Philology (n.) is tasked with the dirty work of laying the foundations for the preservation of a few noble books of great value for sake of the very few human beings who will know how to use them, a select group of souls who always will come but are never there.
Philology (n.) is the capacity for absorbing facts without interpreting them falsely and without losing caution, patience, and subtlety in the effort to understand them.
Philology (n.) in the inner life would be reading off a text as a text without interposing an interpretation — the last-developed form of inner experience, perhaps hardly possible; the simple man never just feels unwell, something always makes him unwell.
Philology (n.) brings to a text a thousandfold more integrity in self-criticism than all the holy epileptics and visionaries — compared with us, they are moral cretins.
A Philology (n.) has been the educator as such, because his activity is the model of sublime monotony — under his banner the young man learns to grind, preparing to be civil servant, husband, office slave, newspaper reader and soldier.
Philology (n.) is lacking in anyone who cannot read a text as text without mixing in interpretation — a reading that is the last-attained form of inner experience, perhaps barely possible.