in quite another direction⁠—in the family, perhaps, or in moneymaking, or in politics; it is, in fact, almost indifferent at what point of research his little machine is placed, and whether the hopeful young worker becomes a good philologist, a mushroom specialist, or a chemist; he is not characterised by becoming this or that. In the philosopher, on the contrary, there is absolutely nothing impersonal; and above all, his morality furnishes a decided and decisive testimony as to who he is